"There are many kinds of fear in this world, and just as many synonyms for the sensation, because fear itself is a survival mechanism covering a whole range of emotions that no one word can truly express.
There is the relentless, heart-pounding terror of being chased by a horde of Rage-infected, or say, a 6'2 man dressed like a Bat who'll readily pummel the piss out of you.
There's the quiet dread in knowing that somewhere in the darkness that swallows up all light, something's lurking and hunting.
There's the sudden fright when that 'something' finally lunges from the dark or seeps through the crevices of your supposed safehouse.
Then there's the trepidation in wondering what the hell it'll do once it gets in.
Doesn't help that the Universe has no shortage of fearsome shit to throw at us.
War, hunger, predators, disease, death, famine... Just to name a few.
None of them, in my humble opinion, represent the most primal fear. The most primal fear is the kind that succeeds hope and precedes despair! It's what a person feels when they think they have gotten off lightly, only to discover the contrary… It's realizing that light at the end of the tunnel isn't Heaven's, but that of an oncoming train and you're still on the track."
— [HELLBRED] —
When Jack was young, his grandfather used to say it took a week to tear down a house that someone needed decades to build. Jack would beg to differ.
All it really took was a night.
He and his crew knew that better than anyone.
They weren't bigshots by any stretch, but they'd definitely contributed to Gotham's current state, and Jack took genuine pride in that fact almost as much as he reveled in the destruction of the existing Order… The same way a painter might admire their finest work, or a celebrating soldier would in the defeat of the opposition.
He and his ilk knew it couldn't last, that eventually the city would stabilize or someone would come along to restore order. But this was likely the only opportunity they'd ever have to be part of something larger than petty crime and survival, and that knowledge made every moment worth savoring!
He'd expected soldiers eventually, expected the military to roll in with planes and ships and enough firepower to level what remained of Gotham.
What he hadn't expected was for that 'someone' to arrive as a horde of Demons blotting out the sky like a biblical plague.
Jack had done a lot of terrible things in his life. Hurt people who didn't deserve it, burned buildings with families still inside, laughed while doing both. He had always figured if there was a Hell, he'd more than earned his spot in it.
He just hadn't expected Hell to come to him first.
The Demons hit the street like a plague of locusts, crimson eyes gleaming in the darkness as Jack's crew scattered immediately, all their training and hierarchy forgotten in the face of the winged nightmares dropping from the sky.
He bolted for the alley and did not look back.
"Open fire! Open fire!"
Jack didn't stop when the gunfire erupted behind him.
He didn't slow when magazines clicked empty.
Hell, he didn't even seem all that surprised when the screaming began to fill the streets.
He thought he'd been careful, thought he'd kept his head down and stayed invisible in the chaos, but several of the Demons had singled him out anyway. More were tailing him, and by the sound of it, they weren't really in any hurry to catch up.
He couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't already chased him down and beat the piss out of him.
And his brain was all too happy to answer by supplying Jack images of him doing much the same to a family of four three days ago.
Both parents had looked rather decent, and having been in and out of prison for nearly his whole life, he hadn't particularly minded their gender.
In fact, if he had to, he'd say he had enjoyed the husband much more than he did the wife.
There was something so much more empowering about forcing a guy than a woman, but that could just be him… He'd especially enjoyed the chase, specifically the terror in the man's eyes as he realized he was completely helpless to prevent what was about to happen to himself, let alone his family.
"Ah." Jack ducked under one of the laughing Imps and threw himself into a house, slamming the door in the Demons' faces, then absentmindedly sighed. "I'm being hunted."
If there was one advantage to living in Gotham, it was that the doors and windows were always made from iron or had secondary iron bars in case some two-bit bottom-feeders wanted to get lucky.
This one, for example, was made from the same materials as one of those fire exit doors.
It wouldn't hold the Demons forever… It might not even slow them down much, if at all, but knowing there was 54mm of solid fucking steel between him and the winged freaks made Jack feel marginally less fucked at least.
"Fuck!"
Jack jerked back as something slammed into the door like gunshots going off, hand flying to his chest.
He was afraid, ans he despised it.
Fear was for victims, for the weak, for the people he'd spent his entire life preying on.
He wasn't supposed to be on this side of it!
Forcing that helplessness into rage, he screamed at whatever was on the other side, spittle flying from his lips. "Fuck you! If you've got the balls, come in here! Come in here, I fucking dare you!" As if deterred by his burst of courage and profanity, the beating stopped, leaving Jack alone with bated breath and only the thundering of his own heart for company.
The silence stretched just long enough for hope to creep back in, and for his muscles to begin relaxing until dark smoke started to seep through the cracks around the door, reforming into tiny, vague humanoid shapes that grinned at him wickedly.
Before they could fully solidify, Jack threw himself at the knife on the counter and started hacking at the nearest Imp.
