Chapter Text
It hit the news in pieces, breaking updates stitching the story together in real time as information dribbled into the newsrooms. If people weren’t watching their TVs, they were refreshing their newsfeeds, turning up the radio, or following the hashtags.
Red Hood was on the warpath.
It was rare to see him at all, let alone in the daytime. The phantom who’d barely been caught on camera before now was suddenly everywhere.
The story started with that: Local rogue-turned-vigilante/villain/hoax/hero (depending on the political stance of the masthead’s editor) sighted in lower Gotham IN DAYLIGHT.
It was the Patterson-Gimlin film of the new millennium. There was Red Hood, filmed in crystal clarity by a shaky phone camera at 10:38am, pacing along the roof of a bodega like a jungle cat. He was wearing a lower face mask and domino, but his eponymous hood was down, displaying as much of his face as he’d ever showed. He appeared to be talking into an earpiece or some other kind of handsfree comm device. His movements were agitated, biceps and shoulders roiling with tension. He didn’t seem to notice or care that he was being filmed.
After several seconds of pacing, Red Hood backed up, then ran towards the edge of the roof and vaulted off, springing across the alley to the next building like he was hopping over a puddle.
It was a move that few had seen in real life, and fewer still had seen on film. It was incredibly rare to catch a vaulting superhero on camera, since it happened so quickly and usually in the dark. Footage was typically unusable from a news media perspective and hardly likely to go viral.
This was different.
Not just that, but someone had picked up Red Hood’s journey a few buildings over. This footage was a little blurry since the owner of the phone had been eating a kebab when they spotted Hood and there were grease smears on the camera lens, but it was still easy to make out the powerful black and red figure crashing down from the roof of a travel agent’s and onto the street below. Some bystanders swore that he landed hard enough to crack the concrete but the footage was inconclusive.
Piece by piece, amateur, security, and eventually professional news footage unfolded the story to all of Gotham.
Red Hood leaping from building to building, in pursuit of someone or something. Red Hood shooting out the windows of the abandoned florists on Fifth Street, sending the goons who’d been using it as a makeshift meeting spot scattering into the street. Efficiently shooting the legs out from under the goons one by one, before any of them made it even half a block. Snarling something into the face of one of the men, and slamming the man’s head into the concrete after he stammered a reply.
Red Hood stormed off, leaving the men groaning in pain behind him. Just before he fired his grapple gun to resume his hunt, he gave a message. Fifteen phone cameras picked it up and immediately posted it online.
“All you fuckers better pay attention!” Hood shouted, gesturing to the injured goons and filming bystanders alike. “If you start shit in this city, you are NOT SAFE. If you fuck with me, if you fuck with my people, the daylight will NOT save you. Your connections will NOT save you. I will find you and I will put a bullet between your fucking legs if you’re LUCKY.”
Then he grappled to the roof and was gone again.
Eventually, the news media put it together after realising that Hood’s rampage was connected to one of the D-stories: The kidnapping of one of Gotham’s wealthy heirs, Bernard Dowd. Honestly, kidnappings of rich and rich-adjacent kids happened so often that Gotham news barely bothered reporting it anymore. It was only by chance that a sharp-eyed intern saw the byline about the Dowd kidnapping and realised they were linked.
Hood’s reason for investment in the Dowd case was anyone’s guess, but it definitely set a fire under the police to find the kidnappers ASAP, before they were publicly castrated on a (Le)X livestream.
-_-
It was the kidnappers’ own fault. Sure, Red Hood always would have rained heck upon their heads for kidnapping someone under his protection. The Bats were always going to get involved. The kidnappers couldn’t possibly have guessed the personal connection between the Dowd kid and the vigilantes.
But the kidnappers could have done things so much better, and made things so much less painful for themselves.
For one thing, the smash-n-grab was messy. They weren’t expecting Bernard to fight, and they definitely weren’t expecting him to fight WELL, so it ended up being much less straightforward than anticipated. By the time all three of them managed to restrain him, they’d left a mess of blood on the lobby floor, and one of Bernard’s apartment neighbours had come out to see what all the noise was about. She saw them shove Bernard into a van outside and immediately called the police.
Because of the struggle, the video they’d taken for proof of life showed Dowd with a nasty scrape on his cheek, a busted lip, the beginnings of a black eye, and a decidedly unfocused gaze from a few blows to the head. Instead of speaking as instructed, the kid had spat a mouthful of blood on the shoes of the nearest kidnapper, prompting the man to backhand him before the video cut.
