Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After everything that had happened to her, Jasmine Todd thought that nothing could surprise her anymore. Stealing tires from an immobile Batmobile led her to being adopted by Bruce Wayne. That, in turn, led to her becoming his partner as Batman, the second Robin. Then, the Joker blew her up in Ethiopia, and Ras Al-Ghul tossed her into his cursed fountain of youth. After that, it was a rush of violence, crime, and clashes with Batman, all leading up to this.

And then Batman - Bruce, her father - refused to put down the rabid dog. Instead, he looked at her like she was one.

She held a hand to her throat, stemming the stream of blood that was leaking out of it. A bloody Batarang sat next to her in the pile of rubble, earning a scowl. He’d tried to stop her from just putting that fuck down. Kicking off the wreckage, she began to stumble away from the wrecked building. Her ears rang like crazy, the only sounds breaching the cacophony being the wail of police sirens and the cackling of the Joker.

She was lucky that she had a safe house near there; otherwise, she might’ve bled out. Her hands shook as she tapped the code into the keypad, pushed the door open, and staggered inside as soon as the door clicked unlocked. She threw open the bathroom cabinet, pulled out the medkit, and started to get to work. 

Pain lanced from her neck as she began to stitch up the oozing wound. Her teeth were pressed together so hard she was worried they would crack. Still, she forced herself to remain as still as possible and keep her hands from shaking as the needle went up and down. Up and down, up and down, up and down, slowly stitching up the wound that only hadn’t killed her due to the lingering effects of the Lazarus Pit. 

That was just fucking typical, wasn’t it? No one cared, not really. Bruce just used her as a tool, a weapon in his crusade. He hadn’t avenged her, hadn’t avenged all the people that the Joker had killed or hurt. Instead, he’d just gotten a replacement and moved on, as if nothing had happened. He didn’t care, so why the hell should she?

Finally, the wound stopped bleeding so heavily. It still burned, but that would resolve itself in time. She wrapped a line of gauze around it, tied it down as tight as possible without choking her, and began to wash away the blood clinging to her hands. 

She headed back out into the cramped apartment, this time staggering into the bedroom. Underneath the bed was a large duffle bag, which she unzipped to reveal a set of replacements for her lost gear. She slowly began to set it out on the bed, only stopping briefly to throw on the black and grey windbreaker.

Soon, she’d assembled the complete arsenal of equipment that had been stashed here. A copy of her helmet, a pair of handguns, a takedown sniper rifle, a new high-grade combat knife, a variety of throwing implements and grenades, a grappling line, and a fresh bullet-proof vest. Enough for her to do… What exactly?

She sighed, sitting down and leaning against the wall. She had backups of her gear, but what the hell should she do with it? She’d burned so many bridges within the criminal underworld, first going after Black Mask and then to get Joker out of Arkham. The only people she knew were loyal were those from Crime Alley, but that wasn’t much. She could go after the Bat again, but now that he knew, she couldn’t take the risk… He didn’t care, he didn’t care. He would send her to Arkham because she was just another rogue.

The wound on her throat burned, and she brought a hand up to touch the tightly bound wound. Even though she knew there wasn't enough pressure, it felt like she was choking her. She couldn’t go to Arkham. She just couldn’t. She didn’t know if she could stand being in the same building as Joker without having the chance to kill the prick. Her breath hitched; a wave of green tinged her vision. 

She didn’t know how long it was before she came down from the wave of Pit Madness. All she knew was that, when she did, the cheap furniture and appliances that filled the apartment before they were all smashed. Holes were in the plaster walls, one of the legs on the bedframe had snapped off, and her equipment had been strewn throughout the room. She was breathing heavily, scrapes covering her hands.

Great. Someone had definitely called the police, so now she had to go. She quickly gathered and pulled on her gear, making sure not to leave anything incriminating behind. On the way out, she remembered the burner phone she had stashed behind the fridge and grabbed that, too. 

She hopped down the fire escape, taking the stairs three at a time on her rapid descent to the alley. When she reached it, she dialed the number of the guy in charge of the Crime Alley elements. 

“Hey, boss,” his soft voice said after he picked up the call. “There’s been shit all over the news. Something about you and the Bat?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Jasmine snapped, before sighing. “Look, things didn’t go to plan and I need to lie low for a few months. Things are going to fall apart, but you don’t need to hold everything. Just keep the Alley. I’ve got a list of contacts in my main safehouse. Apartment 17, 8441 West August Street. Say that Isabella Thorpe recommended the place to you, and the landlord will give you the key.” She smiled slightly at that coming up with that reference, before shaking her head. All her cleverness hadn’t mattered. “Combination to the safe is 8 - 22 - 18.” The date she died, making her frown deepen.

“Got it, Boss”, the man said. “But, uh, where are you gonna go?”

Good question. Anywhere in Gotham was out of the question. Batman knew who she was, and so would hunt her down mercilessly. She grabbed the dumpster, digging her cut-up palm into the angular metal. The pain grounded her, driving away the green and returning her to the present. 

A single, loose detail sprang to mind. A lead to someone supporting Black Mask from outside of Gotham. She meant to look into it, but never had the chance. Well, no time like the present. “I’ll check out the Metropolis lead. Should keep me busy for a time. You have the account to send updates to if you need me.”

“Right-o, Boss. Stay safe.” With that asinine comment, he hung up. She snorted, tossed the phone in the dumpster, and slipped on her helmet. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

“Hey, Clark,” Jimmy says as he opens the door. Even as the door shuts behind him harder than usual, almost rattling it off of its hinges, his long-time friend doesn’t look up from his laptop. “How was your date?”

“... We broke up.”

That caught Jimmy’s attention, jerking up to look at Clark. He imagined that he looked like a mess at the moment. His shoulders were slumped, lowering his normally impressive height to a level almost similar to his own. His eyes stung, and he could almost feel the bags forming in real time. The blazer and tie he’d spent almost an hour getting perfect for that night were askew and hung loosely on his form.

“Hold up, what?” Jimmy said, slamming his laptop shut and rising to his feet. “I… I must be having hearing problems. D-did you say that you and Lois broke up!?”

“Please don’t yell, Jimmy,” Clark said, clutching his already aching head. “And… and yes. We did.”

“W-why?” Jimmy said, only barely lowering his volume. “You two were so close. You got on so well! It… No offense, man, but it was almost sickening at times how well you got on.”

“... None taken?”

Jimmy nodded, then continued, “So, what happened?”

“It’s… It’s a long story.”

Jimmy took a step back as Clark threw off his blazer, slumped on the couch, and just stared up at the ceiling. Everything felt numb, his nerves tingling and no feeling coming through his hands. He was barely aware of anything else, just staring into the old beige plaster.

Finally, he was pulled back to his senses when an elbow hit his shoulder. “Hey, broody.” Jimmy hopped over the back of the couch, offering him an ice cream sandwich. “Come on. Talk to me, don’t just spy on the landlord.”

“I… I wasn’t doing that,” Clark said, reluctantly taking the cold treat.

Jimmy just looked at him like he’d turned into an alien. Well, an alien that was obviously one, not one that looked like a normal person. “Man, you really are taking this badly. You haven’t fallen for one of those in weeks.”

Clark huffed out a laugh, taking a bite of the ice cream sandwich. “Mmm. Neapolitan.”

“Always. Plain vanilla is fine, but not for sandwiches,” Jimmy said, digging into one of his own. The two of them sat in relative silence, the only sounds in the immediate vicinity that Clark picked up on being their breathing, the chewing of the soft shells of their ice cream treats, and the distant hum of the refrigerator. “So, spill. What happened?”

“It… it was all going well…” Clark said, stuffing the last of the sandwich in his mouth. He chewed slowly, dreading speaking about it. The incident had happened less than an hour ago, and already Clark felt almost empty. It was just… so much for him.

It was funny, wasn’t it? In the past few months, he’d fully come into his powers and even gotten the hang of more of them. He’d tangled with Intergang, Task Force X, Ivo, and the alien robots that came through that portal. So much, and yet it was his first break-up that turned him into a mess. He didn’t even think his conversation with General Lang about Zero Day had messed him up this bad, and that had shaken him to his core. 

“I mean, obviously,” Jimmy said. “Like I said, you two could be sickeningly sweet when you wanted to be. So, how’d you break up?”

“We… She just went out and said it,” Clark said it. “You know how she is.”

“Not a subtle bone in her body,” Jimmy said with a shake of his head. “What did she say, exactly?”

“That with everything going on? Her dad, the stuff at the Daily Planet, and just her feelings about stuff? It wasn’t working out.” Clark sniffled, raising a hand in front of his face. “She… she just didn’t like me like that. Not… not like I do her.”

Jimmy just gaped. “That…” He inhaled deeply, before putting a hand on his shoulder. “Clark, you’re a great guy. If she didn’t see that, that isn’t your problem.”

“It’s not like that, Jimmy,” Clark said. “I just… I need some air.”

Jimmy didn’t try to stop him as he went into his bedroom. A few moments later, he exited, sans his glasses, and dressed in his Superman outfit. Jimmy sat on the couch, watching him trudge past the couch and towards their apartment balcony. It was tiny, but just big enough for him to easily leap off of and take flight. 

He flew aimlessly, the only destination his mind came to was to just fly in circles over the city. Flying just high enough to skim the clouds, even with his enhanced hearing, smothered him mostly in silence. He could still pick up on things if he strained his ears, but it was mostly drowned out by the roaring wind of his high-speed movements. It helped clear his head and gave him time to think. 

Except, just like him, his mind kept going in circles. Just… Lois had said it wasn’t his fault. That it just wouldn’t work out for them in the long run. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that. Things were going so well between them; at least he had thought so. They both seemed to enjoy their dates and hanging out together, so what had gone wrong?

As he flew, a faint noise tickled at his earlobe. He came to a stop, looking down to see he was directly over the Metropolis port. Being late at night, things had almost completely died down, with none of the usual sounds of machinery and workers reaching him. At first, he thought that he was simply hearing things since he was so distracted. 

But then it was there again. This time, the sound came two times in rapid succession, followed by another one a moment later. Gunshots. Clark frowned, focusing down on one of the warehouses near a docked container ship. 

There was a scuffle going on inside. There were about a dozen people total, with five of them sprawled on the ground. One of the figures waded through the others, striking out at them and sending them tumbling to the ground. The noises came from the handgun she had clutched in one hand, a faint spark of heat coming off of it with each discharge.

Maybe stopping a criminal would help him clear his head. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

Maybe her luck was starting to turn around. She didn’t have much faith in that, but things had thus far been going rather smoothly. 

Jasmine had arrived in Metropolis a few days ago, and was already making decent headway in her investigation. No names as to who was supplying Black Mask, but the lead she had already led her to a small-time arms dealer. A few broken bones later, and he’d pointed her to a warehouse in the docks. All that in one night.

Honestly, she’d spent most of her time just taking in the sights around Metropolis. The city was much newer than Gotham, both in terms of age and the buildings. Lots of urban renewal money during the 20th century and the growing tech center produced the most modern-looking city Jasmine had ever seen. 

Of course, even the shinest thing had the unseen places where it was coated with rust and grime. It wasn’t as big as Gothams, but it was there. And she had found it.

The warehouse was a small-time thing, but you had to start somewhere. “Geez,” she muttered as she watched the two groups arrive. “Even their street thugs are better dressed.”

One was a couple of street toughs, dressed mostly in jeans and leather jackets, a few sporting piercings or tattoos. The other were dressed in suits; the plain, millennial kind as opposed to the ostentatious kind adopted by the Gotham elite or high-end criminals. Nothing immediately stood out as an identifier safe for the gang markings, but she wasn’t here for the small timers. Oh well. Broken bones it was.

The first shots deflated the tires of their vehicles. As they scrambled for weapons, she raced across the warehouses' catwalk and came down behind them. She tossed a flash grenade, rolling as it went off to shield her eyes from the detonation. As they yelped and flailed in panic, she was drawing her pistols and laying into them.

The suits recovered surprisingly quickly, several pulling out folding batons and lunging at her. The thugs, on the other hand, chose to book it. She let them run, instead focusing on the suits. 

After all of Bru–Batman’s bullshit, cutting loose felt good. Flecks of Green danced in the corners of her vision as she popped off a few shots, sending a few of them tumbling to the ground. One baton slammed into her side, but she kicked out the guy's knee before pistol-whipping him between his eyes. She exchanged one pistol for her knife, grinning savagely beneath her helmet before carving through the rest.

Soon, only one of them was still standing. Judging from the fancy tie, she guessed he was in charge. He scrambled for the car, throwing open the backseat before she could slam into him from behind. Twisting his hand behind his back, she pressed the muzzle of her pistol under his chin. “Hey, buddy.”

The man struggled, causing her to tighten her grip. He winced, allowing her to press the gun even more under his chin. “You,” he rasped. “Have no idea who you’re messing with!”

“Maybe,” Jasmine said, shrugging. “Maybe not. Why don’t you tell me what I’m doing and I’ll figure it out.”

Behind her, a booming voice said, “I’d like to know that too.”

Her gun moved from the dealer's neck and back, firing off a snap-shot, before she even looked back. As her head turned around, she frowned, seeing nothing but a warehouse and groaning thugs. The sound of a throat clearing drew her vision upward to a buff guy in brightly colored spandex. A buff guy in brightly colored spandex who was floating, glaring down at her with crossed arms.

Jasmine prided herself on being witty and eloquent. All she could say was, “Oh shit.”

Chapter Text

“Oh shit.”

Clark had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to hear that. The red-helmeted thug held out their pistol, still aiming uselessly down the length of the warehouse. She – even with a muscular build and broad shoulders, she has the body shape of one – stares up at him. Even without his X-ray vision, he can tell she is dumbstruck by his appearance.

“Uh… Hey there!” she says, pressing down on the suited man’s throat. “This, uh… What seems to be the problem, officer?”

He lowers himself closer to the ground, landing firmly on the warehouse floor. He keeps his gaze focused on her, trying to avoid peeling his gaze down to the scattered bodies of the other men around them. He feels as if he did, he might throw up, and wouldn’t that just pull the wind from his sails? He’s fought plenty of criminals but this was… something else.

Now that he was on her level, she shifted her aim. The pistol was angled down, but she was still angling towards him. Her body was tense, posture ready to spring away from him at a moment's notice. She reminded him of Deathstroke: a trained, professional fighter with a ruthless streak. And wasn’t that just lovely?

Clark unfolded his arms, bringing them to his sides while he met her helmeted gaze. “I’d mostly just like to know who you are, and what you think you’re doing?”

She shifts her posture, pressing her quarry against the car tighter and pulling her pistol in towards her body. “I’m an exterminator. Cleaning up a certain breed of cockroaches.”

It was this comment that drew his attention to the other people she had been fighting. He stole a quick look at the suited men sprawling on the ground, groaning and wheezing from the brutal wounds. They looked less like businessmen and more like the stereotype of old-timey gangsters, with plenty of gold jewelry and a few visible tattoos beneath their suits.

Clark shook his head and dragged his vision back to her. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“Look, big guy,” she said, talking slowly like he was a child. “I’m just handling a few things with our friend here.” She squeezes the man’s arm against the car even tighter, eliciting a groan of pain. “So why don’t you just give me fifteen minutes to wrap up, and then I’ll be out of your hair, Mr, uh…”

“I’m Superman,” he said. “And that’s just not good enough for my city. So, you and I are going to have a—

She was moving before he could even twitch. She let the man go, firing a shot into his leg before reaching into her windbreaker. Clark rushed forward, closing the distance between where he’d been standing and the car in the blink of an eye. As he turned to face her, she was sprinting away, tossing something behind her. He sprang off after her, taking to the air just as the flashbang grenade went off. 

He grimaced, crashing into an abandoned crate. He blinked the spots from his eyes, vaguely aware of a series of sharp stings on his skin. As he finally regained awareness, he realized those stings were bullets from the red-helmeted woman. She was crouching nearby, cutting off her barrage to stare helplessly at her pistols. “Geez. What lotion do you use?”

Clark growled. He was having a rough night, and the last thing he wanted was some witty psychopath screwing with him. He rushed forward, only barely missing her with a fierce lunge. The woman tried to reach for another grenade, though he knocked the explosive out of her hand before she could pull the pin. It went sailing off into the scattered warehouse while be brought a fist up around her throat.

She gasped for air as he lifted her into the air, dropping both pistols to try and pry herself free from his grip. “Look, I’m sorry about this,” he said. “But this is over. So, cooperate, and I promise I’ll put in a good word with the Metropolis–”

He didn’t finish his promise as something slammed into him from the side. He let go of the woman as he tumbled to the side, shaking his head to reorient himself. At first, he thought that she might’ve deployed some kind of gadget or something that hit him in the side. At least until she was thrown next to him, tumbling head over heels to land on her stomach.

They both looked up as their mutual assailant stepped forward. It looked like a robotic skeleton, through a mix of its lanky limbs and the raised ridges on its torso. Its face was completely smooth save for a pair of jutting, glowing green eyes. However, instead of hydraulic servos that run across its limbs, there are what appear to be organic muscles. Other bits of flesh jut from places on the robot, particularly around the articulated neck. One arm ended in a three-clawed hand, while a slowly building green light grew from the five-pronged emitter on the other. 

