Detective Stories #6 - Bad Bishop (Kingside, Part One)

DC Next presents:

##DETECTIVE STORIES

Tim Drake & Azrael in...

Issue Six: Bad Bishop

###KINGSIDE, Part One

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave

 

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Tim Drake sat behind the controls of the Batplane, soaring through the sky from the depths of Switzerland and over the viridescent chills and fields of Germany. The Batplane was a sleek stealth aircraft with VTOL flight functionality, capable of supersonic flight and precise manoeuvring at both low and high altitudes. Perfect for covert and overt pursuit alike. But right now there was no rush at all.

After having narrowly escaped the belly of the beast when he was discovered eavesdropping on Checkmate’s dedicated supervillain expo, Tim had quickly employed a plan as not to allow the assassin handlers to fall from his grasp. While he had escaped thanks to the fortunate arrival of the redemption-bound crusader Azrael, Tim’s drone was left within the Checkmate manor undetected. Having triggered a preprogrammed subroutine, the third Robin had tasked the drone with pursuing the new Checkmate grandmaster best it could. But in order to ensure the drone wasn’t detected by Kingsley Jacobs’ cyborg bodyguard Killshot, Tim had to cut communications with the drone, meaning he had to trust the rigour of his programming and engineering - trust it had completed its job successfully. That was two days ago. He had to wait, allowing the drone enough time to follow Jacobs to a resting place, be that his personal home, a Checkmate safehouse, or one of their many headquarters across the globe. Then, when Tim was satisfied they had waited long enough, he took a gamble, reconnecting to the drone for just long enough to get a ping of its location before disconnecting again with the hopes that Killshot would not have detected the drone’s presence and mobilised Jacobs back into hiding.

So Tim soared across Germany, en route to the Bavarian address provided by the drone. He didn’t know if Jacobs would still be there when he arrived, or whether a trap would be waiting for him, but he had to try. And with Jean-Paul Valley - the assassin-turned-hero known as Azrael - at his side, Tim dared to feel optimistic.

In the dead of night, the Batplane descended, vanishing into the brush a few miles out from their destination. From there, Robin and Azrael continued on foot silently, having gone over their plan a dozen times in transit. Jean-Paul was entranced by the young Tim Drake; he had begun to learn that each of the original Bat’s acolytes carried with them something extraordinary after witnessing Dick Grayson’s expertise in intuition, but the Robin before him was a different beast entirely. He was young, not even 20 years old, but carried with him an intensity beyond his years. Tim’s narrow focus, his drive, the avenues he explored while planning - if Jean-Paul didn’t know better he would have assumed the boy was like him, inducted into the ways of the warrior from birth, for it seemed the boy knew no other way.

Before long, the pair happened upon civilisation, emerging from the dense thicket of trees, traversing across knolls and hillocks and vast expanses of farmland to find a picturesque town full of bright, clay buildings surrounded by greenery. At first, Tim was confused. Had the illustrious Kingsley Jacobs really elected to escape to the country? But after combing through the town, sticking to the shadows and following the waypoint on Tim’s radar, he and Azrael reached the far end of the town, the waypoint still pointing onwards, and everything became clear.

Beyond the town nestled in the Bavarian countryside was a sprawling compound encircled with evergreen trees. Well, a compound with vast lakes of ocean blue waters. A paradise to dwarf the idyllic village it presided over, much as castles presided over towns elsewhere in Europe. A flawless monument, less of a fortress and more of a resort, but all for a single man. Beyond that, a sheer cliff towering over yet more fields.

“Subtle,” snorted Tim.

“Hardly. It is a monument to their hubris. A wicked temple of pride and excess.”

Tim stared Jean-Paul down, then turned his attention ahead and moved towards the site below.

 

♦ ♦ 🦇 ♦ ♦

 

Learning his lesson from last time, Tim entered the bounds of Jacobs’ resort with radio silence, all of his digital tech disabled lest he be detected. At least for now. While Jean-Paul had his own mission, down on the ground, Tim navigated upwards, climbing atop the sporadic buildings of the resort. By sweeping the whole site, peering through windows best he could, he created a mental map of the resort in an attempt to pin down where Jacobs’ personal quarters were likely to be found. Along the way, Tim discovered something curious.

At the conference in the alps, security was minimal. Tim presumed that was due to the fact that a good majority of the guests in attendance were metahuman and enhanced super soldiers already on the Checkmate payroll: They were security enough. But as Tim surveyed Jacobs’ resort from above, he noticed yet again a stark absence in security. Handfuls of guards carrying expensive looking assault rifles littered the place, though Tim had assumed they would have the resources to bring in some more… robust bad guys to keep the Checkmate grandmaster secure. Unless they weren’t banking on anyone being able to get this far, or if that was Killshot’s sole responsibility.

Quickly, Tim got into position, ready to assail Jacobs’ master bedroom after having identified the balcony window reaching into it. He pulled out his analog wrist watch and watched as the agreed minute ticked over. He could only hope Azrael had been successful.