So that wasn’t a reassuring video for the kidnappers to release.
When they got Bernard to tell them a number to call and send the video to, that was another mistake.
Bernard had licked his bleeding lips and muttered a number. A kidnapper named Rudy dialled it into his phone and put it on speaker. Nobody checked who the number belonged to.
It was answered after two rings.
“Who is this?” said a gruff voice.
A kidnapper named Hank spoke. “If you want Bernard Dowd to still be alive at 6pm tonight, we need you to bring four million dollars in unmarked bills to the payphone on Fifth and Main. We’ll call the phone at 6:05pm with further instructions.”
There was a pause.
“Bernard, you there?” asked the voice.
“Right here,” slurred Bernard, though Rudy thought he looked almost pleased. Too relaxed for the situation, definitely. And where had Rudy heard that voice on the other end of the line before…?
“You good?” asked the voice.
“All good,” said Bernard, which was a weird assessment for someone with a concussion who could barely talk and was still leaking blood. “Need anything from me?”
“Nah, stay put,” instructed the voice. “I’ll come get you.”
The line went dead.
The kidnappers were a little confused. They hadn’t done this many times before, but usually people were a little more scared, or even angry, at being kidnapped. Loved ones were usually also angry and frantic. There had been no request to repeat the instructions about the cash delivery, though most people miss the address the first time because of the whole “panicking about a loved one” thing.
What did the other guy mean, he’d come and get him? Ah well, it was probably nothing. Hank sent the video they’d taken to the number they’d just called, helpfully providing the address of the phone booth again as well.
The kidnappers had then actually done a smart thing and checked Bernard’s pockets. They found and broke his phone (which had already pinged several cell towers since his abduction), they kept his wallet (touching it with their bare hands), and they found a business card from-
“Oh shit. Oh motherfucker. Oh goddamit.”
“WHAT, Rudy?” Hank growled. “Spit it out.”
“You know what that fucking is?” Rudy was shaking, pointing to the business card like it was an angry piranha. “That’s Red Hood’s protection card. If this kid’s under Hood’s protection, we are FUCKED.”
Hank didn’t know about the Red Hood’s business card, and didn’t take it very seriously.
Neither did Len. Len and Hank were not from Gotham. Rudy was. Len and Hank should have listened to Rudy.
“What’s the number on the card?” asked Rudy frantically. “Did the kid give you the number on the card?”
Hank squinted at the card. He didn’t have his reading glasses on him because they didn’t fit his aesthetic. “Four oh two seven…” he read slowly. “Yep, that’s the number.”
Rudy looked like he was going to pass out. “Oh fuck. We’re dead. We’re going to die.”
Len and Hank really needed to do better local research before agreeing to kidnappings. If they’d picked up one of Harley Quinn’s trademarked ~*~*~*Visitor’s Guide To Gotham!~*~*~* brochures from any nearby travel agent, they would have known the following facts:
1) The Red Hood is a vigilante primarily operating in Crime Alley and The Narrows;
2) The Red Hood has been known to use lethal and/or crippling force;
3) The Red Hood has a business card, and he takes it very seriously.
Len and Hank didn’t know any of this, but poor Rudy did.
Poor Rudy was also hungover, having spent last night playing poker with the guys. “The guys” were a group of shifty characters he’d met over the years who picked used an empty florists as their headquarters. Once a month, it was also the scene of an incredibly dodgy poker game. Winner usually cheated and losers usually swiped half the winner’s takings out of their pocket before they left the building, but it was all in good fun.
Rudy may or may not have talked about this upcoming kidnapping job at the poker game. He’d gotten pretty wasted but yeah, he definitely had a memory of talking about “some nobody rich kid” and how the next time, he was gonna be sure to pick someone more high profile.
Ohhhhhh dear for Rudy.
The next hour was stressful for the kidnappers. Rudy desperately tried to make amends by wiping Bernard’s face, giving him a toilet break, and offering him Rudy’s own water bottle and cheese sandwich (both of which were declined).
There was no point in moving locations, no point in trying to hide. Fifteen minutes after they’d made the ransom call, they’d seen the first news bulletin about the Red Hood smashing and shooting his way through the city. Even Len and Hank finally realised this was a big deal.
