As always weather forecast wasn't the most precise. It said tomorrow and it started tonight. Darker dots on the ground reflected the advancing nightlight and the retreating girl.
Isaac's heart beat faster. Another step away, his breathing shortened. He couldn't let her go like this. "Last time, you know...", words found response in her attention. "Who were you searching for?"
She stopped.
"Mind your business." No anger appeared on her face.
"Sorry, I'm," Isaac touched his face, just above the left eye. "I mean,", it was a bit itchy now. "I don't know.", his mind wasn't the most effective at this moment. "Will I see you again?"
"Why?", violet eyes narrowed.
"I...", he hesitated. 'I have no friend anymore and you checked everything i wished to hook.' His cheek reddened a bit. "No reason."
"Mister no reason,"
"Isaac."
"You're lost and confused.", she bent down. "Just go home.", and picked up and empty grocery bag.
"Wait", he tried to find a reason. "Please stop", not sounding like a creepy reason. "Right, alright,", but nothing came to his mind. "I feel better next to you.", so he prayed it would sound okay. "Calmer", and true. "like the same kind."
"Isaac, you suck." she said, stepping into shadow.
He laughs, weak. "Haha... give me one chance?"
"No."
What possibly could he respond, Isaac's brain overheated. That wasn't a confession. Why did he stumble like a kid.
Seconds lasted longer than hours.
There were no clear thoughts in his mind when something slipped from the girl's grocery bag, a few meters away. It hit the pavement and shattered, the sound sharp and lonely in the growing rain. The fragments of the glass jar scattered, catching the streetlight and blinding Isaac's focus for a heartbeat.
"Your name. At least."
She studies him. Taller than her, reeking of sweat and old effort, black hair plastered across his forehead, a faint red smear on the straight bridge of his nose. The dark circles under his eyes seemed bigger while harboring unhidden hope and tainted by fear.
She smiled faintly. "Boby."
"What?"
Like an electric shock she froze a second before returning to a calmer expression. "Don't make me regret telling you that.", she vanished into the dark.
Isaac stood there, heart pounding, calmer than he's been in months. What now?
Crackling light fueled by oily smell discouraged any outsider from joining the bridge security. Flames danced across the small community members faces, wrapped in layers of worn fabric as they followed the teenager with their eyes, watching walk home. A home, they had one. Before.
Robinson Park stretched across Gotham like a wounded patch of green, a reminder of what the city once tried to be. Towering trees rose in crooked silhouettes, their branches twisting together as if shielding the park from the rest of Gotham. The city didn't butcher it. Abnormal speed, chaotic destruction split its body wide open. And no budget went to heal it.
Isaac first cleaned with an old broom the east entrance under the Park Ranger supervision. Then hammered nails, swept debris, tossed rubble into the trash, and repeated the cycle for two hours. He wondered if this kind of child labor would break him first or the old man rocking chair repetitive creak.
He wasn't alone. Another teen, strangely looking a bit similar to the old Marcus Hale, dragged broken walls, iron bar torn and melted rock to Isaac's side for disposal. That redhead glanced from time to time at Isaac but didn't initiate any conversation. The old ranger made sure to shout for anything else than silence.
"Silas, take the handsaw and the other kid."
"Where to?", Isaac rolled his right shoulder. He shouldn't have forced on the hammer's rebound. "If it's the old Sewer Entrances I can stop you right now."
"As if." Silas's voice was flat, almost amused. "Botanical Gardens"
"Better than sewers."
"Follow me."
Green knees-level grass caressed the teens' legs as they pushed deeper into the overgrown paths. Alone in the wood, they couldn't hear any car scream nor the city constant whisper. Only the rustle of leaves, the distant drip of water trapped in hollow trunks, and the soft crunch of their boots on damp earth.