The man that the woman had been holding hostage typed a few commands into the remote. “Fucking kill them!” he yelled before quickly hobbling out of the warehouse. Before Clark could move to chase after him, the bio-robot lunged forward. 

Both he and the woman leaped out of the way of the impact, which cracked the cement floor. It turned to look at him with those piercing green eyes before releasing its charged blast. The impact sent him reeling with the blast of heat, though he quickly recovered. 

He swung at the creature, intending to take it apart. The first blow against its chest dented metal, but by the time a follow-up hit landed, the dent had dinged itself out. Even after several furious blows on the machine, it was barely scratched. All the while, it retaliated, forcing him back with its own blows.

The ringing report of a pistol echoed through the warehouse. The woman had retrieved her guns, aiming squarely at the bio-robot. “Forget the body!” she yelled. “Aim for the joints! Cripple it!” She fired again, following her own advice as one of the bullets struck into the exposed meat along one arm, resulting in a spurt of oily black blood.

Clark followed her advice as best he could, but the thing moved fast. Not faster than him, but enough that he couldn’t break past its defenses. It broke contact with him, twisting a limb around to fire blasts of energy at the woman who rolled out of the way. Her pistols clicked dry, after which she sheathed them and pulled out a wicked-looking knife.

She rushed the robot, weaving around blasts and swings to lash out at the things joints. At the same time, Clark swung at its head. Unable to avoid both attacks at once, it chose to take the knife blow, sending it tumbling to its knees. Clark knocked aside its limbs, finally getting an opening to punch it in the throat. The impact knocked its head clean off, a series of cables spitting sparks and engorged arteries spurting blood terminating from the stump.

As it fell back, both of them panted from the fight, their eyes flicking to each other. An unspoken agreement of sorts that had formed during the fight remained, even as they both tensed during their stare. “Uh… I guess I owe you an explanation, huh?”

“Yeah,” Clark said. “You definitely do.” And it had better be a good one. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

Jasmine really had to pay more attention to the news. At the very least, she had to do a bit more research before diving head-first into a new situation. If she had, she might’ve found out that Metropolis had recently gotten their own version of Batman, who was a super-powered freak! 

That would’ve been useful information before said Batman equivalent interrupted her while dealing with the arms dealers. 

“Ok, but not here,” she said to the big guy. “I don’t really want to be standing around here when the cops show up.”

“No problem,” he said. “Do you get air-sick?”

Jasmine blinked at the question. “Uh… Not really, no. Wh-AAAAAAH!”

He grabbed her, sweeping her up bridal-style. He pressed her against his muscular chest, making her flush as red as her helmet. It wasn’t her fault! The guy was well-built and not exactly bad-looking. Of course, those thoughts were quickly thrown free as he sprang off the ground, taking to the air.

She only barely managed to suppress a yelp as he soared out of the warehouse and across the city. The lights of the towering buildings blurred together as he carried her down a long thoroughfare. After several moments, he peeled away from the street and ascended up a towering building, depositing her on the edge. Looking up, she could barely see the port through the late-night haze.

“There,” the guy said. “No one will be bothering us up here.”

“Yeah,” she said, once again at a loss for words. This guy was serious business; it was probably only dumb luck and no small amount of skill that prevented her from being quashed flat in the first ten seconds at that warehouse. “So, uh… Right. Introductions.” She held out a hand. “You can call me Red Hood.”

He stared down at the hand as if she were pointing a gun at him, a pensive look on his face. After several tense moments, he eventually took it, shaking. “Superman.”

His grip was like steel, though she tried to give back as good as she got. “How original.”

“Like yours is much better,” he said, his eyes clearly focusing on her helmet.

She shrugged. “Fair enough.”

He let go of her hand and backed away, once again frowning at her. Man, he had the ‘I’m disappointed in your actions’ look down pat. “Enough stalling. What are you doing in my city?”

“Because those guys have been dealing in mine,” she said. He blinked, his frown deepening. “Look, they weren’t meeting up to sell insurance. You saw what that guy pulled out of his car to fight us.”

“He was selling stuff like that in… I’m sorry, where are you from?” Superman asked.

It was Jasmine’s turn to frown, though he obviously couldn’t see it. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, wondering how much she should tell him. This guy obviously took his job seriously, and he might have done a bit more research. He didn’t know who she was, so that was something, but if she told him, he might be able to figure it out. On the other hand, of course, she was kinda stuck up here with this guy, and she wasn’t confident she’d be able to outfight him. At least with what she had available.

Eventually, she sighed, just quiet enough that her vocoder didn’t pick it up. “Gotham,” she said.

Instantly, his eyes widened. She tensed, waiting for him to go on the attack. Instead, he just gaped. “You’re from Gotham?” he asked, a moment before his stunned expression morphed into a smile. “D-do you work with Batman!?”

She folded her arms, studying him. Reading people was a skill she’d picked up on the streets, and she could read this guy like an open book. It was weirdly… endearing? No, that wasn’t right. She shrugged, pulling herself back to the present. Now wasn’t the time, Jasmine. “Not directly. Not anymore, at least.”

“What does that mean exactly?” he asked.

Jasmine tilted her head up. “It means he and I have the same goals.” Vastly different methods, but broadly the same objectives. “Why? You got a problem with him or something?”

“No no no no!” he said, waving his hands. “It’s just, uh… Well, he’s huge! I mean, he’s all I really had to go on when it comes to this hero thing. It’s just… It’s cool, is all.” He calmed down, blowing a strand of hair out of his face as he tried to appear nonchalant. Wow. Bruce had a fanboy. The world really was ending. 

“Right…” she said. “Anyway, yeah. I’m here to shut down those guys. So, if you’ll just drop me back by the docks so I can get my bike, I’ll be on my way. I don’t expect to be here for more than two weeks, and then I’ll be out of your business.”

“Wait. Why don’t I help you?”

Those words stopped her dead in her tracks. “What?” she asked. Damn this guy and his ability to leave her dumbstruck. 

“I mean, we both want to stop these guys,” Superman said. “I mean, you saw how that thing was able to keep up with me. If someone is making those weapons and selling them in another city, then this is serious. Plus, I know this city pretty well, so… Maybe you’d appreciate the backup?”

Jasmine blinked again, once again studying him. Was this guy punking her? He didn’t seem the type, too straightforward and lacking the gleam in his eye of someone more opportunistic. Still… “Just like that? I tell you I’m looking into these guys, and you’re willing to help me out?”

“Yeah! I mean, same goals, right?” Man, this guy was naive. She could work with this.

“Ok,” she said. “Ok. Well, the guy ran, so I gotta look into where he buggered off to. I’ll meet you at the docks again in two days, about this time and we can pick up on things.”

“Got it,” he said. “Just, uh…”

“Yeah?”

“Can you… Do you have to shoot people?” Oh fuck, this guy was naive. “I mean, you didn’t kill any of them, but just…” He was useful, and she couldn’t just lose him as an ally. Plus, better than him being an enemy if she kept at it.

“I’ll switch to rubber bullets if that makes you feel better,” she told him. His smile was radiant, wide, and almost blindingly white. An unforeseen complication, but she could work with this.

Chapter Text

Yellowed teeth, twisted into a savage grin. The lips were red, the skin around it white as a corpse. She can’t see the eyes, but that grin is all she needs to see. All she can see, with her vision swirling and twisting and encroached upon by shadows. 

“What hurts more? A…” An impact, harsh and searing, on her face that makes her skull rattle. “... or B?” A second blow, sharper and more piercing on her collarbone. “Backhand or Forehand?” Two more impacts, with dark tendrils wrapping around her vision until all she can see is darkness and blood. 

“Tell the Big Man I said Hello.”

Flames roar around her, and things come crashing down like an avalanche. She can’t move, can barely see, and all she can hear is his echoing, maniacal laughter. Laughing and laughing and laughing and—

Jasmine jerked awake with a shriek, panting after realizing she wasn’t in that warehouse. She was in her safehouse in Metropolis, an abandoned apartment on the outskirts. She reached out, sweeping her hands over the futon and the blanket, then the floor and her skin. She gulped down air, her eyes flickering over the room. Even with everything tinted in green, she could make out the basic utilities and appliances she had brought in, along with her books. Everything was there, everything was alright. 

That didn’t mean her chest didn’t ache. 

She threw off the blanket and stood up. She began to move rapidly, trying to keep busy to avoid thinking. Keep her thoughts on what was in front of her instead of having to think about… everything. She went into the bathroom, taking advantage of the water that still went to the building. It was a cold shower, but that was probably better.

Brush her teeth, comb her hair, put on concealer to cover up a yellowing bruise. Eat a breakfast of microwave oatmeal and dried fruit. Brush her teeth, then get ready for the day. Well, what was left of it; a quick look outside revealed that it was at least noon. Ok, that was fine. She slipped on her civilian clothes, slipped on a couple of knives, and made for the door.

On the way out, she felt something shift in one of the pockets of her leather jacket. Frowning, she reached inside and pulled out a half-crumpled sticky note. “Meet Superman at Docks tomorrow night”.

She frowned as she studied the note, sucking in a shallow breath. Right, she was meeting the big blue hero then. He had agreed to help her hunt down the arms dealer. At least, that was the plan.

Honestly, she expected that he would do some research and realize who she was. That the Red Hood wasn’t a hero or even just a rogue vigilante, but a Mob Boss and a cold-blooded killer. At best, he wouldn’t show; at worst, she would have to fight him again. She was a good fighter, able to hold her own with the best of the League of Assassins, let alone Batman, but he was something else.

Still, it was the best she could do. If he didn’t show, then she could carry out her work and be gone within a few weeks. If he did still want to help (and for the life of her she couldn’t think who would want to do so), then it would only make it quicker. Like she said, he was something else. It would be useful. That’s all it was. Utility.

With a sigh, she stuffed the note back in her jacket and left her safe house. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

“Hey guys!” Lois called, waving them over. Waving them over, smiling wide, a small bag slung over her left shoulder. Acting as if nothing was wrong. Acting as if she hadn’t ripped out his best friend's heart. 

Jimmy Olsen wasn’t a vengeful person by nature. Petty? Sure. Vengeful? Nah. He left that to online creeps and Gothamites. But seeing Lois waiting for them, acting like nothing was wrong, made something in his blood boil. Still, he sucked in a deep breath and let it out, calming himself enough to approach without scowling.

Clark looked down at him, smiling nervously. “Geez. You’d think you broke up with her instead of me.”

“She broke up with you, Clark,” Jimmy said. “And I’m cool. It’s all cool. We’re just meeting for lunch.”

The three of them came together outside this small cafe that one of the new interns had suggested to him. The interior was wood-paneled and decorated with old photos, giving the place a rustic feel. The food smelled good at least, which Jimmy needed after Clark had burnt their breakfast.

Lois was the first inside, heading over to one of the tables and sitting down. Jimmy and Clark joined her, sitting down in the other chairs and setting down their bags. A weight hung between them, invisible but nonetheless very obvious. The three of them exchanged looks, awkward smiles and tense postures.

“So, uh… How are things?” Lois asked.

Jimmy folded his arms, focusing his gaze squarely on her. “Oh, I’m fine. Clark is–”

“–Also doing ok,” Clark interrupted, fiddling with his glasses. “Uh, I mean, I’m ok. Almost done editing that article on the big police raid.”

“Good,” Lois said. “Mr. White is hoping to get that out before the Gotham Gazette.” Her eyes hastily darted back to the menu, before darting just as quickly to Clark. “Uh, Clark. I know–”

“Have you both decided what you want to order?” Clark asked suddenly. Both of them mutely nodded, after which he stepped back and stood up. “Good. I’ll go order for us.” 

As he marched off towards the counter, Jimmy reached into his backpack and pulled out a laptop. Unlocking the device, he began to scroll through a variety of news articles, more idly scanning than anything else. Lois rubbed her hands together, commenting, “Well. He, uh… He seems to be doing ok…?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy agreed, clicking off of the Daily Planet and opening up the Gotham Gazette. “Clark went for a fly after your… Talk, last night. Ran into a Gotham vigilante hunting arms dealers by the docks. He’s teamed up with her to bring the guys down.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s good. Yeah, good. It’ll be a nice story for the headlines, at least. Maybe we can get it before Vicki Vale, that’ll be—”

Jimmy held up a hand. “Lois. You’re rambling.”

“Right,” Lois said. “Sorry.”

“Though you got a point”, Jimmy said, not even looking at his co-worker. “Maybe you breaking Clark’s heart will have a silver lining after all.” 

Jimmy watched as Lois shrank back in her seat, rubbing her upper arms. “Look, Jimmy. I know I hurt him.”

He sputtered, folding down the screen after opening an interesting-looking article to glare at her. “Hurt him? Woman, he came home looking like a bomb just wiped his hometown off the map. Like some serious shell-shock stuff. Like I said, that vigilante he’s going to be working with tomorrow night is the only reason he isn’t back at our apartment, crying into his pillow.”

Lois returned his stare, her expression wavering between sorrow and her typical hard-headed glare. “Look. Would you have preferred I said nothing?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“If I didn’t just rip it off like a band-aid last night,” Lois said, leaning forward to speak quieter. “Look, it’s like I told him. Things just… I didn’t like him like he obviously liked me. But if I hadn’t done that, if I’d just kept playing, it would’ve only gotten us hurt more. Me being stuck in a relationship I didn’t feel committed to, and him even more if I broke up with him later. Is that what you wanted?”

Sighing, Jimmy shook his head. “No, I guess not,” he said. “That’s… fair. You still could have done it a bit more gently.”

“How?”

Jimmy opened his mouth to reply, before closing it. “Ok. Again, that’s fair.” 

Just then, two things happened at once. First, Jimmy opened back up his laptop, scanning the article he had opened. The second was Lois looking at the counter as a commotion broke out. That commotion was Clark and a woman in a leather jacket, the latter holding a spilled cup of coffee and murder in her green eyes. 

“Oh…” Jimmy said. “Oh, that’s not good.”

Lois gaped at the scene, wincing as coffee dripped down the sleeve of the woman’s leather jacket and on Clarks shirt. “Yeah, oof. That’s not going to be easy to get out.”

“No, not that,” Jimmy said, flipping around his laptop. On it was a news article, talking about the latest Mob Boss to make waves in the criminal world of Gotham. About the bombing of a high-rise office linked to them. About the Red Hood. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

Clark thought he was taking the break-up rather well. Although being so distracted that he ran into someone maybe wasn’t the best indication of that. 

He blinked, startling and backing away before he bowled the woman over. Coffee splattered everywhere, darkening his shirt and sending a trailing stain down her leather jacket. “I am so sorry!” Clark said, holding up his hands as he looked down at the woman he had bumped into. 

Though, not by much, as she was pretty close to his height. Her hair was short and pulled into a choppy ponytail, pitch black save for a streak of white across her bangs. She wore a now-stained leather jacket, paired with green cargo pants and combat boots. What drew Clark’s attention, however, was the hard-edged face and a pair of poisonous, almost glowing green eyes.

“Asshole,” she growled out in a thick Gotham accent, staring down at her jacket sleeve. She then looked up at him, eyes still a shade of green reminiscent of cartoon toxic waste. Before Clark could say anything else, she stopped past him, throwing the half-empty cup of coffee into a trash can with enough force to emit a metallic ring. 

Clark could only rub the back of his head, watching as she turned and disappeared into the alley next to the cafe. He looked back at Lois and Jimmy, mouthing an apology to them real quick, before quickly heading out after her.

He saw her leaning against the wall, scrubbing at her stained sleeve with the other one. She had partially taken it off, revealing a black T-shirt with the words 'I will not keep calm and you can all f*** off' running down it in white text. A string of profanities spilled from her mouth, jumbled together and almost unintelligible through her accent. Finally, she leaned back and growled out a simple, “Damnit.”

“Uh, hey?” Clark said, stepping forward tentatively.

She turned, her eyes narrowing dangerously at his appearance. “The fuck you want, you piece of shit?”

“I just wanted to apologize,” Clark said. “Just, uh… Yeah, sorry.”

“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Because sorry is going to get this out. Son of a bitch, I just got this thing.” He stamped her foot on the ground, crushing a discarded can flat. 

Clark swallowed. “Uh, yeah. So, again, that’s my bad. So–”

“Wait,” the woman said. She stepped away from the wall, fully taking the jacket off and slinging it over her shoulder. Now free from the confines of that jacket, a toned physique like that of a gymnast was revealed. A few faded white lines crisscrossed her arms, along with one he now noticed on her face. If he didn’t know better, he would swear that one looked like the letter ‘J’ carved into her cheek. “Sorry.”

“I bumped into you–”

The woman held up a hand. “And I yelled at you for trying to apologize. So, at the very least, I’m as much of a bitch as you’re a prick.”

Clark blinked, connecting the dots between her comment. “Uh, right. Well, apology accepted.”

“Anyway, as recompense, do you know a good dry cleaner around here?” she asked, reaching into her pocket for an old iphone. 

“Why?” Clark asked. “Are you not from around here?”