The blade slashed through the Shades in wild, frantic strokes that sent chunks to the floor, but the Demons just kept grinning like they knew something he didn't.
"That's right! You see this? I'll gut every last one of you fuckers!"
He'd wanted to see fear in their eyes, that beautiful terror he'd perfected over the years. Instead, all he found in those crimson depths was mockery.
It took Jack a full minute to understand why they'd been so amused, only when the pieces he'd hacked apart crawled back, merging into a silhouette roughly the size of a child.
Humans were jerky by nature.
When they moved, there were always wasted motions, little adjustments here and there.
This thing, in comparison, was hypnotically smooth…
It was like watching high-framerate footage slowed way down.
What was even odder was how perfectly still the rest of its body stayed even as its head kept rotating in slow circles.
"Wha—What are you doing to my parents?"
The creature asked innocently, causing sweat and tears to pour down Jack's face, dripping down his nose as he glanced at the backdoor. He tried to work his stiff legs, but there was a large chasm between trying and doing.
"Why a-aRe YoU dOiNG tHiS?!"
It shrieked again, but the voice leaving its lips was now that of a resentful older man.
Never in a million years would Jack have thought he'd end up terrified of something small enough to punt across the room, but here he was… And then it took a step forward, and that seemed to break whatever curse had been holding him in place.
Able to move again, Jack immediately threw all caution to the wind and bolted for the backdoor, only to find that no matter how hard he twisted or yanked, the lock wouldn't budge.
"God, God, God... Please. Please. I know my wrongs. I'll be good. I'll be good." Jack mumbled, words stumbling over each other in his panic, but if God were listening, then the Almighty was surely scoffing at the Sinner below.
Feeling cold wind brush his back, Jack looked over his shoulder to see the lanky silhouette gliding toward him on the tips of its toes, so he did the only thing he could and darted upstairs instead.
Anyone in their right mind would know it was a dead end, but where the hell else was he supposed to go?
Five minutes later, Jack could be seen launching himself through the second floor window.
His ankle shattered the second he hit the pavement.
Nothing could stop him from running… Not the pain, nor the knowledge that he was permanently fucking up his legs doing so. But what chance did a mere mortal have against an actual Demon?
Especially a crippled one limping on broken bones?
The horde caught him within seconds, descending around him in a tight circle, their eyes gleaming with mockery.
"Why? Why?! WHY?!!"
Jack couldn't understand it… Just on the opposite sidewalk, he could see the creatures dishing out beatings and broken bones, but nothing like this.
"WHY DO THEY GET OFF EASY?!" He roared, pointing at the mayhem.
They were all criminals here.
Cut from the same cloth!
Birds of the same flock!
So why did the others get simple beatings while he got tortured? The Imps stared at him with something that looked disturbingly like pity for his stupidity, then began speaking over each other in a cacophony of voices.
His victims' voices.
The family from three days back.
The girl he'd kept locked up for a week.
All hundred and twenty-one people he'd killed in his thirty-eight years.
He hadn't shown them mercy, not when they begged until their voices went hoarse, not even when their tear glands had run dry… Why the hell would he expect any?
And from Demons, much less!
Unbeknownst to him, a few criminals had heard his outburst. Crippled, brutalized, and very, very pissed off criminals who'd remember his face when they all ended up in the same prison cell and make sure his time inside was anything but comfortable.
Jack closed his eyes, waiting for the end.
Instead, an ear-splitting shriek cut through the night, loud enough to make his ears ring.
His eyes flew open to find around him, the Imps had frozen mid-motion, while the other criminals had stiffled their screaming to sobs. Turned out, the sound was coming from the old air raid siren, a Cold War relic meant for to notify people of bombings or worse: Nuclear strikes.
"—Hello again, Imp. Enjoying your reign of terror? Your Demons are doing quite the number on Gotham. But you're still hiding behind them, aren't you?"
Seeing the Demons were distracted, Jack immediately took his chance and limped away.
He had no clear destination in mind, no plan beyond getting as far as possible from the scene while his adrenaline still pumped and his legs still worked.
Then he slammed into someone a head taller than him, not that that was much of an accomplishment given his scrawny build. Jack tilted his head back and found himself staring into depthless black eyes set in a face framed by grey hair.
But what really caught Jack's attention wasn't the frayed clothing or the cross hanging from his neck…
It was how calm he was.
In the hell Gotham had become, where everyone was either running or screaming or dying, this man was the first person who seemed unbothered.
"At ease, my son."
"At ease? At ease?! Are you fucking blind?!!"
Jack laughed like a man who'd lost his mind, which was strange, because he had twenty years ago, and how could a person lose their mind twice? Then he heard giggling behind him and that white hot rage in him flickered out.
"Oh no... They're here."
Shoving the priest away, tried to run, only to stumble over his own feet and fall face-first to the pavement.
