A New Villain in Town: Robin Gets Kidnapped Part 1
Okay: so for some odd reason all my titles don't quite fit my stories, the last one said Robin when it was really Nightwing, and this one, well you'll see. This one is definitly alot darker then my Robin X Batman series. This one is with Jason Todd and the son of the Balck Mask, yes i just made up a character. I hope you enjoy the first part, don't know how many parts I'll make it, depends on how long i stay interested. ENJOY!
Jason had given up his mantle of Robin Hood, the boy wonder, and taken off on his predecessor, Dick Grayson’s Crotch rocket. He was so angry at finding out that not only was he not the first Robin, but he wouldn’t even be the last Robin that he had taken off in a rush of anger. He had made it clear to all of the caped crusaders of Gotham City that they were not going to see his face for a long time, if ever.
Jason kept driving till he hit some big city on an empty tank of gas. Jason is still wearing the Robin costume, even though he’s not Robin anymore, even though he’s never going to be Robin again. As he leans the bike on its kick stand he wonders what he’s going to do. He’s in a back alley of a street that doesn’t have a name, of a city that he doesn’t know the name, and for a moment he doesn’t really know what his own name is. He was only Jason Wayne while he was Robin, so is he Jason Todd now, can he ever be Jason Todd when he was once Robin.
Jason leans against the dirty brick wall of some old, boarded up building. He’s still angry, angry enough to never go back, but he’s not so consuming angry that he can’t think about anything anymore. Now that he’s thinking, he begins to wonder what he’s going to do. He would rather die than go back to Gotham, to Wayne Manor, to Batman and the New Robin, but all he has is a stolen crotch rocket and the Robin costume. He doesn’t even have his tool belt, or for that matter his mask.
He’s still bleeding from several hours ago, his costume still covered in the dirt in grime from his last time crime fighting. He’s only wearing one glove; he doesn’t know what happened to the other one and he absolutely doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he’s covered in blood; he’s not even certain how much is his, and he doesn’t care. It’s that warmth right before the storm, and when the first drop hits, it mingles with his sweat. He leans his head back as it starts to pour, all of his weight is on the wall behind him.
Now that he’s not angry, he realizes how drained he is, and how much he feels like crying, but he won’t, because he hadn’t cried since he was Jason Todd and he doesn’t know if he wants to be Jason Todd. He doesn’t know if he wants to be anyone anymore. In minutes he was drenched. He wasn’t even really thinking anymore, just feeling the rain wash away the blood and grime.
He’s not paying attention to anything ells but the feel of the rain on his wounds, that why he didn’t hear the thugs till they were right on him. Jason barely avoided the punch aimed at his skull, but he was to slow to avoid the knee to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He lashed out and tried to fight, but he was surrounded and too tired, emotionally and physically, to put up much of a fight. Most of his fighting back was pure instincts, defensive fighting, but in moments he had taken more hits than his body could take. As he fell to the ground and lost consciences he could still feet the blows.
Jason awoke slowly. He hurt all over and one of his eyes was swollen shut, but he couldn’t see in the dark anyway. He hurt all over, and he took stock of the more serious injuries, which were numerous. He wasn’t certain but he thought his ribs were broken. His left leg was at an odd angle and was numb from the knee down. His lips were bruised, swollen and dry, and when he ran his tongue over them he tasted blood.
His wrists were bound by a cold metal, chained to the wall above him. He could tell by the tired weight in his arms that they had been in this same position for some time now. The same medal on his wrists was around his neck, not tight enough to touch all of the skin on his neck but not loose enough to slip past his chin. It hurt and made him nauseated to move, but he forced himself to do it anyway, testing his range of motion. He couldn’t move his left leg, which was expected since he couldn’t feel it. He was able to move his right leg freely, uninhibited by any chains.
He forced himself to stay calm and to stay awake past the pain that threatened to knock him out once again. He stayed like that, in a dark cell for so long. Eventually he couldn’t stay conscience anymore. He was certain how much time had passed when he realized he really needed to pee. It felt like a lifetime had passed in the dark and silence, but realistically if had probably only been a day. No signs of change in his environment. He couldn’t see anything; he couldn’t hear anything beside his own breathing and the unsteady beat of his heart.
