How much do you think the Signal’s debut shook the supervillains, and indeed all criminals, of Gotham? He destroyed their longstanding definition of a Gotham vigilante. All the rules went out the window. From now on, apparently anything goes.
[Early morning in a plain, modest safehouse. Jonathon Crane cracks his eyes open, yawns, slowly gets up and groggily shuffles to the kitchen/dining area, where he takes out a cup and prepares to use the coffee machine. Behind him his scientific equipment and notes are arranged neatly on the counter. A relaxed Duke is taking photos of them.]
Duke: (jovially) Good morning.
Jon: Good morning.
Jon:
Jon: Who the hell are you?!
Duke: I’m the Signal! (pats symbol proudly) The newest hero in town.
Jon: (blinks, still half-asleep) Like… the Bat-Signal?
Duke: Yeah, I’ve got this whole light theme going on.
Jon: But - it - it’s 6:30 AM.
Duke: Yep. Turns out crime doesn’t just vanish when the sun comes up, so I patrol in the daylight hours. The night shift has seven people; the day shift should have at least one, right?
Jon: But you’re a Bat! Bats don’t do that!
Duke: Actually, some species of bat, like fruit bats, are diurnal. I got precedent.
Jon, on the verge of a breakdown: Okay, okay, look. I have lost a great deal of sleep lately evading capture by the frankly ridiculous number of vigilantes active at night. You’re a teenager, a student with a very strenuous job. Surely you understand what sleep deprivation feels like.
Duke: I do.
Jon: Just please, please let me have my coffee.
[A weighted pause. Duke narrows his eyes, then softens.]
Duke: You get one cup.
Jon: Thank you.
[He makes his cup of coffee and lovingly inhales the smell. Just as he’s about to drink it, Duke bats it out of his hand like a cat. It smashes on the floor.]
Jon: YOU -
[Duke quickly cuffs him.]
Duke: Stop! Making! Trauma: The Inhalant! That’s all you have to do, man!
***
[Duke is fighting Poison Ivy in her greenhouse of killer plants.]
Duke, popping out the blades in his escrima sticks: Your vines are no match for my bat-chet blades!
Ivy: Great, another one who puns.
[She sends a new wave of vines, but he gracefully slices and weaves through them. Too gracefully. His reflexes are faster than even Batman’s. Curious as scientists are wont to be, she halts her attack, and then suddenly, silently strikes with a vine straight at the back of his head. He cannot possibly sense it coming. He ducks.]
Ivy: Wait… oh God, you can’t predict movements before they happen with crazy extreme ninja training like Black Bat, can you? I’m not fighting another Bat like that. No way.
Duke: Oh, no, no, no, don’t worry. I’m not nearly as well-trained as Black Bat. I just have superpowers.
Ivy: You what?
Duke: I’m a metahuman. I’ve got superpowers.
Ivy: But you’re a Bat! Bats don’t do that!
Duke: I get that a lot.
Ivy: Well, what superpowers?
Duke: I’m not telling you all about my powers - I’m literally fighting you - but basically I can process light differently. Part of that is seeing where it’s been, the past, and where it will be, the future. I call it ghost vision.
Ivy: How far into the past and future? Hours? Months? Years? Can you see before your birth or after your death? Can you predict other people’s deaths? Watch the rise and fall of civilizations?
Duke, whose ghost vision currently goes under a minute both ways: That’s for me to know and you to… (stares into the middle distance) I believe, never find out.
Ivy: (raises hands) I’ll go to Arkham.
***
[Duke kicks open the door to Edward Nygma's hideout.]
Duke: Give it up, Riddler, I've got a... whoa.
[He trails off as he takes the space in. There are papers - plans, to-do lists, riddles, ciphers, trap and gadget blueprints, maps and more - everywhere, in stacks, folders and scattered loose across every surface. A bin in the corner is overflowing with crumpled pages. Intricate model traps line a shelf, one fallen on the floor. One wall bears a large corkboard with green and purple strings connecting annotated pictures of the Batfamily, including a screenshot of Oracle's digital logo. Edward himself has not reacted whatsoever to Duke's entrance. He's hunched over at his desk, typing away at an expensive computer setup. On one side of him sit many energy drinks, on the other is a massive pile of empty cans. All this detail requires Duke's night vision to see, because the lights are off and the curtains are closed, the only light the computer's cold glow.]
Edward: (only briefly looking up to give him a haughty stare) Yes, yes, the Signal, I've heard. Rest assured, it will be my utmost pleasure to obliterate you in a battle of wits. I just need to finish a couple of things.
Duke: When was the last time you slept?
Edward: (slightly hysterical chuckle) Please. I have transcended my mortal weaknesses thanks to intense focus, indomitable drive and the miracle of stimulants, much as I presume you Bats do. You're in no position to lecture me on getting enough sleep. I mean, you're late, so you're clearly not on top of things.
