Tim Drake-Wayne | Second Son (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
filialson) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamsanddisasters2014-09-16 11:20 pm
filialson) wrote in dreamsanddisasters2014-09-16 11:20 pm
Entry tags:
Clone What-If (GDI PLUS REALLY IS AN ENABLER)
[ Stone walls, tile floor, a tank; brilliant, fluorescent green glow. Breathing for the first time is unlike anything. There's cables hooked up to him and men looking down at him and they have questions. ]
What is your name?
[ He knows the language, and he knows the answer--
(Damian)
--and he knows this is danger and those men are jackals and he must give them nothing. ]
What is your name? What do you remember?
[ He stays silent, stares at them in silent incomprehension. They're disappointed, and he takes a vicious kind of satisfaction in that.
His name is Damian, and he remembers the feel of Kevlar-covered arms pressed around him, the bright and smiling undertones of a man's chatter, and the warmth of walking in from the cold and not being alone.
He's incomplete and defective, but he remembers he had a father, a brother, and a home. ]
[ Surprisingly, it's Tim's network that catches the leak first, rather than Barbara's. Perhaps because Tim has more people on the inside of the League, more bots crawling through the servers he can access. He keeps an eye on their dark-net projects where he can, but this one was buried deep.
It's a video, just one from what must be a series of many. Pretty standard, as far as medical logs go. There's a doctor, a scientist, sitting in front of the web camera, and he begins his report. ]
Subject Alpha is showing more promise, but not the results we were looking for. We'd thought, with the brain activity during development--
[ The scientist sighs. He thought they'd had it for sure this time. ]
The muscle memory transferred over, but it's incomplete. Re-training is going smoothly. The response levels to further synchronizations--
[ And the man lists numbers. Statistics. Comparisons between now and previous updates, of which there are many. There's even mention of other, terminated, subjects. Tim, watching, feels the first stirrings of unease. ]
--previous subjects may have been too young, and the accelerated aging, contrary to expectations, was, by all accounts, a success. Mental faculties fully intact, the subject remains responsive, aware, and cooperative. Most days.
There are very few rational explanations for why a natural age of fifteen rather than ten seems to have been the magic number, even with the reduction in data that could be transferred over--
[ There's ice in Tim's stomach and a pounding in his ears and he stares, transfixed, at the screen. ]
--hope to have better results for the Demon's Head, soon--
[ Tim's tuning out the words by now, numbly pulling up the attached documents, and he has to stop, remember to breathe, at the crisp photo image of a young man pops up on screen. Dressed in simple white clothes, he's been caught on camera in the middle of a spinning kick, and it's a set of too-familiar, sharp grey-blue eyes, ringed with the smudges of chronic exhaustion, that stare straight into the camera. A too-familiar face, expression neutral, with a too-familiar, impudent slant to his lips. Handsome, healthy--
--alive.
Tim stops breathing, and starts throwing everything to Babs. ]
[ Bruce is off-world, at Apokolips, but even if he wasn't this message would go to Dick, first, because Bruce is an asshole who doesn't believe in telling them the whole truth.
(Dick, also alive, Batman again in Bruce's stead. What happened to no more secrets, B?)
Attached to the message is the video, the photos, the documents he could pull up. A location, and a plan. ]
Just say the word.
What is your name?
[ He knows the language, and he knows the answer--
(Damian)
--and he knows this is danger and those men are jackals and he must give them nothing. ]
What is your name? What do you remember?
[ He stays silent, stares at them in silent incomprehension. They're disappointed, and he takes a vicious kind of satisfaction in that.
His name is Damian, and he remembers the feel of Kevlar-covered arms pressed around him, the bright and smiling undertones of a man's chatter, and the warmth of walking in from the cold and not being alone.
He's incomplete and defective, but he remembers he had a father, a brother, and a home. ]
[ Surprisingly, it's Tim's network that catches the leak first, rather than Barbara's. Perhaps because Tim has more people on the inside of the League, more bots crawling through the servers he can access. He keeps an eye on their dark-net projects where he can, but this one was buried deep.
