Leaving the house

Going to Crime Alley at twelve wasn't all that bad. Actually, it felt safe, a term Aaron thought he'd never be using at a place literally called Crime Alley. The light gave it a sense of hope, of the potential to be better.

He saw the bright red costume of Rook and Robina beside her. They were silent, leaning on the alleyway walls, and a moody atmosphere hanging around them. Carrying a black duffel bag stuffed with medical supplies, he came over and gave a wave.

"Hey, you two," Aaron greeted. Their gazes drifted to him and he could see the bags under their eyes. "You look exhausted."

"Thanks," Robina muttered, taking the bag. It was heavy and she needed to heave it onto her shoulder. "We owe you."

"No problem." Aaron was prepared to leave right then and there. However, their crestfallen expressions urged him to stay.

"Are you doing anything?" Rook asked slowly. "We need extra hands."

"Rook," Robina called out, exasperated. "We can't–"

"I'm available, yes. I took a course in nursing once and a couple biology classes." Years ago–actually, even now, hospitals lacked male nurses, to the point where male-oriented classes in university were offered. And since the pay for the job was high, well, Aaron had once thought about getting into it. If he hadn't been accepted by Wayne Technologies early, he might have gone into nursing. "Maybe I can help."

"And risk taking you to our base?" Robina said, brows furrowed. Rook elbowed her side and made a face. Sparks flew as they silently conversed and debated. The red woman's face fell and she nudged at Aaron. Robina frowned and shook her head. Rook gestured to her waist. A flash of pain waved over Robina's face and she sighed in defeat. "Fine. Fine. Help us, please."

The journey was long and silent. He and Rook exchanged a few pleasantries but other than that the atmosphere was tense and rapidly oppressive. Aaron felt like he had intruded in a situation that should not have been his business. The feeling grew as he entered their base: a small, empty warehouse in Cherry Hills, located at the ends of Gotham, facing a sea of water. Robina punched in a code and the wide gates opened automatically.

It was just as massive as he thought it would be. Grey and black, and gleamed by a dozen strips of LED industrial lights. There were tables and boxes on the floor and weapons attached to the walls. There were two floors and a staircase directly at the centre leading to the upper portion.

"This looks amazing," Aaron complimented, neck turned in every direction. "It must have taken some time to build. Not too fancy or expensive. It's just right."

"Signal helped make most of it," Robina responded quietly. "Before he abandoned us, he made this place."

'The Signal? Duke Thomas?'

Aaron didn't want to press the issue further, so he didn't. They climbed the stairs and reached the second platform. At the back, mannequins locked inside a large glass window tube. Six of them. In other words, six vigilantes.

To the left was a computer and a large chair. He detected the heat inside the chair but didn't comment. The computer screen was blipping and making noise. If that was who he thought it was, then they were likely busy.

In the middle were two occupied hospital beds. For a warehouse so far away from the hospital, it was up to standards, having an IV stand and a heart monitor. But he sensed it was incomplete. As he approached the figures inside and caught the scent of blood, it dawned on him on how poorly equipped they were.

Alt, the lanky guy in red, was struggling to breath. A terrible wound was clogged by a piece of cloth but it wasn't enough. He was in pain. Awful, awful pain.

Aaron exhaled and immediately got to work. "Can any of you stitch?"

"I can, sort of," Rook responded, stepping up next to him. "I tried to stitch his wound before though. It…it didn't really work."

Aaron lifted Alt's black flap, revealing the nasty wound. It wasn't a gaping hole, thankfully, but very irregular in shape. Like somebody had stabbed him, twisted the blade, then let acid melt the edges.

"Stab wound by a superpowered sword?"

"Y-yeah." Rook was taken aback from his dead-on guess. "The lady surprised us and took Dax–I mean, Alt down first."

'Dax is his name?' Aaron gave her a sidelong glance, seeing her fret over her stammer. 'These guys are slipping. They won't be helpful to anyone if they die.'

The second patient was somebody he didn't recognize. It was a male, tall and buffy and handsome, and very much ****. He didn't have any visible injuries. Judging by the lump on his head, he was suffering from a concussion or some sort of brain injury.

"How long have they been like this?" Aaron asked.

"Err…"

"Seventeen hours now." The voice was familiar but not from Rook or Robina. It was Shug-R, yelling from her little computer station. She spun around in her chair and exposed a dusky face streaming with tears and exhaustion. She rubbed her eyes and put on a pair of glasses. "Can you save them? We tried but…we can't do anything. We scoured the internet but we don't have the skills. I'm a computer person and Robina and Rook are fighters. We're not medics."

Her hands were shaking on her lap. Shug-R was absolutely correct, she would never be able to do medicine with nerves that weak.

"Will they survive?" Rook added, the atmosphere changing, heating up.

"Duke–the Signal, he hasn't been picking up any of our calls." Robina sounded annoyed, exasperated, and afraid. A bundle of unbridled emotion. "He's been ignoring us for almost two months. We…we don't have anyone to turn to."

"The hospital won't help us." Shug-R, the one in the chair, the one who was supposed to keep her composure, was starting to lose it. "The Anti-Robin Law is still in effect, they'll know. They'll know!"