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A Most Dangerous Game
Only minutes left until the full hour and all over the world people were holding their breath, eyes glued to the screens of computers and smartphones in front of them. Even up in the Watchtower, the founding members of the Justice League had crowded around one of the biggest monitors while the rest of the League was scattered all over, standing in small groups of two or three around their own screens or devices, not daring to disturb the general silence apart from occasionally muttering quietly among themselves.
Every so often their eyes would wander first to the biggest cluster of heroes and then to the closed doors of the mess hall. Inside the big room, Young Justice had huddled together as if in imitation of their mentors and watched the still black screen on the wall with pale faces. They all tried to look composed and unfazed, prepared for anything, but the stiff way they held themselves and the overall jerkiness of their motions betrayed the worry and fear deep within.
Suddenly a loud claxon sounded and the dark screen erupted in a riot of colors.
Somebody whimpered quietly.
It had started.
Months ago a new rumor had reared its ugly head in the darknet: 'Take out one of the heroes and get filthy rich immediately.' Quickly, said rumor was corrected: 'No, no, if you were willing to pay enough, somebody else would take out whatever hero you wanted.' Shortly afterwards, another correction: 'No, not heroes. Sidekicks!' A short hesitation, then people asked back: 'Sidekicks? Why sidekicks?' The answer came back swiftly: 'Because we all have to start somewhere... But once we've got it down to an art, we're going to work our way up.'
The truth behind the rumors made it out of the darknet just a few weeks later, spread through the social networks like a virus and finally found its way even into regular media: A show with a hauntingly cheerful little jingle and gruesome, colorful opening animations depicting the violent deaths of various heroes.
In contrast, the show itself was always filmed in cavernous, dark places. The dramatic host clothed in garish colors swaggering in the spotlight and a big screen with the names of the possible victims behind him were the only things clearly visible, but movement in the shadows hinted at the presence of other men and sometime quick flashes of light glinted of heavy weapons.
The show started always the same way: The host, a thin, rather unremarkable young man, would give a quick recap of the last “mission”. He would praise the most successful hunters and show short videos and the highlights of the last hunt and its final conclusion. Then, a short explanation of the rules would begin:
- On the screen behind the host a list of names would appear. Mostly consisting of randomly chosen sidekicks and young heroes with a few of the younger villains thrown in for flavor.
- Write-in candidates would be accepted for the next forty-five minutes. After the end of that time limit, the list was closed once and for all.
- The top ten of the possible victims of this new “mission” had already been voted on beforehand in an exclusive underground forum by previous high bidders and had the best chance of ending up being “chosen”.
- For the next hour all viewers were invited to more or less anonymously transfer money to vote the future prey of their choosing up the list into the top position.
- Once the hour was up, the hunt would officially begin. Everybody who wanted could go after the chosen victim and gain points (and money) for fighting, injuring or even killing them. The show encouraged everybody to send their own videos in, but had also managed to somehow get camera drones set up in most cities by now. It would air every few hours with news, updates and clips about the current progress until the prey was finally brought down and a hunter was victorious. This could take from hours up to several days but generally depended on the skills of the victim.
- While the hunt was still running, viewers could continue to bet on anything, from sustained injuries, time of successful evasion, to the identity of the hunter who finally ended the “mission”.
It was all a horrible mixture or cruelty, blood lust, greed and sadism hiding behind a thin veneer of mass entertainment. Bread and circuses in the 21st century.
It was a minor miracle that the League had been always fast enough so far to prevent somebody from actually being killed in this parody of a game but more than one teenaged mask from both sides of the line had ended up in a hospital by this time. Everybody knew that it was only a matter of time until the heroes would be too slow and somebody would actually die. They all dreaded it would be somebody they knew, a close friend, maybe even family.
“Hellooo and welllcome to The Most Dangerous Game!”
Unremarkable as the host might have looked, aside from his garish clothes, he knew how to work the metaphorical room. How to pitch his voice to sound exciting and inviting and to edge on his audience to get invested in what he was saying and to get into the intended mood. He whirled through the harsh light and sketched a little bow in the camera's direction, grinning the whole time.