In his head, he had a mental clock ticking away the secant, the minutes, the hours, and slowly the days. He was so thirsty, so hungry, and finally he could no longer stop his bowels. Still time continued, without a break in the conditions around him. Eventually He began to wonder if he was going to die here, wherever here was, chained to a wall and riddled in his own filth. It was a depressing thought, but what was worse was the realization that no one would know he was gone, no one would miss him. Nobody would coming looking for him, because he wasn’t Robin anymore, and no one would notice his absence because he wasn’t Jason Todd, or Jason Wayne, he wasn’t anyone.
At some point he had lost consciousness again, but he woke up with a painful jerk when light finally spilled into the room. It was painfully bright, and he was suddenly blinder than when he had been in total darkness. Jason blinked and tried to see with his one good eye. Finally he was able to make out the dimensions of his cell. One door on the far wall, a low ceiling that had the very large man in the doorway hunched over.
As my eyes adjusted further I was able to actually take in details of his shadowed profile. I realized he was looking me over, but I decided I didn’t really care that I looked like shit. The man in the doorway was young, probably only a few years older than Jason. He was wearing Jeans, a wife beater and sandals, nothing covered his face from view. Not what Jason was expecting, but at this point he was willing to take anything, any sign of contact, any chance at the hope he wasn’t going to die here.
The man in the doorway crossed his arms over his chest, showing off a vast array of very intimidating muscles, and asked in a voice with a thick Russian accent, “You are the Robin? No?”
Jason started to shake his head but stopped when the pain and nausea became too much. The man tensed and said, “You do not look like the Robin now, but perhaps you might have been him?”
Jason opened his mouth in surprise, but then snapped it shut with more strength then he had moment before. The man made a noise Jason could not understand, lick the clucking of an angry hen. Then he stepped out of the room. Jason groaned, somehow, without even opening his big mouth to say something rude to the man, Jason had pissed off his only visitor since his abduction. He was definitely going to die here, but at least the man had left the door open. Dyeing in the darkness of a closed off cell he couldn’t see was worse in Jason’s mind than dyeing in a cell he could see, not much, but enough to lift his spirits a split centimeter.
Jason let his head slam backwards into the wall. He knew on a mental level that the spreading numbness was not a good sign, but he was just to glad for the pain to be fading. Except now the light was making his head pound. Jason let his eyes close and for a moment he thought he would never open them again, but then he herd heavy, slightly uneven steps. A shadow fell on his face and the same Russian voice from before asked, “You alive?”
Jason opened his good eye just a sliver, but it wasn’t like he could see. The man made that clucking noise again and said, “Although you do not appear to be a threat, I must take precautions, you understand.”
Jason’s eye closed and he felt the man push a bag onto his head. The last time Jason had seen a bag like that had been when he and the batman had been fighting the scarecrow. The man tightened strings of the bag on my neck, above the medal collar. I felt him lift my left arm and twist at the chain attached to the medal band. There was a clanking sound, and then the snap as the chain broke. My hand dropped to the floor for a moment before the man picked it up and held it with one strong hand as he moved to remove the chain on the other side. Another snap, another drop of my arm before my other arm was picked up in another strong grip.
The iron bands were still attached to my wrist, and in no time at all the man had them hooked together by a piece of the broke chains. Mental I took note that the man definitely had some super strength, or something. He pulled on my wrists and my whole body moved forward, and the collar caught on my neck, choking me for a secant before the man snapped the chain on the edge of my collar. “Sorry. Are you still alive?”
Jason moved his right leg, bending it at the knee and pulling his foot closer to his center. The man made another clucking sound then all the air was push from Jason’s lungs as he found himself thrown over the other man’s shoulder. Jason winced from the pang in his ribs before loosing conciseness for a time.
