CHAPTER 36: "Wait... He Was Serious!?!"

*James (Krios), City of Shiruta, Kahndaq

"Ashhadu anna la ila ill Allah"

"Ashhadu anna la ila ill Allah"

"Ashhadu anna Muhammadan rasul Allah..."

And on the rhythmic prayers went out into the city as the sun began to set. 

James was sitting on a small balcony overlooking the capital. It was a strange contrast to see a myriad of buildings built from stone and brick as if the pharaohs had returned, only to see an American fast food joint right next door. 

It was the amazing contrast that this city and from what he had seen, the country held. The nation had stone structures with hieroglyphics that were also selling Adidas shoes. Tombs holding ancient kings stood side by side with new multistory tenant buildings. Several ancient statues of jackals, sphinxes, and obelisks found themselves with TV satellite dishes. The city and nation as a whole had experienced much of the Middle Eastern culture with remnants of Egyptian, Babylonian, Ottoman, and British conquerer influences which could be seen all around. 

It reminded him a lot of Istanbul in Turkey. Not that he had ever been there, yet, but he had watched plenty of travel shows and it gave him a glimpse of it.

The walk from the border to the capital had been an arduous affair. The road was decently paved though the constant blowing of sand soon found a new home in his boots. The other travelers, immigrants, and citizens of Kahndaq were pretty nice but his limited Arab language skills made it difficult to make friends.

It did not help that he was still healing from his injuries from the botched heist that was supposed to set him up for decades. Embarrassed he had been forced to use a walking stick, despite his rapid healing, he still had a few more days till he was back to 100%.

Thankfully halfway across the desert, he had been picked up by his contact, a very animated fellow with a massive beard (like so big you can't see his face) and a very colorful turban that made him look more like a Disney stereotype of a Sinai Peninsula Arab. He spoke fast and the limited Arab James knew went flying out the window as it all started to blend into what could have been Chinese for all he knew.

Still though, after seeing the struggle, Amir was kind enough to switch over to passable English. He was quite the character, quick to laugh, and loved watching English movies. He spent the vast majority of the trip describing his favorite Spaghetti Western.

"Clint Eastwood, he be... cool man, with great hat," he said with passion.

Though he spent an inordinate amount of time describing the plots of Spaghetti Westerns, with an occasional random mention of his view on American politics, James found himself liking the boisterous man. Perhaps in no small part because he, despite being an introvert, had found himself missing speaking with any English speaker for the last few weeks as he traveled into the country.

Arriving at the capital, Amir immediately took him to a rundown sand-bricked tenant building where he showed him to his modest room. With a toilet and tub hidden only by a curtain, a tube TV on a creaky stand, one broken ceiling fan, an old but thank-God clean bed, and a balcony facing the royal palace, it was surprisingly nice. Or maybe James was just desperate to wash himself off the sand and sit on something besides a rock.

"I hope it serve you well," Amir said.

Taking a small laptop out of his bag he put it on the bed and said, "He said you will... call get later at night. I bring you food from my wife, some Musakka, very good you will like."

And then James was alone.

'First things first,' he thought as he took off his garb and hood.

The bath although a little small was perhaps the most wonderful thing James had felt in his whole life. Getting into Kahndaq was a tricky thing to do normally, doing so covertly was a whole other thing.

Since the rise of their newest lord or 'deity,' Kahndaq has kept a close eye on its borders and a strict policy of letting tourists and immigrants in. James getting the right papers was a simple affair provided by the man paying him. But in order to properly use the papers, he had to travel from Suez in Egypt to the south of the Sinai Peninsula where Kahndaq was. And in order to do it without arousing suspicion, he had to do it on foot and in disguise.

His current outfit was a mismatch of different cloth he had bought from a poor backstreet vendor in Suez. To his embarrassment, he actually had gotten lost in the city when he walked by their stall. Seeing the various clothes he was able to put together an outfit with their help that would serve him well in his journey.