It's a video, just one from what must be a series of many. Pretty standard, as far as medical logs go. There's a doctor, a scientist, sitting in front of the web camera, and he begins his report. ]
Subject Alpha is showing more promise, but not the results we were looking for. We'd thought, with the brain activity during development--
[ The scientist sighs. He thought they'd had it for sure this time. ]
The muscle memory transferred over, but it's incomplete. Re-training is going smoothly. The response levels to further synchronizations--
[ And the man lists numbers. Statistics. Comparisons between now and previous updates, of which there are many. There's even mention of other, terminated, subjects. Tim, watching, feels the first stirrings of unease. ]
--previous subjects may have been too young, and the accelerated aging, contrary to expectations, was, by all accounts, a success. Mental faculties fully intact, the subject remains responsive, aware, and cooperative. Most days.
There are very few rational explanations for why a natural age of fifteen rather than ten seems to have been the magic number, even with the reduction in data that could be transferred over--
[ There's ice in Tim's stomach and a pounding in his ears and he stares, transfixed, at the screen. ]
--hope to have better results for the Demon's Head, soon--
[ Tim's tuning out the words by now, numbly pulling up the attached documents, and he has to stop, remember to breathe, at the crisp photo image of a young man pops up on screen. Dressed in simple white clothes, he's been caught on camera in the middle of a spinning kick, and it's a set of too-familiar, sharp grey-blue eyes, ringed with the smudges of chronic exhaustion, that stare straight into the camera. A too-familiar face, expression neutral, with a too-familiar, impudent slant to his lips. Handsome, healthy--
--alive.
Tim stops breathing, and starts throwing everything to Babs. ]
[ Bruce is off-world, at Apokolips, but even if he wasn't this message would go to Dick, first, because Bruce is an asshole who doesn't believe in telling them the whole truth.
(Dick, also alive, Batman again in Bruce's stead. What happened to no more secrets, B?)
Attached to the message is the video, the photos, the documents he could pull up. A location, and a plan. ]
Just say the word.
gosh so inconsiderate
Glad you travel light.
[Well, he certainly couldn't keep him waiting after all, could he? And it was only a matter of time before they had more security already on them, so they had to get out fast. So it was good to see that Damian was up and moving just fine.
He jerked his head towards the door, only a second before dashing towards the exist himself.] C'mon. We gotta go fast.
hey i put the tl;dr didn't i
(hotfooting it to match pace with Batman, playful and challenging when he'd throw on some extra speed to outstrip him by just a few feet, a wordless reminder that soon soon soon he'd be the one wearing the cowl, better keep up--) ]
Tell me you have an exit strategy.
[ Damian usually didn't get far when he tried for escape. He'd found a kill chute once that had helped him hold out against security, but it had left him with a dead end, inaccessible to anyone without the clearance: a door that wouldn't open for him, and some pissed off men with tranquilizer guns.
They round a corner, bump into a shocked guard, and Damian takes the enemy down during that window of surprise with a jump and a bootless foot to the face, almost effortless in how efficiently he knocks them out with the kick and keeps going.
(The curling, toothy smirk of satisfaction at the crunch says he hasn't grown out of his tendency to gleefully curbstomp his opponents at all.) ]
Because, no offense, if we get caught, I'm not sharing my room with you.
no subject
Even Damian's unspoken (well, along with his spoken) threats of seizing the cowl, to which always responds with unnecessary flurries like the way he lets the cape pillow out on the next stretch of corridor, as annoying as they were-- he'd missed them. Missed all of it.]
Don't worry. [He may not be smirking like he'd allow himself to do again at Spyral (had to have some small victories), but the amusement isn't hidden from his voice at all.] If they catch me they'll probably just kill me. So I think you're good unless they decide to move your room to the morgue.
[The plus side was that the League most likely wanted Damian alive-- granted, they could repair a lot of heavy damage, but on yet another plus side, Damian was still small enough Dick could probably fling him over his shoulder and carry him if need be.]