Jason came to when the man yanked the bag off his head, but before Jason could even open his good eye to see where he was at he was shoved under freezing cold water. He gasped and sputtered and at first tried to jerk out of the spray, but strong arms held him under the water. Once he adjusted to the streaming water he began to pull the cold water into his mouth, drinking it up so fast that he made his stomach sore. It was a sure sign that he was still alive.
Jason had given up his mantle of Robin Hood, the boy wonder, and taken off on his predecessor, Dick Grayson’s Crotch rocket. He was so angry at finding out that not only was he not the first Robin, but he wouldn’t even be the last Robin that he had taken off in a rush of anger. He had made it clear to all of the caped crusaders of Gotham City that they were not going to see his face for a long time, if ever.
Jason kept driving till he hit some big city on an empty tank of gas. Jason is still wearing the Robin costume, even though he’s not Robin anymore, even though he’s never going to be Robin again. As he leans the bike on its kick stand he wonders what he’s going to do. He’s in a back alley of a street that doesn’t have a name, of a city that he doesn’t know the name, and for a moment he doesn’t really know what his own name is. He was only Jason Wayne while he was Robin, so is he Jason Todd now, can he ever be Jason Todd when he was once Robin.
Jason leans against the dirty brick wall of some old, boarded up building. He’s still angry, angry enough to never go back, but he’s not so consuming angry that he can’t think about anything anymore. Now that he’s thinking, he begins to wonder what he’s going to do. He would rather die than go back to Gotham, to Wayne Manor, to Batman and the New Robin, but all he has is a stolen crotch rocket and the Robin costume. He doesn’t even have his tool belt, or for that matter his mask.
He’s still bleeding from several hours ago, his costume still covered in the dirt in grime from his last time crime fighting. He’s only wearing one glove; he doesn’t know what happened to the other one and he absolutely doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he’s covered in blood; he’s not even certain how much is his, and he doesn’t care. It’s that warmth right before the storm, and when the first drop hits, it mingles with his sweat. He leans his head back as it starts to pour, all of his weight is on the wall behind him.
Now that he’s not angry, he realizes how drained he is, and how much he feels like crying, but he won’t, because he hadn’t cried since he was Jason Todd and he doesn’t know if he wants to be Jason Todd. He doesn’t know if he wants to be anyone anymore. In minutes he was drenched. He wasn’t even really thinking anymore, just feeling the rain wash away the blood and grime.
He’s not paying attention to anything ells but the feel of the rain on his wounds, that why he didn’t hear the thugs till they were right on him. Jason barely avoided the punch aimed at his skull, but he was to slow to avoid the knee to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He lashed out and tried to fight, but he was surrounded and too tired, emotionally and physically, to put up much of a fight. Most of his fighting back was pure instincts, defensive fighting, but in moments he had taken more hits than his body could take. As he fell to the ground and lost consciences he could still feet the blows.
Jason awoke slowly. He hurt all over and one of his eyes was swollen shut, but he couldn’t see in the dark anyway. He hurt all over, and he took stock of the more serious injuries, which were numerous. He wasn’t certain but he thought his ribs were broken. His left leg was at an odd angle and was numb from the knee down. His lips were bruised, swollen and dry, and when he ran his tongue over them he tasted blood.
His wrists were bound by a cold metal, chained to the wall above him. He could tell by the tired weight in his arms that they had been in this same position for some time now. The same medal on his wrists was around his neck, not tight enough to touch all of the skin on his neck but not loose enough to slip past his chin. It hurt and made him nauseated to move, but he forced himself to do it anyway, testing his range of motion. He couldn’t move his left leg, which was expected since he couldn’t feel it. He was able to move his right leg freely, uninhibited by any chains.
He forced himself to stay calm and to stay awake past the pain that threatened to knock him out once again. He stayed like that, in a dark cell for so long. Eventually he couldn’t stay conscience anymore. He was certain how much time had passed when he realized he really needed to pee. It felt like a lifetime had passed in the dark and silence, but realistically if had probably only been a day. No signs of change in his environment. He couldn’t see anything; he couldn’t hear anything beside his own breathing and the unsteady beat of his heart.