“What? Did the accent give me away?” she asked, the biting sarcasm accompanied once again by a roll of her eyes.

Clark let out a heavy sigh. “Guess I’m taking it worse than I thought…”

He thought he had said that quietly enough not to draw her attention, but she clearly had heard him. “Huh?”

“Sorry. Just a… Well, not a bad breakup, but a break-up. It’s not important,” he said. “Anyway, Mr. Vinh’s on 22nd is a good place. Cheap, too.” He looked down at his own shirt, a brown stain already drying on the white fabric. “It’s the one I’m gonna use, anyway.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Well, good luck with… I guess just have a good one.”

Clark shook his head as he watched her go. Ok, so maybe he wasn’t taking it as well as he thought. That was… Well, that was a mess. Still, at least he had made it right in the end. And that night, he would do some more good by helping out the Red Hood in shutting down those arms smugglers. With that worked out, he headed back inside the cafe, wondering what Lois and Jimmy were talking about.

Chapter Text

Clark had read the article enough times to have it memorized, but he read it again. It was mostly about the incident where a high-rise office had an explosion go off, almost completely destroying the floor and killing half a dozen people. However, the latter third of the article talked about the Red Hood. The newest criminal mastermind in Gotham, one that had carved out a swath of territory through ruthlessness and violence.

It had been a full day since he had learned the truth about the Red Hood, and he was still puzzling through it. A crime boss. He had agreed to help a crime boss wipe out the competition. That would be quite the headline, wouldn’t it? ‘Man of Steel acts as Underworld Enforcer?’

“It’s close to when you said you were meeting her,” Lois said, drawing his gaze up. She and Jimmy were sitting on the couch next to him, finishing with their bowls of Chinese takeout. He had a portion of chow mein in front of him, but hadn’t touched it.

He nodded, closing his laptop and setting it next to his chair. “Fifteen minutes from now.”

“So…” Jimmy said, waving his chopsticks in a loose circle. “What are you going to do? I mean, arrest her?”

That would be the most appropriate thing. Why was he even thinking about this? Just go to the meeting spot, restrain her, and hand her over to the police. It was the simplest thing in the world!... So why was he hesitating?

“I… I just don’t get it,” Clark said. “She said that she and Batman had similar goals. Getting rid of crime, protecting people, all that… So why’d she become a Crime Boss?”

“Because she was probably lying out of her ass,” Jimmy said.

Lois nodded, rubbing her chin. “Yeah, yeah. Like how she said she was a vigilante. It was just something to get you on her side, and—”

“She didn’t say that.”

Jimmy and Lois blinked, looking at one another before looking back at Clark. “What?” Jimmy asked.

Clark swallowed. “I mean, she didn’t outright say that she was one. Just what I said. That she and Batman had similar goals. They didn’t work together anymore, but that they wanted the same thing.”

“She worked with him before?” Lois asked. Her eyes narrowed, foot tapping a rapid beat. Clark could practically see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. “Hmm…”

“Ok. Let’s just assume she’s not a psycho crime boss and is a psycho… Whatever she is. She’s still a mass murderer!” Jimmy threw up his hands. “I mean, she blew up that guy's office building, and killed a bunch of people taking over her territory too. She’s still a bad guy.”

Lois held up a hand. “Hold on.” She stood up, taking long steps over to grab Clark's laptop taking the same strides back to sit back down. Opening it, she flipped through the article, before rapidly typing out a search, scrolling through more articles. “That’s… that’s very interesting.”

“What is it?” Clark asked. 

Turning the laptop around, she showed him and Jimmy a mugshot. At first, Clark thought the man was wearing a mask for some reason. A second image, however, revealed that the carved skull the man was wearing was his actual face. “This is Roman Sionis. Nothing’s been proven—in court, at least—But this guy is supposed to be a major player in the Gotham underworld. This. This is whose office Red Hood blew up.”

“So she attacked some other crime boss,” Jimmy said. “Big whoop.”

“There’s… It fits,” Clark said. Once again, both eyes were on him, and he sighed. “I did a bit of digging on my own. Something just… didn’t add up. I looked, and all the people she killed? At least the ones that are confirmed to be here? They’re all other criminals. Arms dealers, drug peddlers; even a high-end Assassin.”

“A criminal killing criminals,” Jimmy said, before snapping his fingers. “That must be what she meant. She and Batman both want to stop crime, but because she kills people, they stopped working together.”

Clark nodded, a frown still on his features. They had a piece of a puzzle, but they were still missing so much. There was a motive, but no reason for it. They could only get more information from the source. “I… I’ll go meet her. Not arrest her, but… Well, there are some questions that need answering.”

“We’ll keep digging on our end,” Jimmy said. “See if we can find out anything else.” Lois nodded, a determined glower on her face. Clark nodded, turning away and quickly slipping on his Superman suit. Within moments, he was out of his apartment window, soaring across the city towards the docks. 

Red Hood wasn’t there. He swept the whole section of the Docks after he couldn’t find her at the spot, but there was no sign of her. A quick look at a nearby public clock revealed that he was at least ten minutes late to their meeting, and she had taken that as enough. Probably thought he would find out about her criminal activities and bailed when he didn’t show up immediately.

He would have yelled in frustration if he hadn’t spotted a tire mark on the street, jumping off the curb and racing down the street. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He took to the air again, following along the road and straining his ears for any sound that might be her. Her modulated voice, the squeal of her motorcycle… There! Gunfire!... Not very reassuring, but it was something.

He flew up to the building where the noise was coming from, a small office building on the edge of the industrial zone. Examining the place with his X-ray vision, he spotted the Red Hood immediately. She was, once again, in the thick of a fight, rolling out of the way of another one of those bio-robots while popping off shots at a variety of thugs that were closing in on her from all sides. She flipped backward, tossing a grenade into the robot's face, stunning it with the explosion, before ducking into cover behind a crate. 

“Give it up, you crazy bitch!” one of the Mobsters yelled, stepping forward and aiming a rather large rifle at her cover. “You’re outmatched, and you’re all alone. Make this easy on yourself and drop your weapons!”

Well, that was his cue. Clark backed up slightly to give himself some extra momentum, before swooping down, low and fast. He slammed a fist into the brick wall of the warehouse, sending a blast of bricks into the bio-robot. It toppled back, half-buried, while the thugs backed away in shock, those closest coughing up dust from the impact. As it cleared, Clark could instantly see their heartbeats accelerate once they registered his presence. 

“Who said she was alone?”

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

Jasmine really hadn’t been that surprised when Superman didn’t show up at their meeting. It couldn’t be that hard to find information about the Red Hood online, so Superman would likely know about her less-than-legal activities. Honestly, she was happy that he hadn’t turned up in order to arrest her. Not wanting to take the chances that he would do just that, she packed up after only a short amount of time had passed, following the signal of the tracker she placed on the arms dealer from two days ago. 

That led her along the main road running parallel to the docks, ending at an office complex bordering a large lot full of factories and more offices. Parking the bike, she used a grappling hook to climb up onto the roof, peering down through a skylight.

Gotham was no stranger to well-organized criminal enterprises; hell, Batman had tangled with the old Mafia Families before the Rogues had cropped up and taken most of their territory. But this was something else. 

Only a few cubicles remained, lining the walls in order to create an illusion of a normal office. The rest of the space, running down the two floors she could see, was dominated by benches and machinery, filled with scattered parts and pieces of muscle or organs in goo-filled tubes. Technicians scrambled back and forth, assembling one of the bio-robots she and Superman had fought two days ago. Others were loading some kind of advanced rifle into large crates, while armed men supervised from the corners.

Well, all of this was good enough for her. The signal was coming from a room on the top floor, so this was a good place to start. She pulled out her pistols, flicked off the safeties, and stamped on the skylight's lock. Before any of the technicians or guards below could react, she had knocked down the glass and landed in the center of the room, popping off shots at anything that moved.

Things had been going well, actually. Until a technician turned on one of the robots. And over a dozen men came racing up from the floor below, guns blazing. Both had sandwiched her between them, forcing her back, though at least she kept her target behind her.

She had been planning on making a run for him and using him as a hostage when Superman came in, breaking down the wall. 

All fire instantly shifted to him, though the thug's bullets had the same effect as Nerf darts. The robot, of course, attracted his full attention, allowing Jasmine to slip around the crate and take on the thugs. Her pistols sang, rubber bullets knocking the air out of them and allowing her to stun or bash them into submission. The Lazarus in her blood sang, though it called for more. More blood, more broken bodies, more everything.

Normally, she would have given in to those urges. She had always liked to fight, and the Pit only made it even more of a rush. But Superman was there, breaking the robot apart with heavy blows to its limbs. It wouldn’t do to make him even more opposed to her. So, she grits her teeth and keeps her hand from breaking the last man’s neck. 

As she sent that last thug sprawling to the ground, Superman had snapped the robot in half against one of the pillars of the room, leaving the two in a heavy silence. They stared at one another, Jasmine glaring behind her helmet. “So…”

“Hey,” Superman said. “So, this is where the guy is?”

“Depends,” Jasmine said. The guy in question was sneaking out of the room, skirting along the cubicles trying to head for the stairwell. “Are you going to arrest me after you arrest this guy?”

“I helped you, didn’t I?” Superman said, before holding up his hands. “Look. I… I know what you did.”

“I expected you too,” she said.

He sighed. “Look. We can… We can talk after this. But I just want to make sure we’ve got this guy.”

“Ok then,” Jasmine said. She raised a pistol, firing a shot into the man’s leg. He yelped tumbling to the ground. Superman whirled around, watching the man groan, clutching his leg. Jasmine holstered her pair of pistols, stepped around the knocked-over work tables, and grabbed the man by the collar. “Remember me, shitheel?”

She shoved him into the wall, eliciting another groan of pain. “Fucking bit–” She punches him in the stomach, interrupting his insult. He coughed and hacked up a small amount of blood, while she pressed her forearm into his chest. “I’ve got rights!”

“Do I look like a cop?,” she said. “Now, I just want to ask you a few questions. After that, I’m sure that there will be a nice, cozy cell for you to recover in. How does that sound?” He didn’t reply, his head lolling around but eyes remaining locked on her. “Good. Now. Who do you work for?” He stared at her, prompting her to roll her eyes and pull out one of her pistols. “Just give me a name, asshole.”

“Alright, alright,” he said. “He calls himself the Ultra-Humanite. Smart guy, pays well. Stupid name, though.” He groaned again, a hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head. “Look, I’m just a salesman. I just–”

She wasn’t in the mood for the typical spiel these types had. She pressed him tighter, pressing him against the pillar. “Not interested. So, Ultra-Humanite. You’re right; it’s a dumb name. So, where can I find him to tell him?”

“I don’t know,” he said, sweat pouring down his face. “He communicates online and through intermediaries. I’ve never even seen him! Please, just let me go!”

Superman coughed behind her. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw him standing there awkwardly, a nervous expression on his face. “Look, I don’t know if–”

“I’m handling it,” she snapped before turning back to the dealer. He was really sweating now, rivulets of water running down his face and staining his greasy black hair. “If you don’t know where, then tell me anything you can. Otherwise, I’ll be rather upset, and start ripping your–”

With the sickening smell of burning meat, the thug began to scream. She backed away, nearly dropping her gun in shock as the man fell to his knees. Smoke came from the back of his head as he tried to reach behind him to claw at it. His body then fell, twitching and still streaming smoke, to the floor. A small strip of metal, glowing white-hot, peaked through his hairline just below the nape of his skull. 

Superman stepped up next to him, nerves replaced by horror. “He… What happened?”

“I… Some kind of biological kill-switch, I guess,” she said, equally disturbed. She had known about similar devices or at least mentalities. One thing that the League of Assassins had drilled into its initiates was that it was better to kill yourself than be captured alive. But this… Well, it was the first time she had seen it in action.

Superman looked at her. After swallowing, he looked at her with renewed determination. “Well, we’ve got to stop this guy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jasmine said. Before she could say anything else, the familiar ring of police sirens reached her ears, and she swore under her breath. “Ok, check the office he came from. Files, spreadsheets, anything you can. I’ve got to go.”

He grabbed her arm before she could make it even one full step, staking her in place. “We need to talk.”

“And we will,” Jasmine said. “But me being here can only end badly for both of us. Grab those documents if you can, or at least allow the cops to let you look at them. I’ll be at our original meeting spot. Just… Again, not here.” 

He was clearly displeased by her comment, but nodded nonetheless. She raced towards the hole in the wall, leaping out of it. She drew and swept her grappling hook back, the hook wrapping around a jutting brick and slowing her descent. She retracted the hook after reaching the ground, swiftly mounting her motorbike. She was on the move, racing down the coastal road just as the cops were pulling up to the office. 

She briefly considered simply shooting past the meeting point, going to ground before the big guy could track her down. Technically, the dealer who was smuggling weapons into Gotham was dead, and she could be on the road before the Big Guy was done dealing with the cops. She still had no guarantee that he wouldn’t try to arrest her, and disappearing was her best bet to avoid that. 

But then again, he had found her relatively easily. Who’s to say he couldn’t find her again just as easily? Running would definitely put her on his shitlist, and she didn’t need to be one of anyone else. Besides, the guy in charge- This Ultra-Humanite -could just as easily replace him. Cutting out the root was the only way to stop these bio-robots. And at the moment, the only way she could do that was through the big blue boy scout.

So, with a tired sigh and an ache in her head, she slid off her bike at the original meeting point and waited. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

Clark hoped that Red Hood was being genuine with him. Because lying to the police was something he never wanted to do again.

“So,” the Police Sergeant said. “You, uh… Got a new partner or something?”

“Kinda?” Clark said, unsure how to refer to her. “More like we’re after the same group of guys and decided to work together.”

“They got a name?” one of the Officers called over, pausing from snapping a photo of the arms dealer who had had his head blown out. 

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because he couldn’t just tell them that he was working with a Crime Boss. He had built up a rapport with the local police force, and that would all be thrown away if he said who his “partner” was. At the same time, he had to give them something. “Red, uh…” His eyes skirted the room, eventually falling on a pair of broken fluorescent lights, forming a crude ‘X’ shape. “Red X. I don’t know a whole lot about her, but she’s proven reliable.”

“If you trust her, that’s all I need for now,” the Sergeant said. 

Things progressed quickly from there. The cops allowed him to take some photos of the documents that had been retrieved from the office, detailing everything from shipments to what they were producing. It was an extensive operation, and even with all of this information, there were plenty of holes and gaps that needed to be filled. “Looks like we’ll all have our work cut out for us.”

Clark had to agree with the Sergeant’s assessment. With a final thanks from the police team, Superman departed, soaring up into the clouds before turning towards the docks. Honestly, Clark had been here more in the past four days than he ever had before, even when dealing with Intergang.

Fortunately, Red Hood was indeed waiting for him. He touched down next to her, drawing her attention with a lazy glance over her shoulder. “For someone that fast, I thought you’d be quicker here.”

“Dealing with the police took a decent amount of time,” he said. She let out an amused chuckle, before standing up and crossing her arms. Her nonchalant posture made a spark of annoyance flare up within him, and he matched her glare. “Look, you owe me an explanation.”

“Technically, I don’t,” she said. “But, go right ahead. Ask whatever question you want.”

Clark opened his mouth before closing it again. Now that he was there, nothing was springing to mind. He frowned, turning away from her bright crimson helmet, and staring into the dark water they were standing next to. He couldn’t see much in the murky reflection, but could just make out the blue, red, and yellow of his outfit.

“When you said that you and Batman had similar goals,” he said, speaking slowly and deliberately. “What did you mean? That you both want to stop crime?”

“Pretty much,” the Red Hood said, shrugging. “Crime isn’t something you can just punch into oblivion. I aimed to control it. Channel it so that it wouldn’t hurt too many people.”

“So you stopped working with Batman and started working against him?”

Red Hood seemingly froze at the question, her casual posture going stiff with tension. “Yeah,” she said icily. “That’s about right.”

Well, there was some history in that statement he didn’t feel like prying into. Well, he kind of did, out of his professional curiosity as a journalist and something he couldn’t quite place, but he didn’t. “So.”

“So?” she asked. “Now what? You want to call of our little collaboration?”

“If I was going to do that, I wouldn’t have shown up,” he said.

Red Hood rolled her head, staring up into the night sky. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess so.” She fiddled with one of her gun holsters, and after a moment Clark realized she was shutting the synthetic leather flaps. “Truce?”

Clark couldn’t believe he was doing this, but nodded. “Truce.” His stomach twisted at the thought of working with a Crime Boss, but something about her was different. She wasn’t just a profit or blood-hungry mafioso; based on what he and his friends had found out, and what she herself had said, there was some kind of moral component to it. A desire to do good. Maybe he could help her with that, try and convince her to abandon the whole ‘Criminal Enterprise’ thing.

“Now, what did you find in that office?” she asked, pulling him back to the present. He pulled out the burner phone that Jimmy had gotten him for these occasions, showing her the photos. “Hold on.” She pulled out a phone of her own, showing him a phone number. “Just send them to me. It’s getting kinda late, and I’ll look them over on my own time. Plus, it’s a more efficient way to communicate than just arranging meet-ups.”