Duke: What?
Edward: You're meant to be a daytime hero. It's a little late for that, isn't it?
Duke: (concerned) It's 8:00 AM.
[Edward blinks and looks at the clock on his screen. He frowns. He stands up, strides over to the window and opens the curtains, flinching at the bright morning light. Duke notices that he has deep bags under his eyes and looks even more tired than Jon did, but his movements are as energetic as ever. He stretches and winces from back ache.]
Edward: Ah. So it is. ...What day is it?
Duke: (more concerned) Monday?
Edward: Monday?!
Duke: Okay, you've clearly been in the zone for a while. And I know being autistic can make it hard to recognize and interpret your body's messages. When was the last time you ate?
Edward: None of your business. I'm perfect condition.
[He picks up another can. Duke punctures it with a batarang. Edward scoffs and throws it down in indignation.]
Duke: I don't think you should have any more of those. (scans the rooms with X-ray vision) Oh my God, there's no food in here. Did you forget to buy it? Listen, if you come quietly, I'll get you a full breakfast on the way to Arkham.
[Edward is distracted, rummaging through his rooms in search of food.]
Edward: Of course I have food, Duke. It's right... it's somewhere around... (finds the fallen model) oh, I was looking for this!
Duke: No, with my powers I - you know my identity?
Edward: (still distracted, talking increasingly fast) What, like it's hard? I know everyone's except Oracle and the Red Hood. If Jason had survived, he'd be a perfect fit, but he's dead. Now, true, Stephanie is still alive when I distinctly remember visiting her grave, but those are completely different situations. There was a motive to fake her death, to escape the criminal overlords she'd angered with that gang war; I cannot find any such benefit from Jason's faked death and relocation. Stephanie was gone for, like, a year. Jason has yet to return after most of a decade. Even -
Duke: You visited Steph's grave?
Edward: She was a brilliant adversary, I had to pay my respects. Anyway, even if Jason's death was somehow inexplicably faked, he wouldn't have chosen to live only as the Red Hood. Especially who the Red Hood was at first. That would mean sacrificing his close familial relationships and becoming his beloved father and brother's enemy. And why would he ever be a crime lord? It's a radical betrayal of all his values, and based on his backstory, he should resent organized crime. And Batman would never fight his own child. None of it makes any sense! But I can't figure out what else could work. Is he really just a random person the Bats took in in adulthood? So that's been weighing on me. And also -
[He trips over a folder and, weak and lightheaded, crashes to the floor. He's so exhausted that merely lying on a flat surface has him sleeping soundly in an instant, resting his head on a stack of paper. Duke stares at him incredulously.]
Duke: I'm buying you breakfast.
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- 2:28
you look peaceful with your head in his lap. your breathes coming in and out evenly as you rest.
it almost distracts ayato from the bandages that peak out beneath your clothing. a hand distractedly threading through your hair; the gloves he removed because he wanted to make sure you were really alright (that you were really in front of him).
the bandages no longer were the pristine white. pinks slowly joining it, his eyebrows furrow, he would have to see to them being changed soon.
you shift slightly in your sleep and his hand stills. he did not wish to wake you, and slowly his tense form relaxes as your breaths even out once more, your chest rising and falling like normal.
the sliding door opens, and thoma quietly enters the room.
“the investigation team has returned, milord,” he begins, “lady ayaka is greeting them now, but shall I have them report in the morning?”
at this ayato shakes his head, gently easing your head onto the soft pillows and from his lap so that he may stand. his hand lingers at the side of your face before he pulls away. his coat now draped over his shoulders, now squared and tense.
“that won’t be necessary, thoma, I will see them in a moment. and you have made the necessary preparations for both my sister and ___?”
wordlessly, thoma nods. as the head of the clan’s tone left no room for anything otherwise.
the retainer of the kamisatos has learned to school his reactions with clear indifference, most of the time it was due to his lord’s antics and jokes, the rest happening as he grew accustomed to inazuma and its culture. however it was in rare moments of seriousness like this, he still couldn’t help but nearly shudder.
just before he exits the room, thoma manages a glimpse at his eyes.
the eyes of his lord glimmer dangerously. for just a moment, thoma couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of pity for the person who had hurt you in order to get to ayato.
(seeing the cool facade of his almost break as you had returned to ayato barely conscious, before collapsing before him, his expression blank but his eyes stormy and desperate, thoma knew that ayato was already planning on some form of comeuppance for the party responsible).
the moon illuminates the sky briefly, and the sounds of crickets chirping remind thoma of how late it was. regardless, he sets the basket of bandages and other medical supplies, and gets to work at giving you fresh bandages.
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