"No, no, no!"
He was still screaming when he noticed the boots inches from his face.
Boots which he clung to like a lifeline.
"H-H-Help me! They want to kill me!" In his eyes, the Imps were no longer Imps, but decomposing figures wearing the faces of his victims.
"Be not afraid."
At his words, acolytes emerged from the shadows, wielding nothing but crosses and what seemed to be bottled spring water. Jack would have laughed at their stupidity if the Demons hadn't immediately recoiled, hissing and retreating from the symbols.
"H-How?!"
"He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his shield and buckler shall be thy truth. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day."
The man stepped closer and offered him a cross. Even in the dim light, Jack could see the blood specks that had probably soaked deep into the wood.
"The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul… The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore!"
"W-Who are you?"
The man smiled, his face creasing like heated plastic.
"I am Deacon Blackfire, shepherd of the lost, protector of the forsaken. And you, my son, are very lost indeed."
Jack clutched the bloodstained cross like a lifeline as more criminals swarmed the Deacon. There was nothing similar amongst them except the broken limps they sported, and the fact they had all been spared the Imps' wrath.
"May the Lord forgive thy sins as He hath forgiven ours, for we all have fallen short of His glory."
A part of him saw through the veneer instantly.
"Now rise, brother…?"
"Jack."
"Rise, brother Jack!"
The most cynical part that kept insisting this was a total sham, but only Blackfire was offering survival… "Rise as one of His flock!" And Jack was too terrified to refuse. Such scenes were repeating themselves all over the city in a dozen different variations, because one man's misfortune was another's fortune and because Joseph Blackfire was nothing if not opportunistic.
And this was the opportunity of a lifetime, literally handed to him on a silver platter.
'Gotham is mine. And soon, so will you.'
.
.
.
"—Imp, do you copy?"
"Loud and clear." Rowan veered left as a map popped up on his visor, showing which territories belonged to which kingpin. The vigilante almost laughed at how similar it was to a videogame map, but kept the observation to himself. "Any news on the targets?"
"—I ran the algorithm through their communication channels, but couldn't pin down Black Mask, Dent, or the other primary targets. I think they were rotating between safehouses on irregular intervals.
I also heard they placed bombs across the city as a last measure, just in case the military decided to move in. You might want to look into that."
"Tsk." He was disappointed, but not really caught off-guard. Rowan had expected as much… If they stayed in one place, they'd be sitting ducks for their own over-ambitious lieutenants, pissed-off civilians or, God-forbid, the SEALs if the government ever got its shit together.
"—You don't sound surprised."
"Wasn't really counting on it." Rowan would've shrugged if he wasn't so sure the motion would send him careening off-course. "Did you at least get their last known locations?"
"—I've circled them on your map."
"Thanks, Lou."
"Lou?"
Grinning under his helmet, Rowan chuckled. "It's short for Lucius. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
The pause stretched almost long enough to be the answer in itself, before Lucius' unimpressed, if not outright displeased voice came through the line.
"—No."
"Well, too bad, 'cause I'm calling you that anyway."
"—So, that's what had Mr. Pennyworth in such a mood. Haven't seen him that worked up in ages."
Rowan cackled like a maniac and winked.
He had no way of knowing if Lucius caught the gesture, but he knew Lucius sensed it.
He just knew.
"You'll get used to it. Sugar-Batty and Alfie did."
"—I would, but I don't want to." Lucius returned.
Mid-glide, as he approached Black Mask's coordinates, Rowan caught a familiar broadcast from the fossil that was Gotham's air siren system and jerked to the right, instantly changing his trajectory. The kingpins could wait; this couldn't. "I'm at Gotham Stadium with a few thousand of your neighbors who'd love to see the boy who's been terrorizing their streets taught a lesson. Don't keep me waiting."
"—Mr. Locke, that was…"
"Just a random nobody who lost to me twice. Nothing to concern yourself with."
Sure, he had technically lost the second encounter, but Rowan didn't really count it as a loss.
He'd have kicked Dickstroke's ass, if not for those meddling civilians!
"—Be careful. Gotham needs her protector, now more than ever." Halfway to his destination, Rowan suddenly felt the Shades' warning.
Apparently, quite a few criminals had decided taking hostages was the best course of action, but that was the least of his concerns given the Shades' ability to manipulate shadows.
The real problem was that many had discovered the Shades' weaknesses across the city.
Weaknesses like crosses and holy objects.
Basic Christian iconography, really…
The entire country was basically a Christianity hotspot after all, and even if the religion had lost much of its relevance with the advent of the latest Industrial Revolution, it was never a matter of if, but when. Especially in a place like Gotham, where hope was a scarcity and people were so desperate they'd cling to anything that promised salvation.
Good thing he'd seen this coming.
"You know the deal, boys. Keep your distance and start hurling. I'll take care of Dickstroke."