So they waited. They paced. They tried not to watch the news. Rudy sent a text to his mom, saying he was sorry. A torpedo was heading their way and they couldn’t do anything to stop it.
Forty-five minutes after the initial call was made, one hour and six minutes after they kidnapped Bernard from his weirdly lower-middle-class apartment lobby, the kidnappers got to meet Red Hood.
First there was a thump on the roof.
Then there was some scraping.
Then there was an almighty crash and bang as something smashed through the window and exploded, blanketing the room in smoke.
When the smoke cleared, Red Hood was standing between the kidnappers and the door with a gun in each hand. Bernard, now untied, was behind him.
Rudy dropped to his knees and hung his head. He knew that whatever was going to happen was inevitable.
Len and Hank had their hands raised.
“We didn’t hurt him,” Len stammered. “I mean, not really. We were just gonna get him in the truck, it’s not our fault he fought back!”
Red Hood looked at Hank. “Is he always this stupid?” he asked.
“Who?” was the short yet efficient response.
Red Hood turned slightly, speaking to Bernard without taking his eyes off the men. “You good, Blondie?”
“Yeah, right as rain,” was the muffled response as Bernard fished a tissue out of his pocket and held it to his split lip.
“Think you can wait a couple minutes before we get out of here?”
“Do what you gotta do.”
Before the kidnappers could gather their thoughts, Red Hood stalked towards them, fast and mean. He spun his guns around and whipped all three kidnappers across the face in quick succession, sending them sprawling to the ground in a heap.
Hood wasn’t done. He holstered the guns and picked up Hank by the scruff of his collar.
“You’re not from Gotham,” he noted immediately. “I need you to spread the word since somehow, some people have missed the message. Do not fuck with Gotham. The people here are under my protection. That business card, that makes it personal. That means you get a visit from me personally. But everyone here is MINE. Crime Alley, the Narrows, kids, sex workers, people on the streets, people kicked out of their homes by bigoted assholes, everyone you look at and think, ‘That’s an easy mark’. In this city, they’re mine.
“I have over a hundred and fifty people working for me to keep my operations running. I have eyes on everything. You cannot do things in this city without me finding out. Take that message home with you. You think you can remember it, or should I break your jaw and write a note?”
“No no, I’m good, I’ll remember,” babbled Hank.
“Me too!” said Len. “I’m not from Gotham either. I’ll tell everyone. I’ll text the group chat. We’ll make sure everyone knows.”
“I have the talking stick,” said Red Hood, slamming his guns into the men’s temples and knocking them out cold.
Red Hood turned on Rudy. “You’re from Gotham. You have no excuse.”
Rudy didn’t look up. “No sir.”
“Remember this: You’re only alive because I allowed it.” Hood moved fast, knocking Rudy out with an efficient blow.
“I really, really need you to learn more about traumatic brain injuries,” said Bernard, wincing as a small cut under his eye reopened.
Hood kicked one of the men’s legs before come to Bernard’s side. “Yeah yeah, I know, I should be wearing the helmet.”
“I meant for them,” sighed Bernard. “You know there’s every chance that they won’t remember a single word of your little speech, right? You’ve just caused them minor brain damage at the very least. Blows that knock people unconscious are NOT trivial.”
“My speech wasn’t little, it was awesome,” argued Red Hood, helping Bernard through the door. He’d had a couple of body blows and his ribs were bruised at the very least. “And I’ve been knocked out heaps of times. It’s fine.”
“I’m not letting you use yourself as an example. You’ve died.”
“Only the once.”
Hood helped a limping Bernard down the hallway towards the stairs. “Hey Hood? Can we take your motorbike back to my place?”
Jason hesitated. “The cops are waiting outside. They’ll wanna talk to you before you do anything else.”
Bernard nodded. “I’ll talk to them, I just. I need to get home first.”
Jason sighed, as though it was painful for him to imagine inconveniencing the authorities. “Fine. But make sure you hold on tight. Tim’ll kick my ass if you get hurt on my watch. He’s already pissed that he was benched for this one 'cause it’s too personal.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna fall off your bike.”
Jason grinned wolfishly, though Bernard couldn’t see it through his lower face mask. “I wasn’t talking about the bike.
One minute later, another viral video emerged: Red Hood, holding hostage Bernard Dowd with one arm, grappling out of the broken window and disappearing through the rooftops.