Beginnings in Darkness #3

Jason spent the evening in a state of distant listlessness. Bruce showed him to his room and then left him alone. He understood that Jason needed time to think, time to become accustomed to the new environment. Jason didn’t eat any of Alfred’s soup, and ended up wandering the halls of the mansion alone, savoring the silence and the chance to just mull things over inside his head.

He made his way to his room, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling for hours on end, half running from that foggy part of his mind that was his past and half drowning in it, trying to sift out the tiniest detail. There was nothing, nothing but uncertainty. When he had been digging for his name, he thought he’d seen something, but it had slipped from him as soon as he saw it.

Sleep was a slow, agonizing battle; he wasn’t used to the simple feeling of being safe, he wasn’t used to normality-if Bruce’s mansion could be considered normality. He would close his eyes, and then be instantly awake again at the slightest groaning of the old house. When sleep did come, it brought with it no peace, only nightmares. Nightmares that burned like bright coals in the deep black of Jason’s sleeping mind.

He was running, running from the same nameless, formless shape in the shadows, the lab’s walls stretching as they flashed by. The thing grew closer, and closer, until Jason’s feet started to stick in the cheap plastic flooring, and a hand closed like ice around Jason’s arm.

He tore away, determined to escape this time, and suddenly they both broke out into hot sunlight. Jason lifted his face to the sunlight, drinking it in, reveling in it, and turned to face his attacked. He shrank back in shock and surprise. Bruce reached out to him, his expression pleading and the bright blue of his eyes gentle. He started to say something, but before Jason could make out the words Bruce crumbled to dust in the heat of the sun, and Jason was alone. Alone with the lions. They made the golden grasslands ripple ominously, stirred by an invisible wind, as they approached. A growl rose up, making the sky roll with thunder. Jason clapped his hands over his ears, desperately trying to block out the sound, but it reverberated inside him, through him.

A rifled shot, like lightning, split the sky and the weird artificial twilight below it and Jason snapped awake. He sat up, sweating, and the storm outside died to a dull roar. Rain clicked against the windows and thunder rumbled irritably.

He closed his eyes, letting the rhythmic sound calm him, but something stirred inside him. He couldn’t stay in here. The room, however spacious, felt small in comparison to the sprawling savannah. He swung his legs out of bed and stood up, trying to shake the afterimage of the dream from his eyes.

He pulled the black oval from his pocket, the coolness of the metal a comfort against his skin. He reached out with his mind and manipulated it, letting it slide across his body to form a thin, protective outer layer. It fit snuggly under his jeans and t-shirt, and slipped over his face and hair; grafting to every single strand, as natural to him as a second skin.

The black stuff..what was it? He delved into the deep well of his past and pulled forth the name; akletine. What it meant, why it mattered, he didn’t know. He had the sudden urge to test his limits, to be free in the night and seek adventure. Maybe it had something to do with Bruce’s sketch-the hero he could’ve been-but that didn’t matter to Jason. He needed to get out, satiate the restlessness within him.

He flung open the window and crouched on the sill. Water poured down from the overflowing gutter, easily wicked away by his second skin. He jumped from the window to the lawn and made his way out into the night, looking for space, looking for an escape from his confused thoughts.

He darted from shadow to shadow, making his way deeper and deeper into the city on foot. His sense of direction guided him, even in the maze of streets, and even in the daze of his thoughts he knew exactly where the mansion was relative to his location at all times.

The city had come alive. Nightly souls-the ones respectable citizens were expecting to see just behind them, in that dirty alley they just passed-had ventured out into the damp light of the streetlights. They wandered the streets despite the rain, gathering at street corners or huddled under awnings. Gangs with no particular purpose other than loitering and looking to pick a fight, a few thugs who looked like they had places to be, people to see, and the occasional squad car that rumbled uneasily on its patrol.

He stood in the middle of the empty street, thinking, listening. Even over the rain, he could hear the babble of a group of punks around the corner, and the mumbled complaints of a storekeeper as he got up to put a pot under the drip from his ceiling. A whisper caught his attention from the depths of an alley, and he focused on it; making it out through the patter of the rain.

