Chapter Text
When the first batch of recruits come, it’s going to rain any minute. The skies are black, the humidity is unbearable, and the jungle is silent.
It’s no wonder the Knight’s nowhere in sight when the APC pulls into the compound.
Antoine’s the one who went to collect them. He won’t scare them, and he’s not busy; Frank, the other Good Choice, had had a breakthrough on some drone thing and had left firm instructions that unless the compound was actively going to self-destruct in two minutes, Do Not Disturb. Riley had tagged along, which maybe wasn’t a great idea, but really, Trent figures, how bad can it possibly have gone?
What he should figure, he realizes later, is how bad can it possibly go. The men pile out, already bitching about the heat. They’re professionals, though, and they get lined up fast enough despite their obvious confusion.
“These the new recruits?”
Trent doesn’t jump. He just shudders a little, that’s all. The Knight is way, way too stealthy for a guy dressed like…well…that. Antoine, who probably saw him coming, just drawls, “Yessir,” in a tone that screams, no shit these’re the new recruits .
There’s another movement, small and fast like a bug, on his left. A second later Riley’s nudging him in the ribs and going, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT . He grunts an acknowledgement. He doesn’t have to be here, but he’s a little curious, really, as to how this is gonna go.
“I want to know what I’m working with,” the boss says suddenly. He steps back, cocks his head, and Trent has just enough time to think, oh for fuck’s sake when he continues with, “Attack me.”
There’s a beat. Two. Then one of them, with a long scar down the back of his head, asks, “All of us? Together?”
“Mm-hm.”
“But that’s–”
“What you’ll be doing in Gotham. I’m giving you all an order. Follow it, or leave.”
They follow it.
About four and half minutes later, Antoine lights a cigarette, gives Trent and Riley a very, very tired Look, and gets back in the APC.
Yeah. Mark’s probably not gonna be very happy.
* * *
Honestly, Trent chalks that one up to needing to make an impression. This whole thing sounds crazy on paper. And it worked: the second and third batches are swiftly pulled aside with, “He kicked our asses like five minutes after we got here, this guy means business.”
So when batch five rolls around, Trent’s not expecting to be called over.
“Some of you are probably thinking that this is overkill,” he says. “Ages here is going to show you why it’s not.”
What.
“Sir,” he starts, but the Knight just turns to him and spreads his hands.
“Shoot at me.”
“What.”
“Your last physical said your hearing was fine.” Little shit. “Shoot at me.”
He regrets not being busy today. Oh, well. Look, this is on camera. If this goes badly, it’s on camera that he was literally just following orders.
He hefts his minigun up. Wonders, a few seconds later, why he was worried; he gets a few rounds off, sure, but the Knight just does that annoying-ass sproing , bounces off the gun like it’s a damn diving board, and probably only doesn’t use gravity to drag Trent to the ground after because that’s not the point. The recruits are suitably awed. Trent’s just annoyed. There were a thousand ways that could have gone horribly wrong and also, what the fuck.
“You owe me a fight later,” he gripes. “No guns. No holds barred.”
The Knight just laughs.
“Sure,” he says easily. “Why the hell not.”
* * *
Twice is coincidence. The third time, when the Knight opens with some absolute bullshit line about, ‘whoever kills me gets to command–and profit from–this entire operation’, Trent just sits back to watch the fun.
He didn’t know this was going to happen. Hell, the boss just got back from Gotham. Showed up a few minutes after they did, actually, roaring into base on a bike Trent doesn’t recognize.* But he hopped off, collared one of the mechanics and told them to take it to Frank, and came over to investigate. And, well, he led with that.
“There’s no way he can take on that many guys,” one of the newbies whispers. And. It’s just, well, look. Nobody is stupid enough to accuse Trent of being a fine, upstanding gentleman.
He heads over, relishing a little in the path that gets cleared for him immediately, and rumbles, “Wanna bet?” The man blanches and he clarifies, grinning, “Twenty bucks.”
Newbie looks very much like he does not wanna bet, but he also doesn’t wanna risk losing face.
“You’re on. Twenty bucks this guy gets his ass kicked.”
“Anyone else?”
There’s a few takers that agree, there’s no way this nutcase can come out of this. Trent suddenly has a wonderful, awful idea and twists over to go, “Hey, Antoine.”
That causes a ripple of worry. Apparently, they didn’t realize they were betting with one of the Top. Oh, well. Antoine shakes a cigarette out and looks over.
“What.”
“We got a bet going over here that the boss is gonna get clobbered. Wanna pick a side?”
He shrugs, flicks his lighter open.
“Twenty that one of ‘em insists they need medical.”
Good point.
“Yeah, I’m changing mine to that, actually. All right. Anyone else?”
No.
They walk away with roughly ten new mortal enemies. Better than the one insisting that he had a broken arm; it was a sprain, and Mark was not happy to have to explain this.
Still, Trent figures, rifling through his cash, he’ll be around for newbies every time. This isn’t a bad haul.
THE END
*It’s Dick’s. Jason steals two bikes from him (that we know of), presumably for use with his own tech, though he’s also such a little fucker about it. :p