We go up. The Batjet'll be waiting for us at an extraction point in the Northeast of the compound once we get out of the labs and get outside.
no subject
[ He laughs, harsh and short, and it used to be that darkly amused little chuckle sounded like a piping yap rather than the bark it's become. They hit a T-junction, and he turns right. ]
Too much of a liability now--
[ Whoop, that was a slew of rubber bullets slinging past his face the minute he stuck his nose around that corner. Hello, heavy duty reinforcements. Damian digs his heels in, spinning back around, and pushes Dick the other way, breaking into a sprint because that's a lot of company they have. ]
"Go up"? That's it? -Tt!- Your planning could use some work, Batman. There's elevators, but up needs clearance.
[ He doesn't even know where in the compound they are. Down here there's no such thing as north or northeast; just left, right, and straight. He's mapped out and memorized the twists and turns he's taken before, so he has some idea of where things are. A service elevator, two turns ahead of them, but it's useless if they can't even get into it. ]
no subject
(That Damian is an investment for them really is kind of a saving grace. Never thought he'd hear rubber bullets in an assassin compound, at least not when the firing is directed at him.)]
I'm Batman.
[His tone almost sounds like he sees fit to leave it at that; he's studied the maps with due diligence and three times over that, and knows where the service elevator is and heads straight for it without a word.
He throws a punch at the button to call it down, busting through to damage the circuitry as soon as it's in range. For the door, he plants a small explosive with a timed detonator of only a few seconds, pushing Damian away from the blast zone as soon as it starts beeping.
The explosion isn't gigantic, just enough to blow the doors wide open-- but it is loud, and not gonna do them any favors if they sit around too long. And Dick's already stepping through the new mess in the wall, into the elevator shaft.]
I make my own clearance.
no subject
Oh sure, easy enough to say when you have explosives. Last time I had to bite a man's finger off just to get past the touch ID.
[ But even he can't refrain from following eagerly at Dick's heels into the elevator shaft, wide eyes immediately snapping up to the top of the shaft; shadowed, but promising. Freedom.
(He looks like he'd climb it with his bare hands and feet.) ]
Wasn't even the right finger.
[ The batons are still gripped in his hands, and now he's looking at Dick as if asking 'what next?' Actually climb? Get the elevator itself to work after blowing the circuitry? ]
no subject
[The smirk on his face says that he thinks he's the most hilarious asshole on the planet right now.
But he missed this. Dick was a chatty guy, and while Tim and Babs had more in the way of wit, Damian's sarcasm always had a vicious bite to it that Dick couldn't help but laugh at. He probably was not setting the best example. But, who cares.
He answers the unspoken question with action, whipping the grappling gun out of his belt and pointing it straight up at the ceiling, releasing the mechanism with a simple flick as the cable flew straight through the air. And once it caught and the line pulled tight, he didn't bother to ask permission to reach out and curl his arm around Damian's torso (he's heavier, and taller, and it's not as if he could toss him around like Bruce could've when Dick was that age, but he's still got a strong grip) and pull him close.]
Hold on tight.
[The sound of bullets and footsteps rapidly approaching-- another click, and up they went.]
no subject
Batman.
[ He doesn't appreciate being squished up against Kevlar. Or being touched at all, for that matter. But he connects the dots quickly, accepts his lot in life with a grumble and curls his own arm over Dick's shoulder to strengthen the hold.
Bullets, ringing in the hall. Urgent yelling and the stampede of feet. It's so much like last time, when he'd been so close, pressed against this same service elevator, that he can't help but think it's back to the room for him. Back to the slow insanity of being isolated, tested, a science experiment with no hope for any release but death.
Except escape is a reality. The jerk of velocity, dragging him up, is a reminder of that. The pissed off yelling below brings a vicious smile to his face, though it drops at the sound of bullets -- real bullets, this time -- ricocheting off metal as they're fired on. ]
Try again, assholes! [ He yells down at them, taunting. ] A little to the left this time!