“Fair enough,” Clark said, typing in the number. He heard her phone buzz a few moments later. She studied the screen for a few moments before sliding it back into her pocket, nodding at him. 

“Anything else?” she asked. 

Clark flushed with residual embarrassment, rubbing the back of his head as he remembered what he told the Cops. “I, uh… I couldn’t just tell the authorities I was working with a known Criminal, so I gave them another name…”

“What name?” she said. Even though he couldn’t see her face, he could picture the eye roll she was giving him. 

He swallowed and said, “R-red X?” She once again went stiff at the comment, before a slight quiver overtook her. At first, Clark was concerned she was shaking with some of the rage he had seen her fight with earlier. Instead, she burst out laughing, her mechanical syntheziser making the noise crack and distort with static. “Uh… What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she said, waving her hand in his face. “Just… Some dickhead I knew used to use an alias like that. I-I’ll text you later.” She hopped back onto her motorbike, still chuckling to herself, and sped off down the road. She swerved around an intersection and disappeared into the city streets, leaving Clark with some answers but many more questions.

Chapter Text

Jasmine was still occasionally chuckling to herself the next day as she scanned over the Arms Dealer’s files. Red X. Of course Superman, in his blind panic, would come up with the exact same alias that Dick had when he was temporarily working for Deathstroke. Since the costume from his little lapse in judgment was in the Batcave, she even had a template to go off of.

After another giggle, she pulled her face into a frown. It was almost perfect unless Dickhead found out and came up to Metropolis to investigate. That would just complicate everything. Like it wasn’t complicated enough.

She rolled her shoulders, looking over her shoulder to look at the various pieces of clothing strewn across her futon. A pure black leather jacket instead of the black-and-grey windbreaker, black pants, a shoulder cape, and a modified hockey mask. She still had to add on the ‘X’ to the mask, but everything else would be her already existing gear. So long as she covered everything, nobody would know it was her. 

There was certainly a valid point to taking on the new identity. Superman actually seemed to get along with the city police, as opposed to the Bat, who only really got along with Gordon and Montoya. It was why they just gave him the files as opposed to him having to hack or break into their precinct in order to steal them. If he were working with an obvious crime boss, that would make things… Well, complicated. Everything just made things more complicated.

So, she was stuck with the Red X get-up until she could come up with something better. Hopefully, that would be soon, and she could drop it completely if she stopped working with Superma—

Wait, if? Why if? She had planned to just lie low, take care of a rival's supplier, and then head back to Gotham. Where in that would she still be working with the big blue Boy Scout? For that matter, why would she want to? He was a moral busybody, a dumbass who couldn’t plan or fight properly, and just… Genuine.

That was what separated him from the Bat. Bruce’s moral code was as ironclad as Superman’s, but there was a certain defensive intensity to how he expressed it. Almost like he had to justify and defend everything he did… Because he did, of course. Maybe because he hadn’t been doing vigilante work for over a decade, or maybe it was something else, but for Superman, it was… Well, it was just a simple, genuine desire to do good. 

She couldn’t explain it. There was just something about him that made him likable. “God, I spend too much time around assholes,” she muttered to herself. “Makes him look like a Saint.”

She sighed, propping her head up on her fist. He wasn’t as intense as Bats, either; that certainly helped him be less annoying. Plus, he didn’t hurt to look at. That spandex really—

“Fuck,” she said, standing up and looking at the ceiling. “Stop it, Jayce. So he’s… Whatever. He’s probably not interested in fucking a Crime Boss.” She ran a hand through her hair and turned back to the desk. Nothing like working through paperwork in order to distract oneself.

She swiped her laptop’s touchpad back and forth, booting it back up and pulling back up the pictures of the documents that Supes had sent her. This Ultra-Humanite guy had an extensive network of proxies and people that he dealt with. People who supplied him, those who partially assembled the pieces, and those who transported them all worked separately, including from legitimate businesses. If there weren’t something like these documents to frame the picture, then one would be hard-pressed to make the connection.

But it was only things related to this one operation. Just their suppliers and contractors; no doubt, there were numerous other people involved, let alone the guy who ran the thing was completely out of the picture. Of course, that was just at a first glance of only one document.

She cracked her knuckles and sighed. A boring part of the job, but a necessary one if she was to find her target. Plus, again, it would distract her from thinking about Superman and his— She groaned, rubbed her temples, and went back to reading. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

Despite the flurry of activity he was now involved in as Superman, Clark couldn’t ignore his work at the Daily Planet. He and the others had come into the office, listened to a daily motivational speech from Mr. White, and got to work rooting through sources for their current slate of stories. 

Since the stories published on Superman in the previous weeks, Lois, Clark, and Jimmy had been catapulted from newbies to stars amongst the office. Of course, that just meant they were given more challenging stories and had to churn things out quicker. It wasn’t more than they could handle, but it meant the three of them had to move like a well-oiled machine, leaving no room for idle chit-chat or talking about the Red Hood. Or, well, Red X, as she would be taking the moniker for a while.

Finally, with a final tap of the ‘enter’ key on his computer, he finished the article he absolutely had to get done before lunch. He leaned back in his chair, sighing deeply and letting his steadily growing headache pound on for a few moments. “That was… That was a lot.”

“Tell me about it,” Jimmy said. “At least that’s all we need to do for today.”

“What you have to do, you mean,” Clark said. “I’ve still got another two pieces I need to get edited.”

“Not right now, at least,” Lois said. “Now, we get some lunch.”

“Right,” Clark said, reaching under his desk and pulling out a small paper bag. “I brought PB&J, if that’s alright.”

“You are a lifesaver, Clark,” Jimmy said, taking the offered sandwich.

The three of them ate in silence for a few moments, simply decompressing from the scramble of work. Clark adjusted his glasses, rubbing his temples to massage back that growing headache. A long gulp of water helped ease the pain, and he simply took the moment to relax. This was what he was fighting for, after all. Just allowing people to relax in safety, not having to worry about crime or being hurt or anything. Well, it was more complicated then that, but in essence that was his goal. 

“So,” Lois said, polishing off her sandwich and producing a tablet. She looked out of the small office they were working in, seeing that the nearest person to them was a pair of digital editors talking by a water cooler. “About the Red Hood. You were right. About the whole ‘not just being a criminal’ thing, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “There are a couple of social media threads about her. Reddit and stuff like that. Apparently, she’s something of a Folk Hero to people in Gotham. Well, in this place called Park Row, at least.”

“Park Row?” Clark asked. “Never heard of it.”

“You, uh… You’d probably know it better as Crime Alley,” Lois said. Clark winched, rubbing his nose. Yeah, he had definitely heard of Crime Alley. Even if he hadn’t done a bit of research into the Wayne Murders for a class in High School, everyone who had heard of Gotham had probably heard of Crime Alley. It was one of the city's most defining areas, right next to the rich neighborhood of Bristol and the historic Old City. 

“In what way?” Clark asked. 

Lois shrugged. “The people just like her. A lot of them didn’t go into specifics; they clammed up pretty hard when I started asking questions. But they still defended her from other users disparaging her. One of them said she was ‘One of Them’, or something like that.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy added. “And they’re not just criminals either. I looked up one of the users, and found out they ran a convenience store. No criminal record, no nothing. Just an ordinary person.” He frowned, setting down his half-eaten sandwich. “But, that’s the weird part. I mean, why?”

“Because she’s one of them,” Clark said. “Must be from there or something.”

“That was my thought,” Lois said. “The only thing I’m missing out on is her connection to Batman. She said that she worked with him before, and I’m just not figuring out what she’s talking about.”

“Hey, you figured out my little secret,” Clark said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out.”

“So you are going to be working with her,” Jimmy said, folding his arms and glaring disapprovingly.

Clark sighed again, taking off his glasses to look at his best friend. “Look, I know you don’t like this–”

“Understatement of the decade,” Jimmy replied. 

“But I… Well, not trust her. But I want to,” Clark said. “There’s something… Something about her. She obviously wants to help people. Maybe I can, I don’t know, convince her to stop it with the murdering?”

“If… If you say so,” Jimmy said. Clark did. He felt it. Even if the two of them had been keeping one another at arm's length, he wanted to help her. Maybe he could. That was what he wanted to do, right?

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

A series of texts between the two set up their next meeting. The meeting point was once again the docks, albeit a different section with a foreclosed warehouse. For once, Superman actually beat her there, pacing back and forth across the debris-strewn floor. He didn’t look angry or anything, which was good, but something was clearly eating at him. 

With a sigh, she rolled forward, dropping through the window and landing on her feet in front of him. He jumped at her appearance, which earned a frown from her as she came over to him. “Hey. All good?”

“Y-yeah,” he said, brushing back his hair. “Why? Is something wrong on your end?”

“Nah, all good,” she replied. “But you’ve got good senses and all that, yet seemed surprised when I popped in. You’re distracted with something.”

“It’s just work stuff,” he said, waving a hand. “Uh, secret identity work stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.” This guy was a terrible liar; even if his poker face weren’t as brittle as glass, Batman had taught her too many tells about people lying that she was able to pick up on it.

Just what he was lying about, of course, was up in the air. Was what he was thinking about more personal than work? Was it about her? Was it to do with his Superman persona or whatever? Eventually, she shrugged. Wasn’t her business. 

“Right,” she said, coming up and leaning against one of the pillars. “All good.”

Superman nodded, looking her over. She rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck before running a hand over her new get-up. Mostly the same as before, consisting of cargo pants tucked into combat boots, a loose jacket over body armor, and a high-tech helmet. However, the jacket and pants were a shade of navy blue bordering on black, a hood was pulled up over the helmet, and the helmet itself was spray-painted that same navy blue. The exception was a front, where a stylized skull and a red ‘X’ were painted on. 

“Looks, uh… Looks good,” Superman said. “Don’t you think it’s pretty similar to your Red Hood look, though?”

“Most people aren’t as observant as you think, big guy,” Jasmine said. “Besides, this alias isn’t exactly well-known. I should be fine.” Well, unless Dick or one of his friends from the Titans took notice, but that hopefully wouldn’t be the case. Superman nodded, brow furrowed in a way that suggested he was unconvinced. “Look, big guy. Trust me on this. I’ve been doing this for a good couple of years now.”

“Alright,” he said, nodding slowly. “So, what did you want to meet up about? You said you didn’t have a target yet, but wanted to talk about something.”

Jasmine nodded, leaning back against one of the warehouse floor’s concrete pillars. “Yeah. Well, if we’re going to be working together, I think it would be a good idea to put all the cards on the table. You know, make it apparent to one another what we can do.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Superman said. “So, what? We just take turns hitting stuff?”

“I was thinking more sparring,” Jasmine replied, stepping off from the pillar and beginning to stretch.

Superman baulked at the statement, staring at her blankly. “Wait. What?”

“Sparring,” Jasmine said. “You know. Practice fighting. Get a feel for what the other can do so we don’t try and bite off more than we can chew.”

Her new ‘partner’ held up his hands, seemingly trying to placate her. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you, and–”

“You won’t,” Jasmine said. Seriously, she’d fought Bane, so fighting someone who was seriously strong wasn’t that big a deal. Granted, she had mostly played distraction while the Bat had taken the bruiser down, but that was semantics. “Again, I know what I’m doing.”

“I know you do, but I… I don’t want to hurt you, and if I go all out, then I could do so. Easily,” he said. “You have to understand, I… Things are like cardboard to me. I can rip a person apart like you ripping up cardboard. I… I don’t want to fight you.”

“You did before.”

“That was before I knew you weren’t–” He paused, seemingly realizing what he was saying and who he was saying it to. “I mean, before I knew you weren’t a complete… Well, completely a criminal, I guess. You’re just… Really confusing.”

“Humans are confusing,” Jasmine said, shrugging. She didn’t get a lot of people. Talia was a mess of confusing motives and genuine kindness, Dick could be the kindest and the angriest person she knew, and the less said about Bruce the better. “Now. Again, I can handle it.”

“Ok,” Superman said. “Just… If I hurt you, let me know.”

Jasmine nodded, hopping in place and shaking out her limbs, watching as Superman did some hesitant stretches of his own. After a few moments, he nodded to her, falling into a basic ready stance. “Ok, I’m good to–”

She sprinted forward before he could even finish his sentence, jerking to the side at the last second to dodge an instinctual deflection from the Man of Steel. She ducked under his attack, swinging out her leg and delivering a swift kick to the knee. He barely moved from the impact, though the impact sent a minor shockwave shooting up her knee.

Twisting out of the way of another punch, she backed up as he advanced on her, his guard still up and blows coming in hard and fast. He was able to deliver those blows quickly, and she knew the obvious power behind them. However, that was all he could do. He didn’t have much technique, and she had been taught, both due to her being smaller and being a woman, to use technique to her full advantage.

She ducked around a swing, sending her own punch into the big guy’s side. The blow sent him shifting around to face her, at which moment she shifted the other way, spinning and delivering a kick to his stomach. The blow sent him reeling more, and she leapt forward, jumping off his chest and flipping back, slamming the steel-tipped end of her boot into his chin. 

She landed in a crouch as Superman righted himself, shaking his head. She sprinted forward again, once again twisting to swing low. This time, stunned from the previous beating, the kick knocked him from his feet, sending him tumbling to the ground. She grabbed hold of his arm, twisting it around and pressing it behind his back at an awkward angle. “See what I mean?” she whispered into his ear. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah,” Superman said, hissing from the pain. Jasmine grinned beneath her helmet, pressing his arm down just a little bit harder. 

Suddenly, Superman shot forward, sending her tumbling through empty air. Before she could collapse fully to the ground, he twisted in the air and tackled her, sending them both crashing into one of the pillars. Her back screamed in protest from the impact as the concrete cracked under the impact.

The triumphant grin he was wearing instantly snapped into a shocked and terrified expression. “Oh God!” he said. “I’m so–”

“Don’t blaspheme,” Jasmine muttered, groaning and trying to shift her shoulders. He gave her some slack, allowing her to move them around and ease the tension on her back. “It’s ok. Nothing’s broken, and I heal quickly.” Already, she could feel the dull burning of the Lazarus Waters running through her veins begin to knit the damaged flesh back together.

“Are you sure? We can stop if you–”

Jasmine glowered at him; an expression she was almost certain bled through her helmet. “I said I’m fine.”

Superman nodded slowly, before looking somewhat downward and flushing bright red. Jasmine blinked before doing the same. There wasn’t anything necessarily inappropriate; they were simply pressed really tightly together, their bodies touching in multiple places. It was Jasmine’s turn to flush, especially as she saw his muscular arms and torso flexing as he took a large step back.

“Sorry! Sorry!”

She sighed, swinging her sore arms, and said, “You said that a lot, don’t you?”

“Right,” Supes said, still looking away. “Just, uh… Wow. You certainly can fight.”

“One of the few good things I’m good at,” she said, shrugging.

His frown remained, and if anything, only deepened. “I’m sure that’s not true. Everyone has to be good at something.”

Jasmine folded her arms, meeting his gaze. There wasn’t anything prying about his look, nothing to indicate that he was fishing for information. There was a genuineness to his statement, as if he were a fucking self-help couselor. Big Blue Boy Scout really was an accurate assessment.

“Anyway,” she said. “If you want, I can give you a few pointers."

“Alright,” he said. He stepped closer to her again, and she was once again thankful for her helmet. He raised his guard, a firm, confident grin once again plastered across his face.

She sighed, pushing aside whatever stupid feelings were bubbling up in her. She came over to him, pressing his hands aside and pulling his arms into a better guard. “Alright. Now, just do what I do.”

Chapter Text

Normally, a criminal hide-out at the top of a high-rise would be difficult to get to. She would have to find another nearby skyscraper and get to the top of that, then cross over to the target building. You had to have a special cable and ascenders to climb up it without being too exhausted to fight at the top. And all that was to say nothing of the requirements to extract from a location without access to a parachute or aircraft. In short, it was a hassle. 

Of course, having access to a flight-capable superhuman negated almost all of those issues. 

“You’re sure this is the right place?” Superman yelled into the roaring wind. Jasmine dangled beneath him, her legs swinging slightly as he flew in a loose circle around the skyscraper. Her jacket and hood flew behind her, mirroring her carrier's cape.

She looked up, meeting his gaze as best she could. “Yeah!” she yelled. “Everywhere else in those files was a warehouse or factory! This place is the only one connected to the Ultra-Humanite that isn’t! It was sending those guys either schematics or orders! Either way, this will hit ‘em hard!”

Superman nodded, his face set in a grim line. He kept flying around the building at a slow speed, allowing her to pull out a pair of binoculars to look closer at the building. The windows themselves were tinted, no doubt to prevent such simple espionage, but her binoculars were based on Bat-tech. When viewing the dark upper floors through the thermal mode, the whole section of the building lit up like a Christmas tree.

There had to be at least thirty people on those levels, spread out across the suite of rooms on the uppermost three floors. The bottom of those three floors housed the majority of them, spread out in uniform ranks like some form of office. The rest appeared to be guards, moving in slow rounds throughout those upper floors. Of course, those were only the ones she could see, and who knew how many of those robots were present amongst them? 