Batman had looked into it, had scoured through every database available on theater troupes, actors and anybody to do with the entertainment industry but so far he hadn't been able to identify the man.
“Thank you all so much for watching our show! We wouldn't be here without you.”
A cheeky little wink, and several young heroes in the mess hall felt like retching.
The man continued to prattle on about last episode's highlights and while the bloody clips played on the screen Kaldur turned to Dick, “Anything?”
The younger man looked up from his wrist computer and shook his head, deep furrows in his brow, “Nothing. I can't trace them back. Neither can B or Oracle.” He hesitated, then continued, “Maybe if we were to bid something...? Maybe then we could use it as a backdoor into the system, but...”
Kaldur'ahm winced. This option had been brought up before, but so far the League had shied away from it. The thought of paying for the right to decide about another's suffering was bad enough but both Batman and Oracle had made it clear that in order to actually have any chance at all of getting any information, they would have to make repeated large payments for the same person. Enough to get noticed and invited to the private chat room for the highest bidders.
Large payments.
For the same victim.
Enough to make a difference.
Maybe even between life and death.
Kaldur would have offered to be the one who the League bid on. So would have Dick or anybody else of the first generation of the team, maybe even some of the younger heroes. Undercover ops were what they had once been founded for after all and some of them had operated alone in enemy territory before.
But their mentors hadn't even allowed them to make the offer and shut down this option immediately.
The brutality of the clips scared the older heroes. The way everybody seemed to suddenly turn against the intended victim. One moment whoever was chosen was fine, then suddenly the whole world was after them. Common criminals, villains, professional hunters without morals and too big egos. Passersby who saw a chance for a quick buck when the victim was already down and hurting.
It was frightening how many people only needed a shady reason, some sort of permission or hint of approval in order to turn into monsters.
Even disregarding the pure physical danger, the League feared what the experience might end up doing to their charges on a psychological level.
So right now their “solution” to the problem was benching the younger team instead. More than a few older heroes hoped that, if deprived of their intended victims for a few weeks, the whole show would lose the interest of their audience and everything would quietly blow over.
Kaldur wasn't as optimistic. Neither was Nightwing.
They had to end this whole sick game decisively or it might crop up over and over again whenever somebody was bored and remembered.
And before somebody actually died.
That's why the Bats and so many others were still trying to hack the feed, the payments or anything else to get some information that would enable them to finally do something about it.
A sudden gasp brought their attention back to the live stream and Dick cursed loudly: This time around the top tiers of the list were all filled with members of their team. With Bats specifically.
“Must be a quiet evening over in Gotham,” he joked half-heartedly and shifted a bit closer to his family. Moments later his attention was back on his wrist screen and he began tapping rapidly away again.
A room away his mentor had a similar, though far quieter reaction. After unobtrusively checking on the security feeds that yes, his brood was still in the mess hall and all accounted for, Bruce concentrated on trying to find a way to bring down their enemies. There had to be some way to get the drop on them or at least a way to put them off their sadistic pursuit entirely.
Maybe they should send J'onn to Earth? Disguised as the next victim?
It might throw the hunters off to be suddenly faced with the Martian Manhunter instead of a frightened teenager, but it could also serve to escalate the situation. So far the appearance of adult heroes had always managed to scare the attackers away and save their young victims but if the pursuers were confronted with a big name right away, while they were still working themselves into a murderous frenzy, they might have enough courage to attack and they would maybe permanently lose the fear that was currently limiting the candidate pool to younger prey.
Especially if they were to manage to injure J'onn somehow.
The number of viewers and amount of money in the betting pools would probably skyrocket as well once it became clear just how serious the League was taking the situation. Naturally that meant that more powerful villains would get interested as well and if only because of a chance to team up and take out one of the bigger names in the hero community.
No, this might not be the best idea...