He also thought pleasingly that it made him look like a member of the Nazgul. Not that he would ever admit his nerdy side to anyone. It is not like he had read all the books, short stories, and unfinished works, and watched the movies and extended editions multiple times a year... no he did not have a problem... and he was not obsessed with Tolkien's work!

About 300 kilometers or in miles, which he had to google, was 190 miles of walking to get to the border. It took him about a week with his limp being a hindrance but slowly improving as time went on. The thin cloth and hood of his robes proved to be perfect for desert travel, light enough that he wasn't boiling, hooded to keep the sun away and his face hidden in shadows, but also with enough layers to keep him warm in the night.

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*James (Krios), Unknown Location, A Few Weeks Ago

Unlike the last time he was shot, this time James remembered flashes of sitting in a helicopter, its seatbelt digging into his cheek, then being dragged out to some pavement, and then a distinct argument breaking out.

"Riddler you shit! What the hell was that!?!"

Riddler who typically was well put together with his suit looked frazzled. His demeanor was angry and he had a look in his eye that reminded everyone that he too was a little crazy.

"Don't you point the finger at me Slade! My plan, my tech was perfect!" Riddler yelled.

"Hmm," Ivy mused, she was a few feet away towards what looked like a decrepit hangar. Full of busted planes, choppers, and other mechanical gear.

"Minus the fact that it didn't work."

Riddler glowered at her, "Coming from the woman who couldn't handle a few brats! That is rich..."

"Careful," Ivy's tone turned dark, "I handled them just fine. Taking them and the entire GCPD with Batman though was not what we were equipped for."

Riddler kept spluttering some nonsense about his brilliant plan and their failure. James meanwhile had recovered enough to shakily unhook his seatbelt and tumble out of the helicopter. Taking a deep breath he got to his feet, using the copter's door as a crutch, and stood up. 

Surprisingly, getting punched through a wall by a meta with superhuman strength was fairly painful.

Still though, as he took stock of his injuries he felt significantly better than in comparison to when he got shot and fell a few hundred feet. Actually, just standing there he could feel minute improvement happening with his body. The pain was significant but he could tell it was dampening, this felt much quicker than before when he was injured.

'I will need to ask Freeze about this,' he thought with a wince as he tried to stand up straight.

Looking over he saw Deathstroke had begun to ignore Riddler's ramblings and was giving him a calculated look. James was not sure why but he felt a shiver go down his spine, his instincts were screaming to not like whatever Deathstroke was thinking.

James changed his gaze to Ivy, "Where are we?"

Ivy gave him a sultry smile, "Nice to see you up, we are at one of his..." She pointed to Deathstroke, "Many abandoned airfields."

She said it nonchalantly but a part of James did wonder at the fact that these big league villains casually had the resources to own their own airfield, never mind several.

Deathstroke was still staring at James but now with a different look.

"You were out for just an hour and are already back up on your feet... you seem more resilient than expected..."

James ignored the implied question from the mercenary and focused on the Riddler, who was pretty much just talking to himself about how they had screwed up and not him. Admittedly, when James had first met the man he was a little intimidated. Riddler was known to be one of the intellectual giants in the crime world, matching wits with Batman and even the deranged Clown. He led one of the most infamous bank-robbing gangs in the whole country and could probably build his own supercomputer. But watching him now as he threw what James could only describe as a tantrum from his own mistakes, he could only feel utter disappointment.

This was one of the big-league crime lords of Gotham?

With the promise of such a big payday with the job Riddler had promised, James had spent most of his time training and preparing. He didn't take any other jobs and instead dipped into his emergency funds to help pay for Crystal's growing hospital bills. Jane had offered and even tried to force him to accept money from him to help, but he had refused. For him Crystal was his responsibility, one he had to fix.

With the success of the heist they just attempted he would of been completely in the green, financially speaking. Now with its failure though...