“Alright!” she said, tucking the binoculars back in her jacket. “Through the third floor from the top! Work our way up!” Superman nodded, coming to a brief stop in front of the wall. This high up, the lights from Metropolis all around them bathed the two of them in half-dimmed lights. Everything around her kept on moving, ignorant of what was about to happen.

There was always a tension before getting into a fight. Something weighty in the air in the moment before bullets and fists started flying. A tinge of green formed on the rim of her eyes, her pulse beginning to race at the prospect. Yeah, this would be fun. Finally, after several days of searching through files and following a complex money trail, she’d have the chance to get stuck into some scumbags.

“You alright?” Superman asked, drawing her out of her anticipatory reverie. “Your– Your heart rate just spiked.”

“Just getting ready,” Jasmine said. 

He seemed to buy it, as he merely nodded as well. “Right. Right. Cool. So, uh… Do you have any tips for that?”

Jasmine blinked, looking up at him once again. “How long have you been doing this?”

The big guy at least had the decency to look sheepish. If he hadn’t been holding her, she could almost imagine him rubbing the back of his head. It was… weirdly endearing. “Uh… Four months?”

“Four–” Jasmine cut herself off. Well, that explained a lot. “Just breathe. That’s the best advice I can give you; just breathe.”

“Ok,” Superman said. He spent a few short moments just breathing, seemingly also steadying himself. Finally, he rolled his shoulders, making Jasmine slightly jostle in his grip. “Ok. Ready when you are.”

“Been ready,” Jasmine said. 

With that, he shot forward towards the building. As they approached, Jasmine was angled back, being held almost parallel to her mode of transport. The windows grew steadily closer and closer, the reflection of the two smears of color that represented the two vigilantes growing steadily bigger. Finally, just before the two impacted the window, Superman sped to a halt, releasing his hold on Jasmine’s sides.

The two had practiced the move a few times after Jasmine had identified the target. It worked perfectly: She shot forward, feet-first, and crashed through the window, sending a shower of glass shooting in every direction. Luck was on her side, too, as her combat boots slammed into the side of one of the patrolling guards, sending the man sprawling. She fell on her back from the impact, but quickly flipped onto her feet, drawing both pistols as Superman flew through the hole behind her.

As Jasmine suspected, it was some kind of data center or office. Numerous tables were scattered around in some kind of geometric pattern, each housing at least several people and piled high with computers, papers, and machinery. The people who were scattered around the tables were the typical kind of white-collar criminals Jasmine had seen in the more sophisticated operations: suits and ties, clean hair, and sneering, rat-like faces.

Those faces widened in shock, though she wasn’t sure if it was at her or Superman. “Good evening, Scumbags!” Jasmine called, stepping over the groaning form of the guard she had knocked out. “Everyone put their hands above their head, and no one has to get hurt. Much.”

A flash of movement from a nearby staircase drew her eye. Two more guards, carrying some kind of advanced rifle, raced down the stairs. Her pistols snapped in that direction, popping off two bursts of shots at them. The rubber bullets didn’t drop the thugs as quickly as the real deal would, but they still collapsed.

“I’ll take care of things here,” Superman said.

Jasmine nodded, shooting one last look at the collection of scumbag technicians. They at least had the decency to look fearful, though that might be because they had kill switches like the supervisor of the last place. That might be something to look into. If she wanted to keep them alive, of course, she would have to either stop someone from flipping the switch or cut off the comms from telling someone to do that.

She slipped a pistol back into her holster, reaching onto her belt to pull out a flash grenade. Racing up the stairs, she pulled the pin with her thumb, tossing it around the lip of the staircase. Not stopping for even a moment, she raced up onto the next floor, pulling back out her pistol and beginning to pop off shots at the disorientated thugs. 

The two top floors were a penthouse of sorts, a visible gap allowing one to peer between the floors. It wasn’t exactly lavishly decorated, but comfy looking furniture and pieces of strange-looking art provided a good source of cover. The few thugs still standing raced to cover, pulling out weapons. 

Her blood was pumping, a feral grin splitting her lips. That grin faded as gunfire, along with what sounded like a laser charging up. She rolled out from behind the couch just as a beam of red light ripped a hole through it, leaving a blackened mark on the floor. “Fucking great,” she said, peaking out to put a shot into one of the less cautious thugs.

As she looked, she saw a figure on the upper floor grabbing a phone, ducking away from the rim. Well, that was an issue. She emptied her pistols, the rubbed bullet-filled magazines clattering to the floor. If that did what she thought they did, then all this would be for nothing; there was just no time to take it slow. Producing magazines loaded with real bullets, she slapped them home and set to work. 

She rolled out of the way as the laser was fired again, firing at the source. With a cut-off scream, the man lurched forward and tumbled over the railing. She booked it for the stairs, her legs burning with the strain as she bounded from cover to cover. More shots impacted around her, supersonic cracks ringing in her ears from the near misses. Taking the next staircase two at a time, she moved up to the top floor. 

One of the thugs was waiting for her, swinging down with a sparking baton. She leaned back, avoiding the blow, before swinging out with a kick that connected with his stomach. A second kick sent him flying back, slamming into the window which shattered under his collision. She turned before she could see what happened, spotting the last armed thug and the man with the phone desperately typing something onto the screen. Twin shots from each pistol put them down, one to the throat and the one with the phone having it shot from his hand.

She advanced, slower this time now that all the threats were dealt with. The man clutched his bleeding hand, groaning as he stared at the shattered phone. He looked up as she approached, pistols still leveled at him. “You don’t know who you’re–”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “Seriously, come up with some better material.” She put the pistols away, drawing her knife and pressing it against his throat. “Now. About your boss…”

Before he could even swallow, she heard the crushing of someone touching broken glass. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the thug who had been at the top of the staircase land on the shattered remnants of the window, groaning and writhing around. Superman hovered just outside the building, staring at the carnage around her with an expression of what could only be horror. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

Clark gaped, watching Red X standing over the bleeding form of the henchman. His eyes quickly scanned the room, taking in the several bodies that were scattered all over the top two floors. In total, he counted about ten of them. Four had no heartbeat. 

He’d known something had gone wrong when he heard the man fly out the window the floor above. He had finished corralling the technicians, so he was able to save him without too much effort. There was a hope that it was an accident; that Red X hadn’t intended to knock him out the window. However, that was dashed as he took in the far-too-still bodies. 

He knew about the Red Hood’s reputation. A ruthless crime boss who killed anyone that got in her way. He wasn’t naive, but he had hoped to help guide her back onto the straight and narrow. This was… Well, it was bad.

“Are you going to keep gaping?” Red X asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

The rest of the night passed in a blur. If killing the henchmen gave her any sense of guilt, she didn’t show it. Nothing much came from the still living henchmen, who clammed up after regaining consciousness. Many of the technicians were likewise tight-lipped, refusing to speak to either of them. In the end, the police were called, who took many of them into custody.

Red X stayed back, watching the cops suspiciously. They did likewise, especially after zipping up the several dead henchmen in bodybags. A tension hung in the air, so thick Clark didn’t even think his laser vision could cut through it. Finally, however, the Police thanked him, and he was able to leave with her. 

He landed on a nearby building, fixing her with a stern glare as she took a few steps away. “I know you want to say something,” she said. “So just say it.”

“Why’d you kill them?” he asked. 

She sighed heavily, almost as if she were expecting the conversation. “Because the guy in charge was going for a phone, likely to activate a kill-switch like what happened to that guy at the office. So, I had to end the fight quickly.”

“And that gave you the right to kill them?” he said, putting on a burst of speed to appear in front of her.

She turned away again, folding her arms. “Look, big guy. I’m a criminal. You knew what you were signing up for–”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” he said. “You said you want to help people. Criminals don’t want to help people; they just want to help themselves. Plus, I did some research. People talk about you like–”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Red X snapped. “So some people think I’m more effective then the Bat. I’m more effective because I actually remove threats. People like that, that’s their opinion.”

“But why?” he asked. “It’s… I’m sure you’ve heard the whole spiel about it being wrong–”

“A million fucking times,” she said. Clark hadn’t tried to look under her helmet with his X-ray vision, not wanting to betray her already shaky trust. Still, he could almost see her roll her eyes. “And so fucking what? These aren’t some peddlers doing it to feed a habit or because they have no choice. People in these kinds of groups know what they’re doing, and are doing it without remorse.”

“And that makes you Judge Jury and Executioner?” Clark asked. “I mean, what gives you the right to kill them?”

“No right,” she said. “Just an ability.”

Clark raked his fingers of her face, letting out a frustrated growl. “Come on. Work with me here.”

“I am,” she said.

“Not if you kill people!” he cried. He spread his arms, gesturing vaguely at the high-rise they had just come from. “You killed four men, and nearly killed another!”

“And they were bad guys,” she said in reply. By this point, she had abandoned looking away from him. Arms still crossed over her chest, she met his gaze unflinchingly, almost daring him to make a further move. “I did the world a favor. Now, there’s no chance of them hurting someone else. It’s not that hard.”

“No. You’re right,” he said. That answer seemingly caught her off-guard, as she straightened and the white slits of her helmet narrowed. “It is easy to kill someone. For me, especially… I can kill a normal person with a flick of my fingers. It… Everything is made of cardboard, for me. That building were were just in? I could bring it down with my bare hands in a matter of minutes. That’s why I don’t even want to think about killing someone. Because if it can be so easy… What will I become if–”

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped. “You’re right. I’ve heard it all before.” She looked him up and down, and once again, he could feel her frowning. “Maybe not like this. But sometimes, you have to put someone down for the best.”

“Like what? What reason could you have beyond taking the easy way out?”

As soon as those words left Clark’s mouth, he felt something shift in her. Her heart began to race, blood coursing through her at a pace on par with a rushing river. There was something else, as he looked closer. Behind the vision slits of her helmet, he swore he could see a paleful green glow. Her arms uncrossed, hands clenched into fists at her side. She looked into the dirty concrete of the building ceiling for a few moments. When she looked back up, all he could feel coming off of her was a stark, unflinching rage.

“Let me give you an example.” He had to suppress a shudder at her voice. Even when she was angry, there was always an energy in how she spoke. Now, as she spoke on that cold roof, her voice felt hollow. Dead. “Imagine… Imagine a girl. Early teenager. Good grades, a few friends and hobbies… Rebellious, but not bad.”

“Now… That girl gets kidnapped. Taken to some… Abandoned building by a psychopath. The… The Psycho begins to… To torture her. Hits her with crowbars, eletrocutes her, burns her. The whole time, he’s laughing and taunting her and… Laughing. He’s recording himself, too. Recording his crimes, and sending him to the girls… Her Father.”

Clark stared in wide-eyed shock, watching as she spoke with that flat, almost broken tone. “Then, one day, the Father finds out where the psycho has his little girl… As he arrives… The psycho blows up the warehouse… In front of him. Kills his daughter in front of him… And keeps laughing.”

She takes a step forward, the stop of her boot on concrete seeming to echo in his ears. “So yes. I can kill.” Her voice grew in volume, looking up into his eyes and daring to challenge her. “I can kill because some people are irredeemable.” She glared at him, that glow seeming to overwhelm the white lenses of her helmet. “Look me in the eye and tell me that a piece of death-worshipping garbage like that deserves to live!” Her gaze was unwavering, and Clark was drawn into the pools of white and green, almost hypnotized by the hate-filled glare. “TELL ME!”

Clark looked away, taking a step towards the rim of the building. He felt nauseous, her raw hate having somehow made bile rise in his throat. That, or there was something in her words that stuck with him. Her angry request churned in his gut, simply because of one simple truth:

He didn’t know.

“I…” Red X backed away, more echoing steps on the roof. Looking over his shoulder, he saw her posture shift. The glow died, her body going slack as the rush of energy from her outburst fading. “I… I’m sorry. I’ll…” She turned and ran, hopping over the lip of the building and disappearing into the dark alley below.

Chapter Text

Lois and Jimmy stared, wide-eyed in shock, as Clark told them what Red X had done and, more importantly, what she had said. Lois turned away, beginning to pace back and forth, her thoughts racing a million miles an hour. Jimmy slumped back against the couch, tapping his hands on his lap. “I, uh… Well, I hate to say I told you so. But, uh… I told you so.”

“Jimmy!” Clark said. He was sitting opposite the two of them, his face downcast and shoulders slumped. Lois hadn’t seen him this upset since learning about Zero Day, though there was a difference between then and now. After that revelation, Clark had been utterly hopeless. Now? There was an expression on his face that was something like disgust. No, not disgust, not quite at least.

“What?” Jimmy said. “I said she was shady. And she was shady! I mean, Clark, you said it yourself. She killed several people.”

“I think you’re missing the forest for the trees, Jimmy,” Lois said.

Jimmy turned his unimpressed glare onto her, one of his eyebrows rising to be nearly flush with his hairline. “Seriously? Lois.” He held up his hands, placing them together and pointing them at her. “We are talking. About. A. Murderer!”

“One who has, otherwise, been helpful,” Clark said. “I just… I’m confused.”

Lois was, too, though likely not in the same way. Clark, sentimental lunk that he was, was probably thinking about the morality of working with Red X, or Red Hood, or whatever. Lois, however, was trying to fill in the gaps of her friend's new partner. Like with her trying to uncover the secret identity of Superman, there was a desperate itch to uncover what she was dealing with.

“Again, there’s not much to be confused about,” Jimmy said. “She’s a crime boss. She kills people. You are Superman. You stop crime bosses and killers. I just– Why are you working with her?”

“Because it’s not that cut and dry, Jimmy,” Clark said. He stood up, pushing his glasses up on his face and sighing deeply. He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. After a few moments of simply standing there and breathing, he seemed to slump down, as if the strings holding him up had been cut. “It’s just not.”

“How?” Jimmy said.

Clark sighed again. “Look, I… The way she was talking made it sound like it was something that happened to her.”

“And!?” Jimmy said. “I get it. You feel sorry for her. But, assuming she is telling the truth, getting beaten up by some laughing maniac doesn’t mean anything for what she’s doing now!”

And back and forth and back and forth it went between the two of them. Lois didn’t catch the specifics, a fog coming over her ears as her mind ran a million miles a second. That one word made a bunch of connections in her head.

Red X used to work with Batman. If Clark was right and she was talking about herself, she had been tortured and killed by a “Laughing Maniac”. In the context of Batman, that could only be the Joker. The Joker had run roughshod over Gotham for years now, but…

She made her way over to her laptop, quickly opening up a new tab and beginning to search through online articles related to the Caped Crusader. Sure enough, as she looked, a pattern began to emerge.

One article talked about a crime spree the Joker took part in across Eastern Africa, and Batman and Robin being spotted pursuing him in Addis Ababa. Another was about the Joker being apprehended after a large explosion and chase down a major highway; there was no mention of Robin. Yet another asked a question about what happened to Robin after this whole excursion.

Lois’s eyes widened as the details started to fully coalesce in her mind. That… All of this made far, far too much sense. Her eyes flicked across the coffee table, spotting Clark’s phone sitting innocently on top of a stack of magazines. Jimmy and Clark had gone out onto the balcony, likely continuing their conversation in the more private space. She stole a glance at them, remembering some of what both of them had said. Both had a point: Red X was dangerous and, so far, unpredictable. But she was also helpful, and expressed a desire to do good. 

Like before with Superman, she wanted to get a good idea of what she was dealing with. And so, sucking in a deep breath and committing to her plan before she could change her mind, she reached for Clark’s phone. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

It was a simple request, though one she was dreading to fulfil. Ever since her outburst at Superman, she’d tried to stay on the down-low. A few days passed before she got the text, asking to meet up and talk. Well, lying low was never her strong suit, so she suited up and went out to face the music. 

She spotted the empty lot where she was supposed to meet the big guy. It was nestled between two apartment buildings and surrounded by a chain-link fence, reminding her of the lot where she and the Bat fought the Fearsome Hand of Four. She hoped that she wasn’t going to be ambushed this time, but let her hands hover near her pistols either way. 

“I’m here, big guy!” she called, turning in a circle. How the hell could someone so conspicuous be able to hide so well?

The more time passed without him appearing, the more tense she got. Was he compromised? As she shifted in place, her eyes scanning the rooftops for the silhouette of a sniper, she heard movement behind her. 

Turning on he spot and drawing a pistol, she saw a woman in a simple shirt and jeans. She looked vaguely familiar, especially with the short and messy haircut, though she couldn’t think of where she had seen her before. She yelped, throwing her hands in the air at the sight of the gun.

“Wait!” she said. “Don’t shoot.”

Great, she was intimidating random civilians now, as well as having outbursts at proper heroes. Just peachy. She put the gun away, holding up her hands placatingly. “Sorry. Look, I’m meeting someone here, so could you–”

“You meant to meet Superman here, right?”

Ok, maybe not a random civilian. A hand began to shift back towards her holster, but she kept her posture more or less relaxed. “Yes. How did you know?”

“I… I arranged the meeting,” the woman said. “I’m… I’m a friend of his.”