Minutes passed unsuccessfully, broken only by occasionally worried muttering from Bruce's colleagues whenever the bounty on his children's heads kept climbing and the comments in the newly opened chat or the heckling of the host got especially nasty. Then suddenly Clark nudged his elbow to get his attention.
“New player,” he murmured and nodded to the list of names on the screen, then winced immediately. “Sorry, bad word choice.”
“Red Hood? Never heard of them,” Barry declared with a frown then began to search for information in the League database. Right now the name was still at the end of the list as a recent write-in, but if it was considered an option at all, they should better learn all the could about the person behind it. Just in case.
Bruce knew that Barry would be unsuccessful though. The Red Hood wasn't in the League's database. Not yet.
He discretely messaged Oracle to transfer his collected files on the new mask as soon as possible. Hopefully before anybody started accusing him of keeping secrets again, though in his defense, the Red Hood was a rather new and so far local player.
“Gothamite. Male,” Bruce grunted and pulled a short video clip of the man in question. The images were black and white and grainy, but he hadn't found anything of better quality so far. In moments his colleagues had crowded far too close for comfort, the few seconds of footage apparently far more interesting than the ever higher numbers offered for the death of their children.
“Tall. Muscular. Fast. Agile. Prefers fire arms but seems to have some knowledge of hand to hand as well,” he continued his short description. A short hesitation then, “Might be young enough to match the... theme of the show, but I don't know for sure.”
A theatrical gasp sounded somewhere to his right and Bruce couldn't help but roll his eyes behind his cowl. He was surrounded by children.
He soldiered on before the more immature members of his team could become a distraction, “The first official sighting was three weeks ago, though so far neither me nor Robin had a direct confrontation. Rumors place his first appearance further back, about a month or a month and a half ago in Crime Alley.”
A short blip on his comm line alerted Bruce that Oracle had come through, as always. He smoothly entered the League database and opened a file there that hadn't existed until a second ago. Several images of various men in red masks or hoods appeared on the screen next to the short video.
Bruce forced himself to not look too closely at the lanky figure in a black suit, cape and red domed helmet in one of the pictures on the far right.
“The moniker 'Red Hood' itself has a legacy in Gotham. Since its foundation, various criminals have temporarily assumed the name, committed one big crime and then promptly vanished. More than once they were killed by their direct successors.”
If one of his colleagues noticed how Bruce had to brace himself for the next part, nobody said a word. “The name fell out of favor after the disappearance of the last 'Red Hood' a while ago... Who might have been the Joker, though that was never confirmed apart from hearsay...”
A deep breath and Bruce continued, “The current Red Hood seems to be a criminal as well though there are some conflicting rumors. Word on the street has him aiming to take over Black Mask's empire, especially the drug trade-”
“Seriously? Black Mask. Red Hood. What's coming next – Green Bowler? Are there some naming conventions going on in Gotham we outsiders aren't privy to? Or are the gangs color-coding themselves for convenience now?” interrupted on of the other heroes with a snort.
Bruce gritted his teeth and forced himself to deliberately not think about the Riddler.
“You are welcome to launch an investigation in your own time, Green Arrow – “ Several heroes snickered and once again Bruce couldn't help but roll his eyes. “ – but right now we have more important problems.”
“How likely is it that Black Mask has set the Red Hood's name on the list?” Diana asked and that's why she was Bruce's favorite. He could always trust her to stay on topic.
“It is possible but we still have no way to prove it.” Bruce could feel his hands wanting to clench in fists and placed them flat on the keyboard instead. “The Joker is also a possibility if he takes offense at somebody stealing an old name. ...Both had no problems in the past with targeting children.”
He took a deep breath as his hands involuntarily twitched. Dammit.
A hand landed on his shoulder briefly and for a moment he wanted to sag into the touch. He forced himself to stay still instead and to continue staring at the screen in front of him. Nobody said anything but then again everybody knew better than to mention Jason where he could hear them. It still hurt too much.
Sometimes he thought that he would never stop grieving.
Involuntarily Bruce glanced to the security feed. His remaining children were all still safe and accounted for, though apparently now deep in discussion with the rest of the team. Given their movements and the way the kept gesturing to their own screen, they were probably talking about the same thing their mentors had been.