Ivy seemed to have gotten bored and continued to walk towards the hangar, most likely to get a vehicle of her own to leave this failed party. Despite her clothes being roughed up and her hair a slight mess from the fight she was still one of the most beautiful women James had seen. Swaying her hips left and to the right still made James, despite his injuries, feel something in his regions causing him to blush slightly.

'She is so f&*king hot, but you don't mess with crazy James.'

Years down the line James would learn that due to her powers, Ivy had a natural pheromone that amplified people's attraction to her. That and she was just naturally hot, maybe a nice screw-you from nature making one of its biggest defenders so attractive but also entirely deranged and homicidal.

But right now Ivy was feeling like she needed to be practical, the job failed, and she was going home to be with her plants. Riddler breaking from his ramblings rushed over and grabbed her arm roughly, spinning her around.

"Where are you going!?!"

Ivy to her credit merely raised an eyebrow at Riddler's hand on her, which was enough for him to pale and let go.

Backing up a bit he stuttered, "I beg your pardon, Ms. Ivy, what I mean is, where are you going? We need to figure out our next move and how to get revenge on Batman and GCPD."

Ivy laughed softly into her hand, her expression seemed amused but, "My my my Edward, I thought you were intelligent?"

Riddler sputtered while she walked around him, tracing her fingers on his shoulders.

"Your plan failed because your technology did not work, your plan failed because the strategy was flawed, your plan failed," she emphasized, "because you are not as smart as you think you are."

Finishing her walk around him she glanced at both Deathstroke and James with a smirk.

"You are lucky we have history Edward, otherwise I would kill you now."

She reached over and patted him on the cheek before leaning close to his ear and whispering loud enough for them to hear.

"But I doubt the kid and the Terminator will be so lenient."

She then walked away, leaving a paling Riddler, an unpaid mercenary, and a temperamental telekinetic behind to deal with him.

Deathstroke growled and stomped closer to Riddler, "Ivy is right, you best start giving me a reason why I don't kill you right now?"

"You are unarmed!" Riddler's voice quivered.

Deathstroke stared without blinking, "Do you think I need a gun to kill you? Do you think I couldn't kill you in 10 different ways right now?"

"Please Slade," Riddler pleaded, "I will give you anything, money, information anything you want! Please don't do this!"

Deathstroke snorted, "I hate working with amateurs."

Turning around to James he asked, "So kid... you an amateur?"

Truth be told during Riddler's whining, Ivy walking away, and Deathstroke's threatening, James had just stayed leaning against the helicopter. He was still in a fair amount of pain and felt an increasing discomfort from the blood-soaked clothes he was wearing. Besides watching Ivy because, why wouldn't you, he mostly tuned out the conversation. It wasn't until Riddler started begging for his life and offering Deathstroke anything that he refocused.

The heist was a disaster that brought James no reward and put him in the limelight. He knew his actions would guarantee retaliation from the GCPD and more concerningly Batman. The last few encounters he had with the vigilante he could only attribute to luck and not being taken seriously.

That would no longer be the case.

He needed money desperately, not only for Crystal but also to cover his school bills. He was not in a position not to work, but now he would have to lay low or risk getting caught.

His rage grew and his patience diminished as he stood straight up and slowly hobbled to a few feet away from the two men. Riddler looked fearful but also confused, Deathstroke looked serious but also curious. 

James tilted his head to the side, it was like he was trying to see the right angle for what he was going to do. Raising his right arm he closed his fist loosely while pointing his index and middle finger toward Riddler's head. Slowly he moved his hand to the right which brought a high pitch-slicking noise causing his ears to wince.

Riddler had begun to scream which turned to a gurgle as a thin jagged line appeared on his neck. Blood began to squirt and his screams soon turned to gurgling as the cut dug deeper. Finally reaching the end of Riddler's neck, James' hand paused for a moment before giving a sharp jerk. 