Jasmine’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the girl's face. There was something she remembered seeing in a news article. Some kind of tabloid about the ongoing beef between Vicki Vale and basically the entirety of the Daily Planet. “Lois Lane, right? The chick that did that interview with Superman?”

“That’s right,” she said. She folded her arms, sucking in a deep breath. “And you’re the second Robin.”

Her hand fell on her pistol, and she had to fight the pull of the green to pull it out and aim straight at her head. How the fuck did she know!? She couldn’t know. She was a reporter; she would go to her newspaper, and that would get to Batman, and he would– She could silence her. Get rid of her and stop the Bat from coming after her.

No, no she couldn’t do that. She was a scumbag, but she wasn’t a monster. “And what–” she said, slowly and dangerously. “– Gave you that impression?”

“You worked with Batman, but broke away,” she said, her gaze level. If she was afraid of her, she did a damn good job of hiding. “You talked about a scenario that sounded like the most popular theory of what happened to the second Robin. It… It fits.”

“Clever girl,” Jasmine said, tapping her holster. “So… How much do you want?”

“What?” Lois asked, her brow furrowing. 

Jasmine snorted, her vocoder making the noise come out as crackling static. “Come on. Rising star of a journalist like you? A scoop like this can make you big. So, how much do you want to keep quiet about this?”

“I’m not interested in money.” Potentially, though unlikely. “And I’m not going to publish this.” That was even more unbelievable. “I… I just want to understand. What happened, and what you want.”

She… wanted to talk? Just talk. Not pressure her for their own gain, not try to extort her to keep her secret… It was almost like Metropolis was a whole different world from Gotham. Or, more likely, she had just gotten a lucky streak of meeting good people for once in her life. So, she let her hand fall away from her holster, folding her arms over her chest and nodding slightly. “Ok.”

Lois blinked, tilting her head in confusion. “W-what?”

“If you’re telling the truth and just want to talk, talk,” she said, shrugging.

Lois nodded, regaining her composure. “Right. Right.” The two women stared at one another, sizing the other up. “So… You died?”

“I’m not a zombie,” Jasmine said. Well, technically. “It’s… a long story. But, yes. The Joker killed me.”

“And… Because you got killed, you stopped working with Batman? Because you felt he wasn’t effective because he couldn’t save you?” Why was that always everyone’s assumption? Jasmine supposed it made sense, but why couldn’t someone have an original thought? 

“No,” she said. She held up a hand, cutting off Lois’ reply. “I don’t… I don’t care about that. I mean, I do, but that’s not why I split from him. I split from him because he didn’t off the Joker.” She stared at Lois, a faint edge of green once again blurring the edge of her vision. “Sometimes, you have to end a threat. Permanently. And the Bat refused to end the Joker.”

Lois stared at her, and Jasmine had enough experience reading people to know she was forcing down a look of horror. “I know I’m a psycho,” Jasmine continued. “I’m not the Joker– Compare me to him, and you die slow– but I’m not all right in the head. However, I don’t want people who don’t deserve it to suffer like I did.”

Lois nodded slowly, studying her like she was an interesting book. Or, more likely, a math problem she had to work out. It wasn’t the condescending scrutiny of the high society types she had interacted with at Bruce’s Galas, but she still felt something crawling under her skin at the attention. She rolled her shoulders, her body tensing up involuntarily under her scrutiny.

Maybe it was just that discomfort at being watched too closely. However, there was also a fear that came from saying too much. She had already done that in the heat of the moment when she was yelling at Superman after killing those thugs. She still didn’t regret it, but there was something different about his condemnation compared to Bruce's. Was it just because she thought he was hot? Or… Maybe because there was something to him that felt more genuine, at least more fresh, compared to just Bruce’s disappointed glare. 

“Look,” Lois said. “I… I want to trust you. Superman does, or at least he wants to as well. But, all this… It’s making it hard to. So. How can I?”

Jasmine sighed. “I guess you just have to take it on faith.”

“That’s not really that good enough,” Lois replied, her expression darkening. “Look. I’ve done… Some things I’m not proud of. Manipulated him… Hurt him. I don’t want him to get hurt again. And you–”

“Yes, I killed people,” Jasmine said. “I know it’s wrong, but it gets results.” She sucked in a deep breath, holding her arms until her knuckles turned white. “I… Tell Superman I won’t do it in his city. If he wants to talk more, tell him I can meet at pretty much any time. I want to make this little collaboration work, so if I got to play ball, I’ll play ball.”

“Why? I mean, you don’t play by Batman’s rules,” Lois said.

Jasmine locked eyes with Lois, before pushing off her heels and moving forward. Lois blinked before backing away as the distance between them disappeared. Lois backed into the chain-link fence, her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates Jasmine bit down a pang of guilt at the fear etched on Lois’ face, and let her body relax.

“Because, unlike the Bat, I respect the big guy,” Jasmine said, slowly and deliberately.

Regaining her courage, Lois met her gaze and held it steadily. Girl had guts, Jasmine had to give her that. “Why? What’s different about him?”

A big difference was that Superman wasn’t her adoptive father, who didn’t avenge her, but she couldn’t exactly say that. “I don’t know. He just… Look, I’m not good at explaining it, but he seems genuine. Batman is… I can’t really talk about it. Just trust me on that.”

Lois looked her up and down, eventually giving her a small nod. “Ok.” She let out a breath Jasmine hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and nodded again. “Ok.”

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

The room was empty. Or, at least, what was in the room was obscured from sight, making it appear empty. The man in the doorway pulled at his collar, a nervous sweat pouring down his head. “Sir,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” a voice came from the shadow-choked room. The voice was raspy and hoarse, indicating advanced age. However, there was a firmness to the voice that created an impression of strength and authority. “This… Interruption in my plan has gone on long enough.”

“Sir, there’s not much we can do,” the man said. “Even with our–I mean, your equipment, there’s not much we can do against Superman. And his new partner is a complete unknown–”

“To you,” his unseen boss snapped. The man blinked, rubbing his hands together behind his back. “This… Is but a minor setback. One that I shall see rectified soon.”

“What do you want us to do, sir?”

“Nothing.”

The man in the doorway stiffened, his brow furrowing. “Uh… Why?”

“Because I will arrange things so that our issue comes to us,” the boss said. “And this time, they will not be able to worm their way to victory.” A faint outline moved in the shadows, a motor whirring at the same time as the silhouette moved. “Now, has what I requested arrived?”

“Uh, yes, sir,” the man said, stepping out of the way as the motorized wheelchair trundled past him. “But, why exactly did you want a giant ape? It ain’t–” He froze under the man’s withering glare, before swallowing and straightening his tie. “It isn’t even alive.”

“Precisely why I wanted it,” the man said. “As I said… Our foe will not disrupt my plans any further…”

Chapter Text

If it weren’t for his super hearing, Clark wouldn’t have heard Red X climbing onto the rooftop. She had told him to meet her there; she had another lead she wanted to take a look at. Something about another distribution center. She stalked over to him, pulling out a pair of binoculars, and began to look over. “Hey.”

Clark nodded, not looking at her as he replied, “Hey.” He didn’t need binoculars, merely squinting to get a good look at the building. It was a small, wide compound on the edge of the city. A small bridge ran over the river nearby, separating Metropolis proper from the surrounding suburbs. The building had several people moving through the upper floors, despite the large condemned sign on the chain-link fence surrounding the compound.

“I’m counting… fifteen of them,” Clark said. “I can’t tell if there are any robots or anything like that.”

“Doesn’t mean there aren’t any,” Red X said. She was still looking ahead, not even looking at Clark out of the corner of her vision like he was with her. However, even without tapping into his x-ray vision, he could hear her heartbeat beginning to pick up. Not just the tension that settled in her frame before battle: she was nervous. 

Nodding slowly and trying to study the building deeper, Clark said, “True.” His greater scrutiny led to no more results, simply seeing nothing but the floor and boxes piled high with tools, weapons, and technical components that he didn’t recognize. 

“Alright,” Red X said. She put her binoculars away, reaching back under her jacket and pulling out one of her pistols. Clark fully turned to look at her as she hit a small button on the side, catching the magazine as it fell out. “So we go in, take them down, then call the police for clean-up. Same as last time.”

“Hopefully not exactly like it,” Clark said, eyeing the bullets visible through the holes in the magazine.

Red X sighed, rolling her wrist so the pistol aimed down at the roof. Her shoulders slumped, and she finally turned to look at him. The white slits of her helmet were always turned down in an angry glare, seeming to bore into one's soul if they met her gaze. Now, however, there was an almost droopiness to them, as if she were tired and ready to get on with a task she was dreading.

“I take it Lois told you about my deal,” Red X said.

Clark nodded, remembering the long conversation he and Lois had after she returned from meeting the Gothamite vigilante. Clark had been very angry at Lois for going behind her back, but her insights into Red X– the former Robin– were still valuable. And he did understand. He understood why she was so angry, why she was willing even kill people. But he couldn’t agree.

Clark placed a hand on her shoulder, looking her full in the eyes. “Look… I can’t agree with you. You know my opinion about it. And I don’t… I can’t work with you if you are going to keep doing this.”

“I told her, just like I’m telling you now,” Red X said, an edge creeping into her voice. She pressed the magazine into Clark’s hand. It was an insignificant thing, surprisingly light. “I won’t kill in your city. I’ll play by your rules.” Even if he could resist her considerable strength with his own, he allowed her to curl the fingers around the magazine. “That’s the only one I have left. The rest of my bullets are rubber or taser rounds. I was going to get more… But if that’s what it takes to make this work, then so be it.”

Clark rubbed a thumb over the magazine, caressing the thin metal. “Why?” He knew she wasn’t giving up her ideals; she wasn’t even considering a change in her idea that killing people could be righteous. So what was her game?

“Because I want to make this work,” Red X said. “And I know you won’t change your mind, just like you won’t change mine. So, let’s not focus on this part, and just beat up bad guys, eh?” He didn’t look through her mask to see the face behind it, but he could see her smile.

And so, he smiled back. “Alright then. Grab on.”

They broke through quickly: Red X flipped off of him just before he smashed through a wall, flying feet-first into a window. A wall of glass and bricks shot inward, kicking up dust and scattering the nearest thugs. Wild gunfire met them, Red X ducking behind him as he advanced. She peeked out from behind him, dropping some with shots that, true to her word, only left them unconscious or stunned. After taking a few steps through eh hail of bullets, she rolled out from behind him into cover behind a pillar, allowing him to cut loose.

It was over in less than three minutes. Between the two of them, their opponents didn’t stand a chance. Soon, following a flurry of fly-by punches and rubber bullets, they were all incapacitated. The two met back up on the second floor, Red X kicking over a sprawled thug to gain access to a computer. 

“Bastard was trying to wipe the files,” she said, typing rapidly on the keyboard to salvage the files dumped into the deletion folder. “There’s not a lot here… Manifests, probably.”

“Anything helps,” Clark said.

Red X shrugged, swiping through the opened tabs to look at the contents. “Fair. I mean, scumbags like this are… What the–?”

Suddenly, an electronic whine sounded from below them. A shimmering blue dome enclosed the building, sealing the broken wall and window they entered through in a partially see-through barrier. The floor around them began to crack, shattering into chunks of shrapnel that flew everywhere. Red X ducked behind one of the nearby desks while Clark merely brought his hands up to shield his face. Several bio-robots emerged from the shattered floor, revealing metal-lined storage units that they had been hiding in. How hadn’t he seen them? Was it some kind of material that obscured his x-ray vision? Lead maybe?

Before he could question that further, the computer Red X had been rooting through flickered and died. The black screen suddenly flared to life, revealing the grinning face of an old man with thin features and neatly combed white hair. “Greetings, Superman. Red X, I believe you are called,” he said as the bio-robots surrounded them, the weapons attached to their arms whirring and eyes glowing like red suns. “Welcome to your tomb.”

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

Jasmine should have known it was a trap. Something like this was so far from the other operations this gang was running and was so lightly defended, even once they knew that Superman was on their tail. She had been so caught up in the moral quagmire with Superman that she failed to notice the obvious.

Oh well. She could beat herself up about it later when she wasn’t at risk of being beaten up by freaky robots. 

She whipped out her pistols, aiming them at the robots that moved to surround them. She only tore her gaze away from the robots as a voice came from the direction of the terminal. A creepy-looking old man had replaced the multiple tabs of illicit deals, steepling his fingers in the ultimate caricature of a classic mad scientist. He reminded her of Doc Strange, albeit clean-shaven and with some kind of oxygen apparatus leading into his nose.

“Who are you?” Superman asked in response to his ominous threat. Jasmine rolled her eyes, pistols still aimed at the robots. They skirted just out of Superman's reach, shifting back and forth in random, jerky steps, looking for an opening. 

Jasmine replied, “Isn’t it obvious? He’s the needle-dick asshat in charge of this operation.”

The old man sneered, his bony features creating a death mask of a face. “Your petty insults do you little credit, fool.”

“As if I care about getting credit from you,” Jasmine said, turning away from the screen to watch the circling robots.

Superman, on the other hand, kept watching the screen. “Who are you?”

The man hummed in consideration before sighing. “Very well. I suppose I can warrant a pair of soon-to-be dead beings some knowledge of who it is that will kill them. You may call me the Ultra-Humanite.”

Red X rolled her eyes. Sure, Rogues in Gotham often had dramatic names, but this was taking it a bit far. “Seriously?” she muttered to herself. Pressed up next to her, she could hear Superman give a slight, near-silent chuckle.

Having not heard either of them, the Ultra-Humanite continued. “I am this world's supreme intellect! You have gotten in my way for the last time. Now, I have other matters to attend to, so this is where I must leave you. Goodbye. You were worthy adversaries… while you lasted!”

The instant the screen flashed to black, the robots attacked. A barrage of bright-green blasts fired out from their arm-mounted energy weapons. Jasmine dove to the floor as Superman was blasted from all sides, staggering him. She rolled on her back like a break-dancer, coming up in a crouch and opening fire.

She knew as soon as she shot that her pistols would be next to useless. The first two times she had fought these things, the armor-piercing bullets she had used were almost useless against them. The taser rounds, even if she hit the organic components peeking out through the metal plates, only succeeded in slowing them down. So, as they sprang at her, she was forced to give ground, separating her and Superman as she put away her pistols.

“Big guy!” she called, reaching into her jacket and pulling a grenade from her webbing. “Move!” She pulled the pin out using a broken section of railing, throwing it behind her as she leapt to the floor below.

She rolled as she hit the ground, coming up on the balls of her feet, and raced into the maze of boxes. More bio-robots emerged, their skull-like faceplates leering out of the darkness that shrouded the warehouse. Everything was bathed in that blue glow from the shield, further distorting things and disorientating her. Still, she kept moving, using her knife and whatever weapons were scattered around by the unconscious thugs. 

As she kept on the move, she briefly looked up at the open second floor to see Superman beating back the bio-robots. He actually appeared to be taking her little lesson to heart, ducking and striking at specific points instead of just swinging wildly. That resulted in him breaking apart several of the robots with powerful blows, incorporating his laser vision or flight to give him an advantage.

However, the robots seemingly kept coming, keeping up their momentum with blast after blast that forced the two of them back or into cover. Superman eventually had to fly over the center of the warehouse, blasting the loft with a wall of energy. Even through the explosion the laser-blast caused, the robots flooded out, at least a dozen of them leaping over the railing and charging into melee on the warehouse floor.

Jasmine grabbed a discarded shotgun, twisting around and wedging the barrel into the neck of one of the bio-robots. The blast nearly tore its head off, and a follow-up check with the buttstock severed it completely. She racked the pump, firing off at another approaching robot before it could tackle her. “We need to move!” she called, diving out of the way of another blast.

Superman kept to the air, throwing debris at the robots or blasting them with his laser eyes. “How!?” he called back. “I can’t break through this shield!” For emphasis, he punched the barrier through a hole in the ceiling, resulting in only a slight deformation that quickly sprang back, like he was punching a beach ball.

She discarded the shotgun as it ran dry, swiping her knife across the shoulder joint of a robot. Its arm went limp, though the other one swept around in an attempt to bludgeon her. She ducked as Superman shot its other arm with his laser vision, sending the robot staggering back. As she did, she was forced to look down, her whole vision filling with the grey, solid floor. An idea occurred to her; there was a chance she was wrong, but what other choice did they have?

“The floor!” she called, throwing a box into the air to block another blast of energy. “We can’t go up or out, so try to go down!” As she finished her call, she turned just as a robot came out from behind cover, its clawed hand contorted into a fist that shot towards her face. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

His heart stopped as he saw Red X stagger, clutching her helmet, before collapsing. He sped down from where he hovered above the warehouse floor, backhanding the bio-robot that had tried to move in for the kill. He relaxed on slightly as he heard her still breathing, before falling into a guard position as the robots once again surrounded them.

Clark remembered what she said: Going down. He scooped her up in his arms, shooting back into the air just as several of the robots tried to tackle him at once. Those that were still standing began to fire up at him, the shots smashing into the ceiling and making stone rain down on them. Throwing Red X over his shoulder, he twisted in midair, flying down as fast as he could towards the ground, fist extended.