Bruce narrowed his eyes as the hand waving got more animated. Something was going on and he had missed it.
When he checked the list of possible victims, the Red Hood had reached the top ten.
“Unusual,” he commented, his mind sifting through possibilities and plans. If somebody hated Red Hood enough to want him dead so badly, he would probably be chosen as the prey in one of the next shows. Bruce would have to bring him in before that and if only for the man's own protection.
A low whistle sounded next to him as the Red Hood climbed yet another position. Clark leaned closer to the screen and squinted at the grainy video that was the only official proof of the criminal's existence. Batman stopped himself from scoffing at the absolute uselessness of both actions. Sometimes Clark really took his masquerade too far.
“I thought Red Hood had just started to inch in on Black Mask's territory? If Mask is the one increasing the bounty it seems a bit... excessive to me.”
Bruce couldn't help but agree privately, but, “Black Mask is a sadist. This 'game' is right up his alley.” A pause then he said through clenched teeth, “ The Joker's too, unfortunately.”
Clark looked at him pityingly. For a moment it seemed as if he wanted to say something, then he visibly decided against it and turned back to the screen.
The Red Hood was now in sixth place.
Another hefty payment and he was in fifth.
And there was less than half an hour remaining.
Bruce was missing something. He just knew it. The high bounty on Red Hood's head just wasn't adding up if he really was a new and local player as Bruce's current data suggested. Maybe he had connections outside Gotham or was part of a bigger organization? The Light came to mind but they usually worked with already established criminals, even when it came to their enforcers and henchmen. The League of Shadows directly maybe? But they usually eschewed guns and Bruce didn't have enough information on Red Hood's past fights to judge the man's skill level and style.
Besides, why would they want to take over the drug trade in Gotham?
It just didn't make sense and Bruce didn't like it. Especially because it seemed as if he wouldn't get the time for a proper investigation: Red Hood was in fourth place now and steadily inching towards the third, despite people apparently happily paying in order to see a hunt of Bruce's own children.
A part of Bruce felt guiltily glad about the rising bounty, given that it might mean his kids' safety, but another part was getting steadily more worried. The last candidates of the game could be saved because the Justice League knew them, even the villains. They knew their usual haunts, their habits, their skills and powers and characters. They were able to find them before the worst happened.
But an unknown who might possibly not be as bound to Gotham as Bruce had first believed?
This could go wrong very quickly.
Third place.
Second.
And the time was running out rapidly.
It had gotten quiet now in the room and everybody was crowded around the big screen, previous monitors and smart phones discarded. The write-in period had ended just minutes ago and it was clear now that the new prey of this episode would be either Robin, one of the most well-known young heroes, or the relatively unknown Red Hood.
Neither the host nor the comments in the chat seemed particular happy about the situation, though the host at least tried to make the best of it by animatedly talking up the underdog and trying to highlight how exciting it would be to search for and hunt a practically unknown quarry. About five minutes before the end he must have gotten new information, because the man began to grin a bit more confidentially and crowed about this stream apparently being a Gotham-only episode.
Bruce listened with half an ear as the man in the brightly colored clothes explained first the history of the name Red Hood, then mentioned the burgeoning rivalry of the current version with the Black Mask – hinting at further opportunities to make money by contacting the crime lord directly – and the Hood's latest known exploits – including at least two incidences Bruce himself hadn't yet heard about, but made a note to investigate later – only to then switch smoothly to a description of Gotham in general, to make sure the hunters would knew a bit more of the area, the man said with a wink.
Most of Bruce's attention was on the screen behind the man though, were the bounty on Robin's head was still steadily rising while Red Hood's had slowed down a bit. Apparently the boy wonder was still a more attractive target, not matter how tempting the host was trying to make his rival sound.