Half an hour later they reached a clearing where a massive Victorian-style greenhouse towered over them. Its glass panes fogged from the inside, streaked with mineral stains and old rain. No longer bore its glory with a fifteen meters tall oak tree cutting halfway iron arch, splitting the roof like a cracked ribcage. Perched on the least damaged windows, a black raven croaked twice.
"Should have taken a chainsaw", Isaac muttered, eyeing the twisted metal and shattered glass.
"Or a gun.", Silas replied, nodding toward the entrance.
Five figures stood just inside the doorway, dressed in layers of dark clothing, scavenged jackets, torn hoodies, and patched‑up leather. They wore makeshift masks or bandanas mimicking nocturnal creatures: crude bat ears stitched from black fabric, smeared white paint for fangs, eyes hidden behind cheap ski goggles. They didn't bother moving at the duo's arrival.
"Move out the way, trash." one barked, voice muffled by his mask.
"Eyes up. Something's moving." another said, tilting his head like he'd heard a signal.
"Go find another playground."
"Shadow call. Regroup."
The fifth one stepped forward, casual, almost bored. He held up a small plastic baggie, the liquid inside glowing faintly red under the fractured light.
"Hey! Ten bucks, ten grams." He shook it. "Rage juice. Real one."
Isaac froze. The name hit like a slap. Rage Juice. The same shit that had turned him into someone he didn't recognize in that alley. His scar itched, sharp and sudden. That color, that form—he had never taken it, never wanted to, but the memory of what it did to him burned anyway. Did he?
Silas didn't flinch. He tilted his head, studying the group like insects under glass.
"Real one?"" he echoed, voice low and mocking. "That's cute. You think that chemical piss is the real thing?"
The leader laughed, short and ugly. "You got a better offer, red?"
Silas smiled—thin, cold. "Yeah. Come, join the Old Blood." His arms spread wide. "Forget this cheap knockoff."
The group stiffened. One of them cracked his knuckles. Another pulled a switchblade, the click loud in the quiet clearing.
"Another imbecile."
"Your church is the scam."
"Forget about that," the leader said, stepping closer. "You refuse to pay? Give us your wallets. Or we take more than that."
Isaac's heart kicked up. He took a half-step back, arms up in guard. The air felt thicker, heavier. He didn't wait to be surrounded. He had to move fast. His leg reached the closest one, hit its knee. The foot sank with no resistance. The guy crumpled with a grunt.
From the corner of his sight, Silas kept distance with the leader as his handsaw gritted the latter's sleeve.
Isaac crouched down in time to avoid a bottle to his head. Blood fastened in his veins. Not wanting to let any chance to the last guy behind him now, Isaac lunged forward pressing the ground with all his strength while his left hand scratches the earth.
At once he threw dirty mud at the ski goggles and jabbed directly to the same target's throat. He didn't have to think. Letting the body react was the sole instruction to his mind. The second punch missed as a glass shard penetrated his back stopping at the bone level. Pain barely registered.
Clawed in Isaac's grip, the injured opponent left earth gravity, slamming against the metallic structure with a groan that died out fast.
The last one fighting Isaac played its advantage with the makeshift weapon in hand, forcing the tired teen to focus on dodging. He stabbed the air but the sweat built up on Isaac face. A faint to the eye succeeded. The glass colored crimson the pants. Another win for the real justice. Batman left us behind. Now we act like he does.
Drenched in sweat, Isaac couldn't control his breath. One hand pressed hard on his injury. Every lean to the left made it worse. And that bastard understood it very well. Since then he never target the right side.
Isaac's ears buzzed.
Iron tasted.
Anger.
Before the opponent could raise his arms again, an invisible force hurled the hand away, twisting it at unnatural angle. The guy howled, on his knees, squeezing his clearly broken wrist. Visible white bone gleamed among the pinkish torn hole.
Isaac took a deep breath. He had no energy. He was falling.
Caught before hitting the ground, Silas dragged Isaac away.
"Nothing special", Silas muttered, voice low but steady. He tapped Isaac's leg and back lightly, checking the damage. "You're fucked up right now. Church is close. They'll patch you. Move. I got you."