The floor of the warehouse caved in like he was ripping through paper, stone flying around him in a vortex. The robots made sputtering noises as he broke past them, carving through concrete, then the hard-packed dirt below it, then more concrete, and finally the metal piping of the sewer system.

He twisted, landing on his feet in the ankle-deep muck. He gave a brief shudder, before looking down at Red X. Her helmet had cracked, as had the mask that she was apparently wearing beneath it. With a portion of the mask torn away, he was greeted with the upper corner of her head. Including the unfocused, fluttering eye that was an almost poisonous, glowing green. 

Clark, even if he couldn’t fully see it, knew that eye. He had only seen such eyes once before: that girl he bumped into at the cafe almost two weeks ago. He hadn’t wanted to use his x-ray vision on her, wanting to keep her trust. However, now, the temptation was too great, and so he did. Clark hadn’t seen her since, so he was a bit fuzzy on her face, but he instantly recognized the black hair with its white streaks. 

A whistling in his ear alerted him just in time to step out of the way. A bio-robot dropped down into the sewer tunnel, its blaster charging with energy. Superman beat him on the draw, shooting the weapon with a blast of energy. The two energies mixed, resulting in an explosion that tore the robot in half, tumbling into the sewage even as it writhed and tried to stand once again.

Clark heard more robots begin their pursuit, leaping down the hole and into the sewer. Bracing himself on the tunnel floor, he shot forward, racing down the tunnel at a breakneck speed. They left the robots behind, disappearing through the seemingly endless tunnels that made it impossible for them to follow after the two of them. After finding an opening, he shot through it, carrying Red X into the air.

“I got you,” he said, watching the small amount of blood pour out of the crack in her mask. The blood ran down and covered her eye, tinting the glowing green of her eye with a red swirl. Panic welled up in him, even as she writhed and tried to stir. “I got you.”

Chapter Text

The first thing she registered was pain. Her head, specifically, which burned as if she had fallen face-first into a dumpster. She, unfortunately, spoke from experience with that one, and knew full well that it fucking hurt. The fact she was insanely cold didn’t help, making her teeth involuntarily chatter and her throat burn.

Wait, why was she cold? It wasn’t very windy, and Metropolis was hardly the coldest city she had been in. What gives?

She forced open her eyes, rolling her head to try and work out a tense kink that had built up in it, and saw that she was hundreds of feet in the air. The cold was from her being moved around at that height. The gaping hole in her helmet didn’t aid with conserving her body heat, and she could feel the goosebumps forming across her face. She tensed, unintentionally tightening her grip on a set of muscular arms.

“Oh, you’re awake,” came Superman’s voice. Well, at least she knew why she wasn’t plummeting to her death. That was nice.

“What… What happened?” she asked.

Slowly, he lowered her down onto a building. His face was filled with concern, a heavy frown complimented by furrowed eyebrows that could rival Alfred. She crossed her arms after she righted herself, trying to regain control of the situation. Lord have mercy, she had been carried around like the protagonist in one of her novels after a– Nope, nope, not the time for those thoughts.

He said, “One of the robots got the better of you. Hit you right in the… Well, you know.”

She nodded, bringing a hand up to cup her scalp as a dull throbbing rang through her head. He stepped forward, causing her arm to reflexively shoot out and hold him at bay. Her fingers came away tacky with blood, staining her gloves and eliciting a groan from her. “Fuck…” she whispered before turning back to Superman. “I’m fine. Just– Ahh… –Just a concussion. I’ll be alright.”

“You don’t sound so sure,” Superman said. Right, super-human hearing. Forgot that part. “Look, I want to help. You helped get us out of that, and–”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I heal quick. I just… I’ll got back to my safehouse and put some ice on it. We can get back on the trail of this prick tomorrow.”

“No one heals that quick,” he said.

“I do,” she muttered, wincing both from a fresh pulse of agony and Superman’s newfound glare. “Man, you got the mob boss stare down. You ever think of branching out?”

Her sudden turn to jokes was apparently the wrong move, as he took a step forward. Jasmine angled herself back towards the building's fire escape, preparing herself to run even though she knew it would do no good.

“Look, you’re hurt, and in no condition to go anywhere on your own,” Supes said. “You said you have a safehouse nearby? Where?”

She didn’t offer as much resistance as perhaps she should have. The place she had been staying was a shithole, and was definitely temporary. She had no attachment to the place or even had anything too valuable there. If needed, she could pack the place up and move it all on her motorbike within ten minutes. Besides, Superman was an erstwhile ally, and it wouldn’t do any real harm. So, still grumbling, she directed him to the abandoned apartment she was staying in.

“Home sweet home,” she drawled as she flung open the door. He took a few moments to look around, taking in the dust-covered room and the few possessions she had strewn about the place. An air mattress and sleeping bag, a few books, a small gas burner and water pot, the assortment of Ramen and MREs piled on the counter, and the large med-kit she had torn open.

“It’s… nice,” he said. “Room.”

She snorted. “It’s a shit-hole that smells and is slated for demo in a month. But it’s got a roof, the water still works, and it's insulated. I’ve slept in worse.” Between being homeless for a year before being adopted by the Bat and the year training with the League of Assassins, this was on the higher end of places she’d slept. Definitely not THE nicest, but… Well, she’d never sleep there again, so it didn’t really count. 

“Then why—”

She snorted. “Still a crime-boss, Big Guy. Also legally dead. Couldn’t exactly put down a deposit for a place, and the hotels in this city are unreasonably pricy for a long-term stay. Also, again, I’ve slept in worse.”

“Yeah,” Superman said. He was obviously dubious, but kept that to himself, which was fine by her. 

She reached for the clasps of her helmet, intending to pull it off, only to remember that Supes was still there. She hesitated, lowering her hands and returning them to the med-kit, moving her hands around to mime looking for something. “I… don’t suppose you’ve already used your fancy x-ray vision to look at my face through this thing, right?”

“What? Oh, no no no no no!” he said. “I would never violate your privacy like that. I mean, you didn’t pry into my secret identity, right? So why would I do that for yours?”

Jasmine blinked, before muttering, “Right…” She looked him up and down, watching for any of the general tells that someone was lying. Shifting weight between their feet, eyes not looking directly at her, etc. But there were none. He was being honest. At least with that part. “Just turn around then. Or, better yet, leave so I can take care of this.”

“I don’t want to just leave you here,” Superman said. “Even if you insist you’re ok, I know that injuries can be more serious than—”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, taking out and then putting back in a small bottle of pain meds. “Like I said, I heal quick.”

He studied her, and she rolled a few Band-Aids between her fingers. Her head was really starting to hurt at that point, and she hoped that he would just hurry up and leave. Instead, he asked, “Is… A side effect of how you came back?”

She let her hands fall away from the med-kit, an ice-pack held in her hands. “What happened to prying?” 

“I’m not!” he said. “Just… I want to get a picture of why you think you’ll be ok.”

“Yes, you are,” she said, before sighing. “Look, yes. It is. Now drop it.” He nodded, giving her a thumbs-up. “Just… If you’re so worried about me, the apartment has another room. It’s got a couch in it. Sleep over if you want. But I just want some privacy to get this all patched up and get some sleep.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could respond. What the hell was she thinking!? Someone like that would be able to just spy on her from the other room. Even if he didn’t, what if… If she had another lapse? What if she tore the place apart? So she found him hot and was more comfortable around him than anyone else in years; since when did that make her sloppy? 

However, she had already spoken, and those words had calmed him down. “Ok. We’ll… We’ll talk in the morning.” He moved into the indicated bedroom, shutting the door behind him. She didn’t tear her gaze away until the door had shut fully, and then she tore off her helmet, gasping for air.

“You stupid fucking bitch,” she said, digging her fingernails into the soft flesh of the underside of her elbow. This wasn’t a Jane Austen novel, for pity’s sake! She cracked the pack, feeling the gel freeze in her hand, and pried off her helmet. Her hair hung, loose and greasy, to her scalp, though she ignored it in favor of simply pressing the ice-pack against her scalp.

She simply sat there for a long time, breathing and trying to soothe her aching head. It was working, somewhat, as she could feel the pain slowly begin to ebb away. She might not be fully healed by morning, but it would at least be over with quicker than it normally would be. Before she had… Come back, a concussion would’ve left her bed-ridden for a week. Now, maybe two days at most. The most miniscule of silver linings, but still one nonetheless.

She tried to think. About the self-named Ultra Humanite and how to progress from there. About what exactly she was supposed to do about Superman and his desire to “help” her. About… Anything, really. However, exhaustion and the pain still tap-dancing through her head made it difficult, and she eventually just sighed and tossed the ice-pack away. She slumped back on the air-mattress, and passed out like a light. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

Her dreams were tinged with green. 

A poisonous, all-consuming green that made everything simultaneously pop and be darkened. Images swirled around her, flashing in and out of focus like she was underwater. Maybe she was; maybe it wasn’t the green tinging her vision but the burning waters of that damn pit she had been thrown into by the Al’Ghuls. 

Everything she saw was violent. She saw battles with the innumerable gangs, times when she was thrown around by Bane or Killer Croc, times she nearly fell off a rooftop while chasing the Riddler. From when she had first become Robin to when she was entering her later teens, and saw that nothing was changing. Broken bones, bloody noses and mouths, spit out teeth and gashes. 

She saw herself, standing above Batman, beating him senseless with the handle of her pistol. Then, she was the one pinned in place, the Joker standing above her. She tried to struggle, but she was bolted to a chair, and couldn’t move. Even at her full strength, with desperation pounding a rhythm into her skull, she just couldn’t move!

Another constant came to accompany the green that filled the corner of her senses: Laughter. Constant, maniacal laughter that accompanied each swing of the crowbar. That accompanied the blowtorch, the jumper cables, the hot knife on her cheek. She twisted and groaned, begging for it to stop. But it never did. It just kept going on, and she was drowning in the green and the laughter and–

She was jostled, and the scene shifted. She wasn’t in a chair anymore, but was lying on her back. The laughter was gone, but the green was still there. And, standing above her, was a black silhouette. 

She didn’t hesitate. Her hands were free, and she took the chance. She shot to her feet, tackling the figure and forcing them to the floor. The green in her head was screaming, urging her on. Violence was what she was good at, so revel in it. Punch, punch, drive a knee into their gut, elbow strike, then reach out to squeeze their throat. Kill, kill, kill, kill–

“X!” the figure choked out, and… That wasn’t the Joker. It wasn’t Bru– The Bat or Nightwing, either. Nevertheless, it was intently familiar, and her grip slackened slightly. “Calm down! It’s me!”

She backed away, her vision flickering in and out of clarity. She fell onto her knees as the figure rose up, towering over her. She hid a whimper behind a snarl, bearing her teeth like she was a feral dog. A light flickered on, and she had to shield her eyes. When her vision cleared, she was confronted by… Oh. Oh fuck.

It was Superman. She forgot he was here, and now he was holding out his hands. The light danced away the green, leaving her body feeling like it was made of lead. She slumped back, her head lolling to the side, and watched as he slowly approached. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

Clark had been able to get a handle on his super-hearing ever since it had come in. That first day when he had unlocked the ability had been… An experience. However, the recordings of Jor-El and general practice had allowed him to rein in the ability, so he wasn’t bombarded by noise 24/7. He couldn’t fully cancel it out, however, especially in enclosed spaces. 

Hence, when Red X started groaning and panting in her sleep, he was fully aware of it. It woke him from a light, tense sleep, and he sat there for several moments, just listening. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and trying to go back to sleep. Jimmy sometimes had nightmares, when there was a deadline or something stressful affecting him. The nightmare would pass, and then he would bring it up in the morning. 

But the distressed noises, instead of fading or calming, only got worse. He didn’t want to intrude, but he rose to his feet after he began to make out words in the tumult: 

“No… No no… Don’t… h-hurt me…”

“Die die die die die die die die die die…”

“Stop… stop laughing… Please… AagGhhhHH…”

“Father… D-dick… Help me… Anyone…”

“... Just let me die…”

He moved out of the sparsely furnished bedroom and into the main room of Red X’s safehouse. Red X herself was sprawled on the air mattress, tossing and turning more than anyone Clark had ever seen. Her face was flushed with heat, sweat darkening her tank top, with her black and white hair splayed out like a halo around her. Her half-conscious phrases and groans continued unabated, twisting around and onto her back.

He approached slowly, kneeling down and gently touching her shoulder. “Hey… X… Are you–”

Her eyes shot open, and were glowing like spotlights. A too-bright shade of green, like toxic sludge in a cartoon. In that brief moment, he realized that she was indeed the woman he had bumped into at the coffee shop a few weeks back. Then her face, previously slack, contorted with rage and she lunged. 

She fought with blind fury, more unhinged than he had seen her fight before. She slammed into his stomach, knocking him to the floor, and began to pound him. Wild punches and other blows disoriented him, before her hands locked around his throat. Clark tried to pry her hands free, but her grip was like a vice, and he was only barely able to pull her fingers away from his throat so she wasn’t actively choking him. If he applied any more strength, he was liable to break her fingers.

Finally, he forced her off of him. Or rather, she gave up the assault, the green glow fading and, eventually, blinking out. Not entirely, however, as the strange glow he had seen before remained, staining her eyes. She fell back, shaking like a leaf and holding her arms as she slumped. 

He stood back up, holding out his hands and slowly walking forward. “Hey… Are you ok? I heard you having, uh… a Nightmare.” She was looking at him, still shaking and with a look of dread covering her face. He winced, backing away as he saw her tense at his approach. He kneeled down across from her, giving her space while still keeping close if needed. “Can you… Ok. Breathe with–”

“You can take your breathing exercises and shove them up your ass,” she snapped. “I’m fine.”

Clark sighed. “Look. It’s none of my business why you were having that nightmare, but–”

“But nothing,” she said. “I…” She blinked, finally realizing that she was completely without her mask in his presence. “Shit.”

“I mean… I kinda already knew who you were?” At her steely glare, he held up his hands placatingly. “You said you were the former Robin, remember! Well, you told Lois, but she told me, and… Yeah.”

Red X seemed to deflate, the air taken wholly out of her sails as she slumped even more against the wall. Her shoulders turned inward and she gained a slight slouch, her gaze finally shifting away from Clark to look at her broken helmet. “Yeah.” She sounded… Well, everything about her was just the antithesis of what he had come to know her as. Sure, she was abrasive and callous, but she was also driven, confident, and unrelenting. Here, she just sounded broken. 

Clark backed away, rising to his feet and looking around. Eventually, he spotted a small bundle of ramen cups nestled on the counter. A small bowl was also present, which he filled with water and heated with his laser vision. He filled two of the cups and, after letting them steep for a few minutes, returned to Red X’s side and placed one in front of her. “Here.”

She looked down at the cup of ramen, before sighing and picking it up. “I only have one spoon.”

“Oh, uh… All good!” Clark said. He tilted the cup back, letting the warm broth run down his throat. He took a mouthful of noodles with them, lowering it when the volume threatened to choke him. Red X laughed at him with his mouth full, and Clark realized that it was the first time he’d ever heard her laugh. Well, excluding an awkward or threatening chuckle; This was a genuine laugh… He wanted to hear more of it. 

She pulled a metal spoon from a nearby backpack, laddling some of the noodles into her mouth and slurping what didn’t go in. The two of them sat there in relative silence for some time, the only noise being the slurping of broth and the distant sound of passing cars. The two exchanged brief looks every now and then, but neither spoke and eventually looked away. 

Finally, with nothing left but a few pieces of scallion and broth left in their cups, Red X set hers down while heaving a tired sigh. “Have you ever heard of a Lazarus Pit?”

“Uh… No, no I haven’t.”

“It’s this… I don’t know exactly. A kind of chemical. Magic. Anyway, it’s a pool of green liquid,” she said, waving a hand under her eyes. “I only know about one, but there’s supposed to be at least a dozen of them all over the world. It’s where you get the legends about the Fountain of Youth.”

Clark reeled at the information, rubbing a hand under his chin. “So it can… Heal people? Make them younger?” A specific detail from what Lois had told him of her conversation with Red X came back to him, and his veins were filled with ice. “Even…”

“Even bring back the dead,” Red X said grimly. “Naturally, because nothing is ever that simple, it has side effects. The eyes and the hair are just the most basic.” She lifted a hand up to her short hair, twirling a finger through the streaks of white. “The most prevalent is… Uncontrolled aggression. Prolonged exposure can result in the manifestation of general psychopathic tendencies and madness. I was lucky I was only thrown in there once. After, well… After the Joker got his hands on me.”

“You don’t have to tell me any more,” Clark said. One of his projects in College had been a media analysis, and he had been unfortunate enough to end up being assigned an article about the Joker’s latest crime spree. The sheer psychopathy on display, the heinousness of the crimes, made his stomach churn even just thinking about them, years on from the fact. 

She nodded slowly, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Alright. Well, I’m guessing you can put two and two together.” He could, and the picture it created was… Well, it wasn’t pleasant. “Anyway, it’s… Well, I’m dealing with it. Like I said, I’m fine.”