Bruce would need to find a way to distract his son and keep him close and out of the nightlife for at least the next few weeks. Probably all of his allies, actually, just to prevent some of the more inventive hunters to catch one and use them as bait for their actual quarry. Or as targets for their rage if they couldn't find who they were actually looking for. This would be troublesome, especially if Bruce had to hunt down – he inwardly cringed at the expression – the Red Hood to save his life before he could be chosen for the next episode.
Or before Black Mask could decide to arrange his own little version of the game.
One minute later all his tentative planning was brought to an abrupt halt as the Red Hood suddenly took the lead after an extremely high bid for his head, Robin now being a distant second. For one moment Bruce could feel nothing but relief, then he instantly felt ashamed.
“Whoa! Somebody must really hate him. Do I even want to know what this guy has been up to?” Flash exclaimed, an opinion a lot of the other heroes seemed to share.
Bruce could only shake his head, “I don't know.”
He could feel a sense of dread begin to settle in: An unknown criminal, possibly young, all alone in Gotham, no support system, and with one, maybe even two enemies with known sadistic tendencies in the same area already baying for his blood, while an unknown numbers of hunters was closing in.
Or, what might be even worse if it escalated, a criminal mastermind he'd missed so far or a member of a bigger criminal organization about to enter into a turf war with whoever put the bounty on the Red Hood's head right in the middle of Gotham – while an unknown number of hunters was closing in.
A young man who might be tortured to death, who might die alone and screaming.
Or countless innocent casualties in a gang war.
Neither option sounded appealing.
Time was up now and the host was doing his usual after-vote prattling, trying to psych the audience up for the actual hunt to begin. His success was... moderate at best, most of the comments in the chat still disbelieving that a nobody had “won” against Robin. Some were even going so far as accusing either the show producers themselves to chicken out at the last minute, given that Robin was such a high profile target, while others speculated that the Batman or even the Justice League themselves had placed the final bid in order to spare one of their beloved sidekicks and ruthlessly sacrificed a no-name criminal to the bloodthirsty masses in his stead. Wasn't it convenient after all, that the Hood was even stationed in the same city?
Bruce just knew that the latter theory would be all over the media by tomorrow. He would need to get a PR person to fix this while Batman took care of the actually important stuff.
“B? What now?” Nightwing's voice suddenly sounded in his comm. A quick glance at the security feed showed his eldest son looking directly at him, or better, at the camera in the mess hall.
“Nothing's changed,” Bruce said quietly. “You're still all benched until this blows over. We're not going to risk anything.”
“But –“
Bruce interrupted his eldest before he could even start protesting. “This is final! I will deal with it.”
He could hear Dick take a deep breath, gearing up for a fight, and he could see his posture shift in the security feed, and Bruce just... couldn't do this. “Dick, please... I just... I can't risk it.”
On the screen Dick hesitated for a second, then abruptly deflated, half turning to his eavesdropping friends and siblings. “Okay,” he murmured quietly, shoulders slumping, sharing his mentors' quiet but constant pain. “I will keep an eye on them. Just... be careful, okay?”
“I will be,” Bruce promised and shifted his attention back to the show where the host was about to start the countdown for the beginning of the hunt.
“You know, your kids haven't visited the farm in a while,” Clark said suddenly. “If you want them out of the city, I'm sure Ma and Pa would be delighted to have them for a week or two.” He shrugged. “Call it a vacation. It might be good for them.”
Bruce allowed himself a tiny smile, knowing that it would be seen. “I will think about it. Thank you.”
Clark nodded and squeezed his shoulder then they both looked back to the screen.
“Let's count down together!” the host shouted animatedly at the camera, the monitor behind him flashing the numbers.
“10!”
“9!”
“8!”
Bruce could feel himself tensing and wondered if maybe he should use the Zeta-Tube to get back to Gotham City. If he got there first, maybe he could find the Red Hood before the first hunters even arrived.
“7!”
“6!”
“5!”
On the other hand, if the Red Hood was not a solo operative, Bruce could get into trouble if he just jumped into the situation without any preparation. Maybe it was better to use the time he had until the hunters arrived to collect more information and get a better read on what he was getting himself into.
“4!”
