Red Hood and the Outlaws #32
written by Scott Lobdell
art by Rafa Sandoval, R.B. Silva, Wayne Faucher, & Jordi Tarragona
╰ ☆ ╮ —
❝You were worried about me, Jason?
That fills me with so much ‘squee’.❞
❝Of course I was worried abou—❞
He pauses, her statement fully setting in.
❝Squee…? —Err, Kori? I’m not so sure that’s
the word you were looking for…I mean I
guess it works…but—-❞
He’s going to have a long ‘talk’ with whoever
thought it’d be a 'cute' idea to
her such things.
The brunette rolls her eye’s while heaving out a sigh.
S w e e t h e a r t. Not the best start.
People really needed to stop doing that
before she formed a less passive reaction.
❝ тъпанар, ❞ Jac returns in an annoyed tone.
A few seconds and she focuses back on him, hazel hue’s narrowing as
she watches him continue to rumage through things. She was certain
he didn’t belong here and his hurried actions only seemed to confirm
this. So she clears her throat, and begins approaching him.
❝ Right, ❞ she drawls.
❝ I guess I should rephrase, ❞
she pauses; reaching over his
arm and slapping her hand
down on the stack of files so’s
to get his full attention, ❝ who
are you an’ why th’fuck are
you in here. ❞
He’s not completely fluent in Bulgarian, but he’s
been exposed to it enough to grasp the jist of
what she’s saying. An audible snort escapes him,
eyebrows raising, the corners of his lips curling into
a telltale smirk. He’s tempted to make a smart ass
remark, though her comment ends up falling short in
eliciting any further response out of him, much less
succeed in pulling his attention away from his work.
Broad shoulders tighten suddenly, his entire body
tensing in response to the files being abruptly slapped
down in front of him. Her action immediately triggers
an initial response to lash out, though he’s able to rein
it in; staying stalk still, while continuing to possessively
hover over the stack of files — much like a dog would
hover over it’s food bowl.
Jason’s head turns slightly, hazel-green hues lifting
away from the papers to focus on the woman out
of the corners of his eyes. She certainly has some
audacity, and as admirable as that may be, in this
situation — Jason already being hard-pressed for
time as it is — its fucking irritating as hell.
❝Lets just say that I’m a freelancer, and SHIELD
has a bit of information on file that’d make my life
a whole lot easier. As for who I am ——
I don’t think that’s any of your damn business.
Now if you’d kindly remove your hand, and stop
breathing down the back of my neck, I’d like finish
up here. It’ll only take a few more minutes…❞
"But Jason…He’s a lot like Batman. But he’s willing to do what Batman never would. He’s willing to kill" - James Olsen
—— ❝ Can I help you? ❞
He doesn’t even bother turning around, instead continues to sift
through a stack of files — ones he probably shouldn’t be handling.
❝ No thanks, sweetheart. I think I’ve already gotten
what I’ve come here for. Appreciate it though.❞
“He kept asking for ‘Bruce’. He say who that was?”
”Yeah, just before he went under. He said it was his father.”
— Batman Annual #25 (2005)
The piece of metal wedged it’s way into the barrel of his M4 just seconds before the trigger was pulled, blocking the bullet’s exit; weapon chamber exploding within the Soldier’s grasp. The gun was immediately dropped, searing pain shooting straight up the man’s arm, his hand now maimed and bleeding. Still, despite his injury, the Soldier was far from out. Albeit excruciatingly painful, he could still move the hand, his wounds already in the process of repairing themselves. What it did do though? Ignite his anger — piss him the fuck off. It was the equivalent of poking an already maddened grizzly, the rage clearly evident in his eyes.
With a quick glance at his newly acquired injury, the Soldier’s vicious gaze fixed on the charging assailant ahead of him. Fists balled, his stance switching — bracing himself for impact. “Вы говорите слишком много,” he hissed, studying the man’s movements even as the distance between the two rapidly closed. The way this masked man moved mirrored his own tactics — quick and lethal — always aiming to land the killing blow. And if that were any sort of indication, the Winter Soldier already had his next move mapped out and countered.
Knees bending, the Soldier brought his arm back, anticipating the incoming blow. His own knife had slipped from the confines of its holster, now clearly out and brandished for this man to see. Deadly gaze never once wavered from his prey; the Soldier throwing his entire weight into the attack, arm swinging forcefully outward with the intent to hook the target in his side.
Now Jason was fast, but he wasn’t that fast. From beneath the mask, hazel hues widened slightly, the Red Hood immediately putting a stop on his assault. Pivoting on the ball of his heel, Jason attempted to bypass the blade, while also gaining a bit of ground in the process. What he wasn’t paying attention to? The sheer amount of momentum behind the blade, and how quickly the arm itself actually moved — his attempt at a strike on the man’s side backfiring substantially.
The hit was instantaneous, executed within a blink of an eye — tearing through both clothing and armor with ease. Had it not been for the warm trickle of blood now running down his side and faint metallic smell, the Red Hood may not have even noticed his injury, although as time progressed, the incessant sting of air meeting with an open wound soon reared it’s ugly head.
Now he was pissed.
Gloved fingers left the wound, pausing briefly to eye the sanguine liquid rolling down the fabric. Jason wasn’t quite sure how deep the cut was — he didn’t have much time to assess it — although judging by the sheer amount of blood coating his fingertips, it was deep enough. He’d need to cut this confrontation short, lest he favored passing out, or rather bleeding out in front of his assailant.
“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” he chuckled, wincing some as he straightened himself back out. “Nor is it the first time someone has failed to see that its all part of the plan. Distractions, distractions…” Within seconds the Red Hood utilized his close proximity to the bionic man. His foot jutted sharply outward, attempting to hook the man’s leg and bring him to the ground, whilst Kris blade sought to embed itself between armor and into flesh. His movements fluid and precise.