In his head, he had a mental clock ticking away the secant, the minutes, the hours, and slowly the days. He was so thirsty, so hungry, and finally he could no longer stop his bowels. Still time continued, without a break in the conditions around him. Eventually He began to wonder if he was going to die here, wherever here was, chained to a wall and riddled in his own filth. It was a depressing thought, but what was worse was the realization that no one would know he was gone, no one would miss him. Nobody would coming looking for him, because he wasn’t Robin anymore, and no one would notice his absence because he wasn’t Jason Todd, or Jason Wayne, he wasn’t anyone.
At some point he had lost consciousness again, but he woke up with a painful jerk when light finally spilled into the room. It was painfully bright, and he was suddenly blinder than when he had been in total darkness. Jason blinked and tried to see with his one good eye. Finally he was able to make out the dimensions of his cell. One door on the far wall, a low ceiling that had the very large man in the doorway hunched over.
As my eyes adjusted further I was able to actually take in details of his shadowed profile. I realized he was looking me over, but I decided I didn’t really care that I looked like shit. The man in the doorway was young, probably only a few years older than Jason. He was wearing Jeans, a wife beater and sandals, nothing covered his face from view. Not what Jason was expecting, but at this point he was willing to take anything, any sign of contact, any chance at the hope he wasn’t going to die here.
The man in the doorway crossed his arms over his chest, showing off a vast array of very intimidating muscles, and asked in a voice with a thick Russian accent, “You are the Robin? No?”
Jason started to shake his head but stopped when the pain and nausea became too much. The man tensed and said, “You do not look like the Robin now, but perhaps you might have been him?”
Jason opened his mouth in surprise, but then snapped it shut with more strength then he had moment before. The man made a noise Jason could not understand, lick the clucking of an angry hen. Then he stepped out of the room. Jason groaned, somehow, without even opening his big mouth to say something rude to the man, Jason had pissed off his only visitor since his abduction. He was definitely going to die here, but at least the man had left the door open. Dyeing in the darkness of a closed off cell he couldn’t see was worse in Jason’s mind than dyeing in a cell he could see, not much, but enough to lift his spirits a split centimeter.
Jason let his head slam backwards into the wall. He knew on a mental level that the spreading numbness was not a good sign, but he was just to glad for the pain to be fading. Except now the light was making his head pound. Jason let his eyes close and for a moment he thought he would never open them again, but then he herd heavy, slightly uneven steps. A shadow fell on his face and the same Russian voice from before asked, “You alive?”
Jason opened his good eye just a sliver, but it wasn’t like he could see. The man made that clucking noise again and said, “Although you do not appear to be a threat, I must take precautions, you understand.”
Jason’s eye closed and he felt the man push a bag onto his head. The last time Jason had seen a bag like that had been when he and the batman had been fighting the scarecrow. The man tightened strings of the bag on my neck, above the medal collar. I felt him lift my left arm and twist at the chain attached to the medal band. There was a clanking sound, and then the snap as the chain broke. My hand dropped to the floor for a moment before the man picked it up and held it with one strong hand as he moved to remove the chain on the other side. Another snap, another drop of my arm before my other arm was picked up in another strong grip.
The iron bands were still attached to my wrist, and in no time at all the man had them hooked together by a piece of the broke chains. Mental I took note that the man definitely had some super strength, or something. He pulled on my wrists and my whole body moved forward, and the collar caught on my neck, choking me for a secant before the man snapped the chain on the edge of my collar. “Sorry. Are you still alive?”
Jason moved his right leg, bending it at the knee and pulling his foot closer to his center. The man made another clucking sound then all the air was push from Jason’s lungs as he found himself thrown over the other man’s shoulder. Jason winced from the pang in his ribs before loosing conciseness for a time.
Jason came to when the man yanked the bag off his head, but before Jason could even open his good eye to see where he was at he was shoved under freezing cold water. He gasped and sputtered and at first tried to jerk out of the spray, but strong arms held him under the water. Once he adjusted to the streaming water he began to pull the cold water into his mouth, drinking it up so fast that he made his stomach sore. It was a sure sign that he was still alive.