Half listening to the known words, it sounded strangely warm.
Isaac cast one last glance behind. Four figures on the ground, injured. One missing, slipped away into the shadows. It didn't matter, his leg was cold. Numb. But the blood was still hot, soaking through his shirt, dripping down his side.
Silas half-carried him toward the treeline, steps quick but careful.
Behind them, in the fractured canopy of the oak, a single black raven tilted its head. Violet light flickered once in its eyes. Then it spread its wings and glided after them, silent as the gathering dark.
The inner hall of the Church was colder than outside, the air thick with incense that smelled faintly of iron and crushed herbs. Candles burned in tall iron holders, their red wax dripping down the metal. Shadows clung to the stone walls, moving with the flames. No monk in sight.
Silas half‑dragged, half‑guided Isaac toward a long wooden table carved with old symbols. The teen's legs buckled once, twice, before Silas forced him down onto the surface. Isaac hissed when his back touched the wood. The cut along his ribs pulsed, hot and wet.
"Stay still," Silas said, voice steady, almost bored. "you're bleeding too much."
He tore Isaac's shirt open with a single pull. The fabric peeled away from the wound with a sticky sound. Isaac clenched his jaw, breath sharp through his teeth. Silas didn't flinch. He dipped a cloth into a bowl of steaming water mixed with something dark and bitter‑smelling. When he pressed it to the wound, Isaac's entire body arched.
"Fuck!"
"Yeah." Silas muttered. "Told you it'd sting."
He wiped away the blood with slow, methodical strokes. The cloth came away red, then darker red, then almost clean. Isaac's vision blurred at the edges. His fingers dug into the table. Silas grabbed a small clay jar and uncorked it. A sharp, resinous scent filled the air.
He smeared the thick paste along the cut. It burned at first—then cooled, like frost spreading under the skin. Isaac shivered.
Silas wrapped a strip of clean cloth around Isaac's torso, pulling it tight. Too tight. Isaac gasped.
"Breathe through it." Silas said, knotting the bandage with practiced hands. "If you pass out, I'm not carrying you again."
Isaac let out a shaky laugh that turned into a groan.
Silas stepped back, studying him with those unreadable eyes. "You're lucky. A little deeper and you'd be on the floor for good."
Isaac swallowed. "Does it... look bad?"
Silas shrugged. "You'll be fine"
Like a weight cast away, tension left Isaac. His legs relaxed as his lower back embraced the wood surface and skull stared straight at the grey stones, glued since age over the ceiling.
He hesitated, a soft breeze caressed his ears. Words finally left his mouth.
"So... what did you mean, earlier." Isaac closed his eyes. White bones, like fractured shards, so white, so strange, appeared alien among the blackness tainted in red and pink.
He didn't want to think about it.
Trying to think about a pink elephant, Isaac, had both images in mind.
Silas reached for a small cup filled with a dark liquid and held it out.
"Drink."
Isaac hesitated. No answer then. Deeper itches crawled over his back. With eyes still closed, he grabbed the cup, spilling some on his torso. Not hot it seemed. But why so dark, couldn't be coffee he would have recognize the smell.
"What is it?"
"Something to dull the pain. And something else." Silas's tone didn't change. "Trust me or don't. But you need it."
Trust? An almost perfect stranger? Did it matter? Silas dragged him here and patched him up. Isaac now stared at the cup. His hands trembled. His breath shook.
Next to them, a stained‑glass window was cracked from corner to corner, its colors warped by time and impact. A thin chill leaked through the fracture trembling lines, brushing over Isaac's skin.
Then he drank.
The taste was bitter, metallic, warm. It spread through him like a slow fire, numbing the edges of the pain, softening the world.
Silas caught him by the shoulder. "Easy," he murmured. "you're safe here.", before walking away to call the old ranger.
One word echoed inside the teen's mind.
Maybe.