The Red Hood seemed smart enough. If he knew what was going on, he would probably go to ground until somebody ratted him out.
“3!”
First things first, Bruce would have to get his children home anyway.
“2!”
Though knowing them safe and sound far away on the Kent farm sounded more and more appealing.
“1!”
“Let the hunt begin!”
Suddenly the show had Bruce's full attention again because that had not been the host's voice.
He refocused just in time to see the surprised expression on the young man's face, then a shot rang almost unnaturally loud through the live stream. Red bloomed on the host's chest, then he fell back as if in slow motion.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, pandemonium.
For several long minutes nothing but chaos reigned in the room the show had been filmed in. Men yelled and shot at shifting shadows. The monitor in the background was hit and splintered.. Gun fire was everywhere.
The heroes could only stare as one by one the dark shapes of the guards fell, blood pooling out on the dirty floor. If they were still alive or dead nobody was able to tell in the constant flickering of the damaged screen and the general gloom of the otherwise dark room. Even the spotlight seemed suddenly dimmer somehow and started sputtering occasionally, apparently hit in the fire fight as well.
Finally everything calmed down again and for a moment silence reigned, the feed showing nothing but carnage. Then deliberately heavy steps could be heard from out of the gloom. Crunching on broken glass, an almost inaudible wet sucking noise when they stepped in and out of blood, a pained groan when the assailant stepped on somebody's hand with great care.
The figure that finally melted out of the shadows was clad in dark body armor under a brown leather jacket, both almost merging with the darkness. The only spot of color was his bright red helmet, catching the irregular flickering lights.
“Hello,” the figure said with a voice heavily distorted by electronics. “Let me introduce myself.”
He stepped closer to the camera and into the spluttering spotlight, until he filled the view almost completely.
“I am the Red Hood and I'm changing the rules of this game.”
Even without the interplay of dark shadows and constantly flickering lights his posture would have radiated nothing but menace.
“You see, I'm the hunter now.”
Slowly he leaned closer, until he could look directly into the camera and at his audience beyond it.
“And you are my prey.”
The Red Hood held this pose for another moment, then slowly leaned back again and turned around. Sauntering towards the broken screen showing nothing but intermittent bursts of static, he held up a hand and began to count off, “Child Abuse. Incitement to – well, let's see; harassment, battery, torture, attempted murder... Accessory to all of the above and of minors, too...”
He stopped next to the screen and gave it long, slow look up and down. “I'm sure I'm forgetting something but that's not important. Not really.”
The red helmet turned back to the camera, cocked almost casually to one side. Bathed in the constant strobe light from the broken monitor it came across as threatening instead.
“I'm sure something will stick.”
The Red Hood turned back to studying the screen.
“Oh, not to those just viewing this... Unfortunately. But to those actually paying for this shit...?”
Suddenly the Red Hood clenched his fist and abruptly smashed it down on the top of the flickering screen. It spluttered for a moment, then showed a clear image again.
But instead of the show's candidates it now showed a slowly scrolling list of names.
The Red Hood looked back at the camera again, all seeming indifference from before gone. His posture screamed barely leashed violence instead and the voice under the distortions was harsh and cutting.
“This is a list of your names and it's already online! Give it ten minutes and everybody out there will know exactly who and what you are! The worst kind of scum! Fucking cowards and monsters!”
He began to slowly stalk back towards the middle of the room but instead of stopping there he just kept going, getting closer and closer to the camera.
“And I'm giving you two options. One, you log off right now and turn yourself in at the nearest police station.”
The camera shook as the Red Hood picked it up and lifted it to his face.
“Or two, I'm coming for you and Hunt. You. Down.”
A beat, then, shifting just the slightest bit closer, “– and if you think your 'hunters' can save you, then think again. Come after me and I will put you in the ground.”
The Red Hood stared directly into the camera, filling the screen with nothing but blood red and shadows and two white, merciless slits for eyes.
“Hello and welcome to The Most Dangerous Game,” he sneered maliciously.
“Thank you so much for participating.”