Blood and Love
“And look at that! It worked!” She yelled, bursting into the room again. “I did some tests, and it worked!” Her smile was large and unnerving. She checked the wound where she had cut into 444, where she had cut some tissue off, wholly healed. “I did it! I am a God.” She laughed as she sat down next to Peter again. “And you are my child… my first of many…”
She touched Peter's face gently, “But we must test how far this healing goes, my dear!”
____
Dick and Cass were sweeping through the men’s apartments. Every room was empty—no signs of a struggle, no clues left behind. It was like they had vanished into thin air.
Bruce, however, had found something more concrete. He tracked down Charles Leroy’s new base of operations—an abandoned warehouse by the docks. Inside, he found Leroy, along with a group of heavily armed goons, setting up shop once again.
Charles Leroy was pacing in the dimly lit warehouse, barking orders to his men, when suddenly, the shadows shifted. Before anyone could react, Batman emerged from the darkness, his presence an overwhelming force. The air thickened with tension.
Leroy froze, eyes widening as he realized they were not alone. "What the—?!" He stumbled back, bumping into a stack of crates. "How did you—"
Batman stepped forward, his voice low and controlled. "You're not as good at hiding as you think, Leroy."
Leroy’s heart raced as he took a step back. "You—you shouldn’t be here! I haven’t done anything—”
"Don’t lie," Batman cut him off, his tone ice-cold. "You might’ve thought you were untouchable, but you’re wrong."
Leroy’s eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape. "I—I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’ve been out of the game—I haven’t done a thing!"
Batman’s gaze narrowed, his jaw tight. "The only thing that’s changed is that you’ve become more careless." He stepped closer, towering over Leroy. "Now, tell me where Peter is."
Leroy took a shaky breath, his bravado crumbling under the weight of Batman's unyielding stare. "I—I don’t know where he is now," Leroy stammered, his voice desperate. "But I know who took him. He was dropped off… to a man in black. Tall guy. Real quiet. Dressed in all black. We took him to a warehouse… up north from here. That’s all I know, I swear."
Batman’s eyes hardened, and he leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "If I find out you’re lying—"
Leroy shook his head violently, his voice trembling. "I’m not lying! The guy had connections, real dangerous ones. He paid me to turn Peter over. That’s all I know!"
Batman studied him for a long moment, weighing his words. Then, with a final glare, he turned to leave, his cape billowing behind him. "You just made a mistake, Leroy.."
Leroy watched him go, fear creeping into his voice. "You— you won’t be able to find him! These people! They're powerful!”
Batman didn’t turn back. His only response was the sound of his boots hitting the ground as he disappeared into the shadows.
As Charles turned around, he was met with the sight of Nightwing and Cass standing behind him, their silhouettes framed by the dim light of the warehouse. His eyes darted from one to the other, and then down to his men—every last one of them passed out on the floor with no sign of life but shallow breathing.
Charles’ heart sank. "W-What the hell?!"
“Don’t worry,” Dick said, his tone cool and casual as he stepped forward, his baton still in hand. “They’ll be fine. The cops are on their way.”
Cass moved swiftly behind him, her eyes never leaving Charles as she approached. She grabbed a pair of cuffs and clicked them around Charles' wrists with efficient precision, securing him to the nearby metal table. Her gaze was sharp and unyielding, silently communicating that any attempt at resistance would be met with swift consequences.
Charles growled in frustration, trying to pull against the cuffs. "You—You think this is over?"
Nightwing smirked, stepping back. "Oh, it’s far from over. But you won’t be causing any more problems."
Cass gave Charles one final, silent look before walking away, leaving him to stew in his helplessness. The warehouse was eerily quiet now, except for Charles' breathing and the distant wail of sirens drawing near.
Missing for 48 hours.
Tracking down the man in black Charles had mentioned was no small task. He had covered his tracks well, leaving little evidence behind. But Barbara, ever resourceful, had managed to secure security footage from a nearby building overlooking the warehouse.
The grainy video showed a figure cloaked in black, their face hidden by a smooth, featureless mask. They moved with deliberate precision, cradling a small, unconscious child—Peter—in their arms. Moments later, they slipped into a sleek black car and drove off. The license plate was barely visible, but it was enough to get a partial license plate.
Barbara worked tirelessly, cross-referencing the vehicle’s plate with databases and local records. She had a lead. The car was registered to a low-level criminal who operated out of Crime Alley—a notorious hub for Gotham’s underbelly.
That’s where Jason came in.
By the time Dick, Cass, and Damian arrived, Jason was already deep into his interrogation. They found him in a dimly lit back alley, standing over a wiry man who was backed against the wall, trembling. The man’s face was pale, sweat dripping down his temples as Jason pressed a crowbar against his chest, pinning him in place.
"Start talking," Jason growled, his voice low and threatening. "Where’s the kid?"
"I—I don’t know what you’re talking about!" the man stammered, his eyes darting toward the exit, but Jason pushed the crowbar harder, forcing him to stay put.