A louder slicing noise rang out with a loud crack of bone-breaking. Riddler's face was in both pain and horror as his head fell from his body to the ground, followed swiftly by the rest of his body.

Deathstroke watched the whole scene without wincing or blinking. If James didn't know better he would guess he saw a look of approval from the merc.

"I have to ask," Deathstroke spoke quietly, "Did you kill him because you were angry or because you wanted to prove something to me?"

James was staring at the man... no corpse he had just made. He had begun to get used to the idea of killing and even coming to peace with it. But going and decapitating a man who you had worked with for a few months was something different.

Shaking his head he said, "I was pissed by how screwed this job made me. The loss of money and getting the spotlight for nothing. I really wanted to kill him for that."

James stiffly knelt down to examine his handiwork. He really meant to just cut his throat but things went a lot further by accident. Riddler, at least from his expression literally felt his neck being cut and then broken off his body.

'Something to save for those who really deserve it,' he thought.

Standing up, Deathstroke was still waiting for his answer.

"No offense," James said softly, "You do scare me. Even if I was in top shape I have little doubt you could kill me. But I don't need your respect or prove anything to you."

"I can't say in the heat of a moment I wouldn't have killed him if he kept talking. But right now, I killed him because of what he was offering to you."

Deathstroke grunted, "What? You wanted it for yourself?"

"No," James shook his head. The airfield was now becoming dark from the night, the rain clouds from Gotham seemed to also be here as well with a small platter of rain beginning to pick up pace. 

"He was willing to offer anything to get out of this mess with you. And if he is willing to trade anything once, he will do it again. I am now more wanted than ever and I did not need a coward like him who knows too much about my associates blabbing his mouth the next time he gets caught."

James shrugged to Deathstroke, "Pure self-interest in keeping my contacts safe and thus my identity safe."

"Hmm," the Merc said, "that is the answer I was hoping for."

The rain now was beginning to fall at a steady pace. Looking up in the sky, Deathstroke motioned for James to follow him to the hangar.

Walking there the Merc said, "You may not need to prove anything to me, but you have earned my respect."

Entering the hangar, James was relieved to get out of the rain. Looking around at the piles of aviation junk, he could pick out a few planes and vehicles that were in good shape.

"Which is why, I would like you to join me for a job."

That stopped James in his tracks, "Wait what?"

"A job," Deathstroke walked over to one of the prop planes and began to examine it.

"You said you need money, and I need an extra hand with a job I got. It will take just a few weeks and we will split the commission, 50/50."

Nodding in satisfaction at his examination of the plane, Deathstroke removed his helmet to reveal his face for the first time to James. Short military-style cropped hair, fully grey with a matching close shaved beard. A leather black eye patch covered his right eye and his left revealed a shockingly light blue color. Much of his face had a variety of scars but still retained a rugged handsomeness to it.

"Plus you will get a chance to travel."

James frowned, "Travel where?"

Deathstroke hopped into the pilot's chair and began fiddling with the instruments.

"Tell me kid, have you ever heard of Kahndaq?"

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*James (Krios), City of Shiruta, Kahndaq, Present Time

Sitting on the balcony the evening prayers ended just in time for him to hear a beep coming from the laptop Amir had provided.

The screen showed a download symbol as well as a small pop-up that indicated it was checking for specific malware and any tracking software. The employer that James and Deathstroke were working for was from what he could glean incredibly paranoid. Everything was done through the Mercenary and he still had no clear idea what the job was.

When he asked Deathstroke all he got was a laugh and the merc saying, "Probably going to kill a general or something."

Looking at the laptop, it finished the download and opened up a chat menu that showed a few conversations between Deathstroke and the employer.

Deathstroke was labeled as 'Slade' while the employer was a mere 'تيث ', which was not very helpful for James on the identity of their employer. After all, he could barely speak Arabic much less read it.

The employer's most recent message had been to proceed to proceed with the job.

Checking the previous messages James' eyebrows rose in surprise...

"Wait... he was serious!?!"