After blowing that pesky mercenary into pieces, I picked up the hunt for Black Mask again. Thanks to the two tracker rounds I slipped into my shots—disguised as regular bullets—and the fact that Black Mask took some shots despite Grifter doing all he could to keep him safe… finding him was never going to be a problem.
I was done playing cat and mouse with him. I wasn't losing him again tonight. Didn't matter who he hired to guard his cowardly ass.
It was a bit of a hassle doubling back to where I'd left my bike near the parking lot where I ambushed Roman. But after a not-so long of a ride, I pulled up to the building he'd holed up in.
Instead of retreating to one of his usual private properties or possibly a bunker, Black Mask chose the presidential suite of a hotel. A move he probably thought I wouldn't anticipate, since he always defaulted to safe houses before.
Guess he figured this would buy him time. Normally, it would've. But not tonight.
Right now, I had him in my sights, clinging high up along the hotel's exterior with an assassin clawing tool for wall climbing. Through the balcony's glass doors, I could see him—slouched on a couch while a doctor worked on patching him up.
Looked like the bullet extraction was already done. The doctor had just finished stitching him up, sterilizing his tools after sealing the last wound and wrapping fresh bandages around his thigh and shoulder.
A few seconds later, the doctor packed up his gear and headed for the door, leaving Black Mask alone in the room.
When the door opened, I caught sight of two guards stationed just outside.
Out on the balcony, tucked behind the column I used to blend into the shadows, there were two more.
Four total.
'That's manageable.' Inside, Black Mask—now in a bathrobe—made his way toward the shower.
Down below in the lobby earlier, I could make out a few more men I pegged as his. And if I had to guess, there'd be others posted along the stairwells leading up here.
- - -
"Psst… you hear what went down at the boss's office earlier?" one of the balcony guards muttered to the other. "I was about to turn in when I got a call from the firm—said Black Mask needed extra security. This late at night too."
"I see… yeah, it's been a hell of a night," the other replied, shifting to face him. "I was actually posted outside the boss's office when an RPG went off."
"What the hell? An RPG!?" the first guard shot back with clear disbelief in his voice.
"Yeah," the second one nodded. "Boss was meeting with some merc he hired as temporary protection—at least until this whole thing with Red Hood blows over."
The first guard went quiet for a second, a mix of confusion and unease settling in as he started questioning what kind of mess this job had dragged him into—just as his colleague continued.
"The blast hit out of nowhere—sent Matthew and me flying straight into the wall. He blacked out instantly. When I looked up, I saw the boss and that merc bolting for the elevator."
"Red Hood hit the boss with a freaking RPG, man!" he went on, explaining how he had to haul his unconscious partner down the stairs because the elevator wasn't working—and how his heart nearly stopped when a second explosion rocked the building while they were still on the stairwell.
While he filled the other guard in on the chaos he'd just been dragged into, Red Hood dropped in silently behind them, completely unnoticed.
He grabbed both their heads and slammed them together—hard. They crumpled to the ground instantly, knocked out cold.
"Like taking candy from a defenseless baby," Jason muttered under the helmet as he stepped past them, sliding the glass door open and slipping into the suite.
Inside, Black Mask had just finished soaking in a painfully hot herbal bath—something to calm his nerves while he clung to the faint hope that Grifter had handled Red Hood.
But doubt lingered.
He'd seen Grifter take two bullets back at the parking lot while trying to get him out. That image hadn't left his mind.
Truth be told, the smarter move would've been to leave the city and wait for a status update—let the merc handle the problem.
But pride got in the way, Roman Sionis didn't run.
Not when it would look like Red Hood chased him out of Gotham. And especially not when word like that could spread and chip away at his reputation.
Fresh out of the bath and wrapped in a robe, he stepped toward the wardrobe where a clean set of clothes had been laid out for him.
"Thank you for being so stubborn and prideful." A cold modulated voice had him jerk in fright.
Roman froze, his entire body locking up as fear crept down his spine. His eyes snapped toward the balcony—both guards were there, slumped and tied up in the corner.
Unconscious.
"I would've been pretty disappointed if you'd ended our little game of cat and mouse by skipping town," Red Hood continued.
Slowly, Roman turned around.
There he was, seated comfortably on the couch, the butt of Red Hood's gun resting on his thigh and aimed straight at him.
Blood stained his jacket—some dried, some still fresh—and even smeared across the red helmet.
"What happened to Grifter?" Roman asked, raising his hands slightly, hoping it'd keep him from getting shot.
"Come on," Red Hood replied flatly. "Doesn't take a genius to figure your merc's been sent to the great beyond."
"That incompetent bastard," Black Mask muttered under his breath.
"How many more people need to die because you're scared of your own karma?" Red Hood asked, his tone remained cold—almost curious, but clearly rhetorical.
"As many as it takes to get rid of you," Black Mask shot back. "They're being paid for it, after all."