“It’s alright if you’re not,” Clark said. “I mean, I…” He stopped, biting his tongue as he contemplated how much he should tell her. He had grown to truly trust her as time had gone on, just as she clearly trusted him to at least some extent. Plus, it wasn’t like this could be reasonably linked back to his civilian identity. He was speaking solely as Superman here.

“A while ago, there was… Well, an attempted Alien Invasion,” Clark said. Red X blinked, fighting to suppress her obvious shock. “Two, actually. One a while back; something the Government called Zero Day. And then one that almost happened pretty recently. I stopped the second, and the Aliens left the first time. But, I, uh… Some of them were related to me.”

“Wait, what?” Red X asked. “What do you mean? Like, they… Wait, are you an alien?”

Clark chuckled. “Yeah. No, I don’t have any antennae or anything like that. I just look like a human. Anyway, yeah. They used technology from my species. The first Invasion was actually led by… by one of my kind. I learned about it in a, a bad way. I’m still… It’s still not something I’m over.”

He reached out and, when she didn’t flinch away, put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s… There’s still a lot I don’t know. About my species, about my family, about what happened… About everything. And I’m scared. But that doesn’t mean I can’t go on. And I don’t see why you can’t do the same.”

She nodded, slowly at first, before giving a firm, final nod. “Alright. Alright, you fucking Boy Scout,” she said, knocking his hand off her shoulder. “I get it. Nice pep talk. Just, uh… I’ll file that under consideration.” She looked at him and smiled. It was small, strained, and pulled at the ‘J’ carved in her cheek, but it was there. And sometimes, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The light coming through the boarded-up window struck her right in the eye, and was the first indication that Jasmine had fallen asleep. Last night, after her little heart-to-heart with Superman, was a bit of a blur, and she frankly liked it that way. Even before… well, before, she hadn’t been the most open emotionally. That talk wore her out in a way she hadn’t been since Talia told her about the Bat replacing her.

She groaned, shielding her eyes from the light, and pressed against the wall to help herself up. No, not against the wall; it was too warm and had the wrong texture. She groggily turned around and jumped back when she saw what she had used to help herself up. 

Superman. She had pressed against Superman’s chest. She had been sleeping against Superman.

That was… It wasn’t anything crazy. They had been stressed and tired. A talk like what they had would drain even the most emotionally stable person. They hadn’t wanted to go back to bed, and just fell asleep. It was a perfectly rational explanation. Nothing to worry too much over.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair and cursing under her breath. She couldn’t believe she told him all that. She didn’t think she had said too much – Nothing that would lead back to the Waynes – But it was still reckless. She didn’t much care for the Bat, but if she was right and this was… She sighed again, and decided to forget it. Worrying wouldn’t do her any good.

At that moment, her stomach growled, and she realized that, despite the ramen she had eaten a few hours ago, she was starving. A kettle and a container of instant oatmeal sat on the counter, and she shrugged as she whipped up a quick breakfast.

By the time the water had boiled and the oatmeal mixed with it, the big guy had begun to stir. Like her, the sunlight slammed into his eyes, and he squinted and groaned at the light. “Rise and shine, boy scout,” she said, kicking his shin. He winced at the impact, and she rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen you tank six guys mag-dumping assault rifles into you, but that hurts?”

“In my defense, you’re wearing boots,” he said, spreading out his hands. He floated up onto his feet, splaying his hands before letting them fall to his sides. “I do actually like those boots. What are they, steel-toed?”

“I don’t know, I stole these,” she said. “Here. I’ve got a fork, if you don’t want to chug it.” 

He looked uncomfortable at her comment, but took the oatmeal anyway. She reached into her pack and tossed him the fork, which he deftly caught. The two stood there for a few moments, once again just silently eating while looking at one another. “Eventually, his curiosity cracked, and he asked, “You stole them?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Criminal, remember?”

“Because you think the best way to stop crime is by… Controlling it?” he asked. She nodded, hoping he understood where she was coming from. He was smart enough for it, at least, and his ideological blinders weren’t as severe. “I… I can see the logic, though I… I mean, isn’t that just perpetuating crime?”

“It can be limited,” she said. “And that’s better than leaving it in the hands of people who just out-and-out don’t care. It’s not like I don’t have limits or a code or anything. It’s just…” She sighed, clutching her forehead. She’d never had to explain it so in-depth to another person, and she had a hard time getting it across. “I know how they operate. The ones in my older neighborhood, at least. Better me than some psycho like Scarecrow or a drug peddler like Falconi.”

“Right,” Superman said. “Look, there’s a lot we’re not going to agree about.”

“We’ve already gone over this,” Jasmine said. “I mean, us disagreeing on stuff has been, like, a quarter of our conversations.”

He laughed, setting his oatmeal down. “Fair enough,” he said. After a few moments, his expression turned serious. “Still–”

“I get it,” she said. “Again, we’ve talked about it a lot. And, also again, you know I’ve worked with Batman. And fought him. Guy only sees black and lighter black when it comes to anyone not on his side.” She shoveled the last bite into her mouth, and looked him dead in the eye. “But we can work it out… Well, if we end up talking after all this business with the Ultra-Humanite is over.”

“After?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes as she tossed the spoon into the sink and the container into the trash. “Again, criminal. I can’t exactly leave my guys on their own. I’m going to go back to Gotham after this, and… Well, like I said. After we deal with Ultra-Humanite, we can figure out if we stay in contact or… Or whatever.”

“Right, right,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “Of course.”

Now there was the issue of figuring out what to do exactly. She didn’t have the time to pull the files on the computer before they were ambushed, so she couldn’t properly cross-reference them with other files. After that damn concussion, she could only remember a few names from the manifest. Honestly, her head still pounded, and she grabbed her phone to type a few things in her notes app before they slipped out of her mind.

As she typed out the names, something came back to mind. Something, or rather, someone, who contacted her on that same burner phone less than four days ago. “Hey. Can you get Lois out here?”

“Lois?” Superman asked. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“She called me, remember?” she asked. “But it was on your phone, so I don’t have her actual number. I want to run some things by her.” She showed him the names and other random tidbits she had written down. “She’s good with this stuff.”

“Good idea,” he said. He reached down to his side, patting his suit around the part where pockets would be on jeans. His pats quickly grew more frantic, before he gave a shy smile. “Only, uh… I don’t have my phone on me.”

“Does that thing even have pockets?” she asked. 

“Yeah,” he said, tapping a spot hidden by the red… speedo thing he was wearing. “It’s just… Well, my phone kept slipping out when I was flying, and I just stopped bringing it with me.” He walked over to the door, swinging it open so hard the drywall cracked. “Don’t worry, I’ll go get it!”

“Wait, why don’t you just–” Before Jasmine could finish, he was gone in a flash of dust. He returned about a minute later, holding his phone. “–Just go get her. Why didn’t you just go get her?”

He blinked, before pointing at her. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”

“Not your fault,” she said. “Last night was… heavy, but I get it. Just go get her.”

“Right-o,” he said, tossing his phone on the counter. “Be back in a jiffy, X!”

As he once again turned to head out the door, she watched him turn with a clenched fist. What she was about to say was monumentally stupid. If she was afraid of doing something that would lead back to Bruce, then this would be it. Something like this would link back to him better than anything, especially if Lane got involved. And yet, she still said, “Jayce.”

“Huh?” he asked, turning back just before he was about to shoot out of the apartment. “What was that?”

“Jayce,” she said. Now that she had said it, she didn’t feel guilty. Maybe it was Bruce having already thrown her to the wolves, but it wasn’t a betrayal. She… she trusted him, and having a name felt like she was putting that in the open. “You can call me Jayce. In private, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he said back. He gave her a quick wave, flashing the biggest smile she had ever seen. And, once again, he was gone. As soon as she was out of sight, she let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in. She’d done it. She’d let someone in, even if only the barest amount, for the first time since her death. It felt… Nice. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

Clark beamed as he took off once again into the early morning Metropolis air. He was making progress; she trusted him enough to give him her name! Jayce. It was a nice name. He was honestly worried that she would clam up after the previous night. She seemed like she wanted to, brushing past things when they were first talking. But she wasn’t, at least not fully.

He arrived at Lois’s apartment after a few minutes of flying through the air, hopping onto the balcony. He looked around the surrounding buildings, making sure no one was out to see Superman hovering on the balcony, before rapping on the door.

After a few minutes, he saw Lois exit her bedroom, clad in a baggy T-shirt and sweatpants. Her eyes widened when she saw him, before moving over quickly and opening the sliding door. “Get in here, you idiot!” she hissed, looking around as he stepped past her. “What are you doing here? It’s seven in the morning. I only just got up!”

“Sorry,” he said. “And I’m sorry to ask it of you so early. But Red X wants to see you. We pulled some information from our investigation last night, and she wants to go over it with you.”

She nodded, perking up a little bit. “Ok, cool. But, again, just woke up. I’m going to take a shower and get some stuff.” She turned back towards her room, stopping as she reached the door to her bedroom. “And YOU are going to call Jimmy.”

“Huh?”

“Well, someone didn’t come back to their apartment last night,” Lois said. “And, apparently, Jimmy is concerned. I woke up to, like, twenty texts.”

Right, he had done that, hadn’t he? “Got it. Thanks again, Lois.”

“No problem,” she said. 

As soon as she had disappeared from sight, Clark went for his phone. Fortunately, he had held onto it while in flight, so it was still with him. Quickly opening up Jimmy’s contact, he held the phone up nervously until he heard the answering click. “Hey, Jimmy. I know I–”

“Clark?” he asked, cutting Clark off with that one word. “Where are you?”

“Currently, Lois’s apartment.”

“And before? You know, where you spent the night?” Jimmy said. “Because, and I remember quite clearly, you said you’d be back in a few hours.”

“Something came up,” he said. “So… I spent the night with Red X.”

“What? Why?” he asked. 

“Like I just said. Something… we got ambushed. I’m fine, but she got hurt kinda bad. I stayed the night with her, and…” He paused, wondering if he should bring up the night terror. Jimmy obviously didn’t like Jayce, so telling him might elicit some sympathy. He quickly brushed it aside, however; something like that was obviously private, and airing it to his friend wouldn’t be doing him any favors. “Anyway, it’s fine.”

“I guess so,” Jimmy said. “Look, I was just worried, that’s all.”

“I appreciate it, Jimmy,” Clark said. “I really do. Anyway, I’m still kinda doing Superman stuff, so I’ll call you back later.”

“Cool,” Jimmy said. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’m taking photos of that new statue they’re unveiling at city hall, so I’ll be back at the apartment in a few hours. We can watch a movie or something.” 

“Sounds great. See you then.”

After he hung up, he heard the shower running in Lois’s room, so he knew it would be at least a few more minutes. He sat down on the couch, letting out a deep breath as his head lolled back to stare up at the ceiling. This was a serious lead, as they now had a name and a face to trace back to the robots. Sure, it wasn’t a good lead, but it was something, and hopefully, they would have the Ultra-Humanite brought to justice soon.

And then Jayce would leave. Go back to Gotham and to being the Red Hood, most likely. He couldn’t exactly stop her, but some part of him was sad about that. Sure, she was abrasive at times, but he liked hanging out with her. She was competent at her job, of course, but she also had a good sense of humor. She was just… nice to be around.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Lois had come out of her room until she snapped her fingers beneath his nose. He snapped upright, head darting back and forth until her giggles made him stop. She beamed at him, readjusting a backpack over one shoulder. “Ready to go. Thought if you need a minute–”

“No, no,” he said. “I’m good. Just, uh… Thinking. You know, about Red X and all this crime… stuff.”

Clark liked Lois; he really did. But he also really didn’t like her smile. “Sure. Got it. Anyway, this flight is going to blow-dry my hair, so let’s go!”

The flight across town was done at slower speeds to accommodate the fact that he was carrying Lois. Still, they arrived back at Jayce’s safehouse in only a few minutes. In that time, she had pried open one of the windows, giving them ready access to the interior without having to slip into the alleyway.

Jayce was waiting for them, her phone and laptop spread across the countertop. She had redonned her domino mask, and thrown up the hood over her hair. In addition, she had pried off the damaged upper part of her helmet and donned only the lower segment as a mask; the combined effect was more or less the same as her full helmet, save for a patch of pale skin showing across her forehead. “Welcome back, big guy. Good to see you again, Lane.”

“Likewise, uh… X? Is that good? Or would you prefer Red?” Lois said.

Jayce snorted, rolling her eyes behind the mask. “Either is fine. Anyway, I’m sure the Boy Scout told you about what I wanted you for.”

“Right-o,” Lois said, pulling out her own laptop. “Let’s get started.”

The two, indeed, got started. The two of them quickly began comparing notes, scrolling through a list of names and trying to connect Jayce’s barely-remembered list to various criminal gangs. They quickly worked through several on the list, pinning names to the leaders of various criminal enterprises all over Metropolis. Smugglers at the port, package thieves near the airport, small-time outfits throughout all corners of the city. Superman couldn’t help but gape as the names kept rolling out; such a big network, a version of Cadmus without the government backing, that had cropped up all over his city. And no one, not even him, had noticed.

The progress moved both surprisingly quickly and agonizingly slowly for Clark. Several hours passed, and the two managed to come up with a comprehensive list of most of the people it seemed the Ultra-Humanite had sold robots or weapons to. “But still nothing on this name?” Jayce asked, pointing to one near the bottom of the list.

Lois looked up from her laptop and shook her head, huffing. “No, still nothing.”

Clark looked over Jayce’s shoulder, squinting at the name on the screen. As he did so, his eyes widened in alarm. “Prenscott?”

“Yeah,” Lois said. “We can’t pin anything to it. No rap sheet, no nothing.”

“Because it’s not a criminal,” he said. “That’s Carl Prenscott. CEO of Metropolis Mechanic Solutions.”

“How do you know?” Jayce asked.

“I wro–” Clark quickly cleared his throat, cutting himself off before he could incriminate himself. Sure, he had come to somewhat trust Jayce, but he still wasn’t sure if revealing his secret identity was a good call. “I read an article. By, uh, Clark Kent. Your friend, right, Ms. Lane?” Lois nodded, Jayce doing the same a moment later. “Anyway, they’re a technology firm specializing in robotics. Ivo cornered the market, so they weren’t doing so well.”

Lois stepped aside as he went for the laptop, allowing him to type in the Daily Planet’s online page. A quick search popped up the article he had written barely a month ago, a photo of Mr. Prenscott shaking hands with the Police Commissioner just below the title. “But they recently signed a contract with the city. New cleaning robots. For City Hall, the biggest Police and Fire precincts, the city's main power plant.”

Jayce nodded, quickly pulling up a map of Metropolis on her laptop. She began pinning markers across them, taking note of where the robots were likely stashed. As she did so, Lois gasped and Clark felt his heart drop. They were positioned perfectly to form a noose around the city, along with a spike through its heart. 

~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~--~

“Sir,” the voice of his secretary came over the intercom. “Security is reporting a disturbance in the sublevels.”

Police Commissioner Henderson frowned, looking up from his paperwork to look at the small speaker. “What sort of disturbance?”

“Something to do with those new cleaning robots,” his secretary replied. “A few officers are going to examine it.”

Henderson sighed, tapping the button again and saying, “Alright. Keep me apprised.” Leaning back in his chair, he ran his hands down his face and sighed. Things had just gotten so busy lately, what with Superman uncovering a new crime syndicate he’d had no idea even existed. A whole array of thugs were in the cells, and equipment he didn’t even know what to call clogged the evidence lock-ups. It was just so much.

Plus, there was this mysterious new partner of his. Red X, or something to that effect. None of his officers had laid eyes on (Apparently) her, and so he had no idea what he was dealing with. After his appearance little under a year ago, Superman had quickly proven himself to be trustworthy and willing to work with them. Henderson was thankful for that; at least he didn’t have to try hunting him down like his counterpart in Gotham did with the Batman. This new one, however, especially with her apparently using guns? He was suspicious. 

The intercom crackled again, this time coming from the response center. “Yes?”

“Sir, something's going on at City Hall!” the officer on the other end yelled. “We’ve gotten reports of hostages!”

That instantly stole his attention. “Send any available units in the area and prep the SWAT teams.”

Before that first officer could reply, more calls came in. Takeovers at over a dozen locations by unknown assailants. The Metropolis Airport, several highway tollbooths, the ferry dock, and the main bridges. A coordinated assault on the city, designed to cut it off. One of those reports came in, and his blood turned to ice: “We’ve got eyes on! They… They look like those new cleaning robots!”

Henderson scrambled for the door, shooting out of his office. His secretary called out for him, but he pressed on past her, racing downstairs. On the way, he called for other officers to follow him, building up a small force as he raced for the armory. 

It was too late. As the door to the armory appeared, something slid down from the ceiling to block his path. It was one of the cleaning robots, though stripped of the exterior metal plates, showcasing a slender, almost skeletal frame bristling with weapons. Several more appeared around the corner, surrounding the officers on both sides.

The first one to appear strode forward, stopping and folding its hands behind its back. “Greetings, Chief Henderson,” it spoke through a grill on its upper chest. Even though the static distorted the voice, it spoke clearly and firmly, like a chastising school teacher. “Please, stand down. This city is now under the control… of the Ultra-Humanite.”