“I dunno, man. I’ve heard this stuff does stuff to you, I mean it’s not like coke or-“

“You aren’t scared are you, punk? I can always take it back. Then what would that leave you with?”

“No-no, I’ll take it. I want my money’s worth, that’s it.”

“You’ll get it alright.”

A squad car rolled down the street, heading straight for Jason. He snapped out of it, coming back to reality, and glanced from side to side for an escape. The cop slammed on his brakes too late. Jason leaped into the air, sliding across the car’s roof, and landed crouched on the pavement lit red by the car’s taillights with a big grin on his face.

That was fun. He thought. Not that I stand around in the middle of the street for fun.

The whispers from the alley cut off. They’d spotted the black-and-white, and as the cop stepped out of his car to check on Jason the two men ran, their feet slapping down in the wet. Jason pointed toward the alley and shouted.

“You might wanna follow me, officer!”

He ran into the alley, a flitting shadow in the night, and skidded around the street corner to see the two fleeing forms ahead of him. The cop was shouting something, but Jason wasn’t paying attention. It didn’t matter. The cop was following him, at least, probably with his gun drawn.

Jason glanced down the street to his right. If he was fast enough..he went for it, hoping what he’d just done was a shortcut and to his surprise ended up in the middle of some guy’s garage. The dude was overweight and a smoker, and gaped at him from where he stood over his vintage Camero, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

“Eh, sorry. Nice car.” Jason flung open a side door and leaped out into the street, finding himself facing the fleeing men. The two men halted, glancing from side to side and then over their shoulders. They were trapped by buildings on both sides, and the cop was running up behind them.

Jason didn’t know exactly what he intended to do about the two of them, but made that decision fast when one of them pulled out a knife and lunged toward him. He ducked and scrambled back, barely dodging the flashing blade.

“You two, freeze! Police! Kid, get outta the way!” Jason wasn’t listening. He leaped forward and kneed the one with the knife in the groin. While he was bent over and groaning, Jason backed up and circled the second one. He spun around to punch Jason, but Jason’s form slipped down a state, surprising them both, and the man’s fist sank into Jason’s cheek. They stared at each other, ridiculous expressions of surprise and shock on their faces, and then Jason grabbed the man’s arm and welled up and over him, smothering him in dark metal as his entire body shape-shifted.

At least, that’s what he thought he was doing.

He was aware of every part of him, feeling with the liquid just as he would have with the tips of his fingers. He pulled himself back together, drawing away from the man he had engulfed and back into a semi-solid form. As he rose from a black pool of liquid into a solid shape, the one with the knife panicked and lashed out.

Jason felt the knife dig into his chest and gasped, pain lancing through him as his semi-solid form shifted around the knife. It was as if the man had stabbed a lake or a puddle; whatever the size, it had the same effect. Jason could feel the knife, vaguely feel the pain that should’ve rendered him hopeless and dying, but the knife wasn’t doing any damage.

He wrapped his hand around the handle, meeting the man’s panicked eyes as he did so, and ripped it from his chest.

“What are you?” The man hissed, backing away.

“Uuuh, fish and chips?” Jason said, grinning. He had them now. He started forward, and they bolted. The policeman fired off half a dozen shots, missing in the dark and the rain. Jason managed to snatch the coat of one of them, and he ripped out of it, scrambling to flee through the wet night. Jason started to follow, but a hard lump in the man’s jacket caught his attention. He pulled it out; it was a bundle of brownish-white powder. The cop hesitated next to him, giving him and the bundle a wary eye.

“Fear.” The cop whispered-his eyes on the bundle-almost involuntarily, before shaking himself and coming back to his senses. “Stay here! I’m going after them!” The cop raced down the street. Jason stood there, dazed, and tucked the bundle into his pocket before falling into a liquid again and slipping down into the sewers with the rest of the rain and grime from the streets.