"Wrong answer." Jason leaned in closer, his eyes burning with fury. "I don’t have time for lies, and you really don’t want to see what happens when I lose patience."
The man gulped, his resolve crumbling under Jason’s intense gaze. "Okay! Okay! I drove him—drove him to another warehouse. I didn’t know what they were gonna do! I swear!"
Jason eased up slightly but didn’t step back. "Who’s they? Give me names."
"I—I don’t know their real names! Just a woman in a mask! She’s in charge! Please, I’m just the driver!"
Jason growled, his voice low and lethal. "Who’s the woman in the mask?"
"I—I don’t know her name!" the man stammered, his eyes darting toward the exit, but Jason shoved the crowbar harder against his chest, forcing him to stay put.
"Not the answer I wanted." Jason leaned in, his tone a quiet threat. "You think you’re scared now? Keep lying, and I’ll show you what real fear looks like."
The man gulped, his resolve crumbling under Jason’s intense glare. "Okay! Okay! She goes by 'Hybridus.' That’s all I know! She hired me to drive the kid to another building, 223 Jamison!"
Jason’s grip on the crowbar eased slightly, but he didn’t back off. "Why? What’s she planning?"
"I don’t know! I swear! She doesn’t tell me anything—she just pays me to drive!"
Jason’s eyes narrowed, studying the man’s face for any hint of deceit. After a tense pause, he stepped back, lowering the crowbar. "If you’re lying, I’ll find you again. And next time, you won’t walk away."
The man crumpled to the ground, gasping as Jason turned to face the others. "Hybridus," he said gruffly, glancing at Dick and Cass. "And we’ve got a location."
"Then we move," Dick replied, his tone sharp with urgency.
60 hours.
They reached the building, its exterior shrouded in silence and darkness. From the outside, it seemed abandoned—no guards, no movement, just the quiet hum of the wind sweeping through the industrial district.
Moving as one, they climbed inside through a high window, their steps silent as shadows. The air inside was cold and still, the kind of silence that felt wrong, unnatural. It was almost too quiet.
As they crept deeper into the space, their eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through cracks in the boarded-up windows. The place looked empty at first glance—nothing but crates, scattered debris, and faint oil stains on the floor.
Then, with a sudden click, a blinding light flickered on overhead, illuminating the space.
The team instinctively dropped into defensive stances, scanning their surroundings. The harsh light revealed a helicopter pad painted on the floor in the center of the room, its markings faded but still clear.
“What the hell?” Jason muttered, gripping his crowbar tightly.
Damian’s sharp eyes darted upward. Without a word, he leaped onto a stack of crates and climbed toward the ceiling. The others watched as he inspected the beams and mechanisms above.
“It’s rigged,” Damian called down quietly, his voice carrying through the cavernous space. “The roof panels—they’re designed to open remotely. Someone’s been using this place for a chopper.”
Dick exchanged a glance with Bruce. “If they used a helicopter, they could be long gone,” he said, his voice low but tense.
Bruce’s jaw tightened as he surveyed the space, his sharp eyes searching for anything out of place. “Not necessarily,” he replied, his voice a gravelly whisper. “They left in a hurry. There might be something they didn’t have time to clear out here.”
Cass moved silently along the edge of the room, her eyes scanning every surface. She crouched by a pile of discarded crates, running her fingers over a dusty tarp covering them. Pulling it back, she revealed a small stash of fuel canisters.
“Damian, you said remotely?” Bruce asked without looking up. “We can track it if we get the signal.”
Damian dropped from the rafters, landing with cat-like grace. He darted toward a rusted panel near the wall, prying it open with a small multi-tool. As sparks flew, he began rewiring the circuits into the device attached to his arm, his nimble fingers working quickly.
“I got something,” Damian muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the internal log. We'll have to scan the city for this signal, here,” Damian smirked faintly, his fingers dancing across his pad. “I Transferred them to the Batcomputer.”
Bruce’s gaze lingered on Damian’s screen for a moment before he stepped back, his expression unreadable. “Good work.”
“Now what?” Dick asked, glancing between Bruce and the rest of the team.
“I’ll take this to the Justice League Watchtower,” Bruce said, turning toward the exit. "If they’ve moved out of Gotham, I’ll scan the world for that signal. You all wait until we have more information.”
"Yes, Batman," they said in unison, their voices steady and resolute. And just like that, the team dispersed into the shadows, moving with the silent precision of ghosts. Within moments, the warehouse was empty, as if they had never been there, leaving behind only the faint hum of the overhead lights and the echoes of their presence in the cold, empty space.
72 hours.
Waiting was the worst part. Waiting for Bruce to call them into action.
78 hours.
It felt like every minute would kill them.
Dick was a detective; he knew the first 48 hours of a kidnapping were the most important. It’s said that if you don’t find them within that window, your chance of seeing them alive drops 70%...
After 72 hours, the chance you find them alive drops another 20%. But Peter was different. He had to be.
78.5 hours.