His eyes flicked briefly toward the door… then to the clock. It was almost time for tbe regular check in and repirt of his current status by one of the security guards on the balcony who was now unconscious and about missing this check up round.
"So how'd Grifter do? Did I at least get my money's worth?" Black Mask asked, trying to keep his tone steady. "Because from where I'm standing, he failed to put you in the ground and ended up getting himself killed instead."
He was stalling, doing the best he could to try and buy time. Hoping the guards outside would start noticing something was off. The two on the balcony hadn't reported in, and that alone should've been enough to raise suspicion. It was only a matter of time before someone decided to check in.
"Well, he did what he could," Red Hood replied casually. "Tried to finish the job you paid him for. Cost him his life, though." He tilted his head slightly. "And right now, I'm feeling pretty on edge… the only thing that might sooth my nerves is hearing you scream when we finally get down to business."
There was something disturbingly calm in his voice, like he was actually looking forward to it and would so much enjoy whatever it was that occupied his imagination at that point.
Black Mask's pupils shrank as a chill ran up his spine, goosebumps prickling across his skin. His eyes flicked to the clock—then back to Red Hood. It was way past time for their regular check ups and Black Mask was hoping and praying for some kind intervention from the security guards outside.
Jason caught it.
From beneath the helmet, he followed that glance, catching sight of the timepiece out of the corner of his eye. In one swift motion, he pushed himself off the couch and grabbed a fistful of Black Mask's robe, yanking him forward.
The door burst open without warning.
Two guards rushed in with their guns raised—only to freeze when they saw their boss dragged in front of Red Hood, forced into place as a human shield.
"Let him go!" one of them barked as both weapons trained on Red Hood.
"Or what?" Red Hood shot back. "You gonna fire? Go ahead, might as well shoot your boss and save me the trouble."
His gun shifted, pressing firmly against Black Mask's head, making the situation painfully clear.
"Don't point those damn things at me, you idiots!" Black Mask snapped at his men.
Step by step, Red Hood began backing toward the balcony, dragging him along. More guards started flooding into the room with their weapons drawn, all aimed at the man holding their employer hostage.
"Try anything stupid, and your boss pays for it," Red Hood warned.
He lowered one hand just enough to slide the glass door open, pulling Black Mask tightly against him as they moved out onto the balcony.
"Not that you'd get paid anyway once I'm done with him," he added.
Black Mask felt his stomach drop.
"Don't just stand there like idiots—do something!" he shouted.
But the guards hesitated.
Every one of them caught in the same dilemma with their guns raised and eyes locked, waiting for an opening that wasn't there.
"This is the highest floor of the building," one of the security guards called out, trying to sound confident despite the tension thick in the air. "There's no way you're getting out of here with Black Mask. Let him go… and maybe—just maybe—you'll make it out alive."
"Shut up, dufus," Red Hood shot back without missing a beat. "How do you think I got up here in the first place?" That shut them up real quick.
None of them had an answer to that. They just stood there with their weapons trained, watching as Red Hood reached into a pouch and pulled out a strip of already-cut duct tape. With one swift motion, he pressed it over Black Mask's mouth, sealing it tight and cutting off any more useless shouting.
"Later, boys."
A couple of small pellets slipped from his hand, dropping right at their feet.
Pop.
Pop.
In an instant, thick, dark smoke exploded outward, rapidly swallowing the entire balcony in a dense cloud as visibility dropped to zero almost immediately.
"Shit—smoke!" one of the guards barked, stepping back instinctively as the cloud expanded, choking the air and obscuring everything.
They lost sight of both men completely.
For a brief second—nothing.
Then—
A muffled, panicked scream tore through the haze, trailing off into the open night as if someone had just been thrown off the edge.
"Move!"
The guards rushed forward, pushing through the thinning smoke and bursting onto the balcony. But by the time they got there—
No Red Hood, neither was Black Mask.
"Where the hell—?"
They scrambled to the edge, leaning over the railing and looking down—
—and froze.
Across the street, silhouetted against the city lights, Red Hood was already in motion—swinging cleanly through the air, a grappling line taut above him as he arced toward the adjacent building.
And in his grip, their boss dangled helplessly. His muffled protests lost to the wind, his bathrobe flapping wildly in the cold night air—doing absolutely nothing to preserve whatever dignity he had left. .
"What the fuck…" one of the guards muttered under his breath, completely stunned at what he was seeing.
The man had just jumped off the top floor—with a hostage—and made it look easy.
None of them dared to take the shot.
One wrong trigger pull, and they'd be the ones responsible for killing their employer.
"Move! Move!" another guard snapped, snapping them out of it.
They turned and bolted, rushing back inside, grouping up as they sprinted for the elevator. Their only shot now was to get to the ground floor and cut him off from the next building.
Because if they didn't—
Red Hood was going to finish this and their boss is as good as dead.