Tim descended onto the balcony, slowing his fall using his black-and-yellow cloak. With his tools, he deftly picked the lock of the balcony door and crept forwards, squeezing through the narrow crack in the doorway he created before clicking the door shut behind him. It helped that his boots had a built-in noise-suppressing membrane, a prototype even Dick didn’t have access to. Smiling to himself as a job well done, Tim glanced through the expansive master bedroom, eyeing the several art pieces hanging proudly, the golden chandelier, the ornate curtains. With the night-vision provided by his mask, Tim found his target. Kingsley Jacobs. He slept soundly in his bed, seemingly none the wiser. Tim took a deep breath, aware that - as long as he didn’t make too much noise - he wouldn’t catch the attention of any of the guards, and hopefully Killshot also.

Satisfied that the time had come, Robin spoke. “Hello Kingsley.”

Instantly, Jacobs’ eyes shot open. He scrambled upwards, and hurriedly wrapped a silver gown around himself, pulling it tight. He went to raise an alarm, but before he could he found the butt of Tim’s quarterstaff inches from his face. Instead, the man simply licked his lips, shook his head, and began sizing up the shadowy vigilante in red ahead of him. “Well aren’t you something?” he spoke softly.

Tim took a step forward. “A Checkmate assassin employed by every global power,” he recanted. “Why?”

Kingsley shrugged, not breaking eye contact. “Indeed, why ever would I want rich and powerful nations the world over to give me their money?” he replied mockingly.

“Okay then. How?” Tim reasserted, unflinching. “What is Checkmate planning?”

Jacobs smiled. “Oh, it is you. I almost didn’t recognise you back in your yellow cape,” he teased. “My apologies for Max. He did get rather carried away.”

Tim didn’t ease up, gritting his teeth. “You were trying to discredit superheroes. Why?”

“Max was trying to discredit superheroes,” Jacobs rolled his eyes. “He took his vendetta rather personally, forgetting why in the first place.”

“Which was?”

“Oh, boy…” Jacobs shook his head. “Look to your home shores. In Gateway City. The Justice Legion answers to no government, but your president’s SCYTHE squadron? Now they can be depended upon.”

“And heroes can’t?”

“‘Heroes’ have their own allegiances. Their own politics. SCYTHE follows the money,” Jacobs retorted, still seeing no need to raise his voice. “As do our soldiers. And if the heroes and the Justice Legion can’t be depended upon, then any self respecting government will start searching for superpowered protectors who can, soldiers who put SCYTHE and their tin cans to shame.”

“So what’s next?” Tim gripped his staff tighter, his voice a notch louder. “You’re going to try and embarrass the hero community again?”

“Embarrass?” Jacobs grinned. “Is that what happened when we turned Batman’s Boy Wonder into a bloodthirsty rogue?”

“Answer me, goddamn it!” Tim roared, reeling back and striking the bedpost beside Jacobs with as much force as he could muster. The Checkmate grandmaster didn’t flinch one bit, but the impact and Tim’s voice resounded along the halls, alerting anyone in the immediate radius. Jacobs laughed as loudly as he could, no longer suppressing himself.

Within moments, guards mobilised on Tim, flooding into the expansive quarters and leveling their rifles at him. Not spoiling for a fight, Tim relinquished his battle staff, allowing it to hit the ground and roll away along the floor, and using his final moments to press a single button along the side of his gauntlet before he was forced into paralysis. Like a nimble cat, Kingsley Jacobs slinked to his feet and adjusted his posture, standing tall. He approached the disarmed Robin, whom he held at his mercy. “Checkmate survived the loss of Maxwell Lord. We will survive anything you can bring upon us, boy.”

Tim was almost growling as the grandmaster mugged at him. His hands were up and empty. He was utterly surrounded. But he held back the rage, in fact he dropped the performance entirely. “I’m assuming Killshot is on his way, isn’t he?”

“What?” Jacobs furrowed his brow.

“After all, a bloodthirsty rogue just attacked you where you sleep,” Tim sneered. “If ever there was a reason to be in a hurry…”

“I have more than enough firepower here right now to put you down, boy,” Jacobs replied, attempting to keep his tone neutral. “You’re good, but not good enough to fight your way out.”

“Who says I have to?” Tim asked, cocking his head suddenly. Suddenly, the dull blue light of the display on his left gauntlet lit up. His tech was very much online. “Azrael pulled me out of your expo. You think I didn’t bring him along?”

“If you had, you would have used him to thin out my men before making your entrance.”

“Sure, if I wanted you to see me coming,” Tim spoke plainly. Careful to not spook any of the armed guards with him in their sights. “I’m sure you’d expect Azrael to go in guns - or swords - blazing. But not me.”

“I expect you to die,” Jacobs spat. The guards readied their guns.

A resounding ping rang out through the room and along the adjacent corridor emanating from Tim’s gauntlet. Had he really set it to loudspeaker for dramatic effect?

“What was that?” Jacobs asked.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “You want to know?”

Silence.

Slowly, Tim lowered his arms and pressed a button on his gauntlet’s display, making sure he moved only as much as the armed guards would allow him. “While you were busy keeping me in check, my fiery friend was hacking into your servers,” Tim explained. “Not exactly his expertise, but I explained the steps well enough that he knew what he was doing.”

Jacobs glared to one of the guards, to the captain. Quickly, a third of the guards began to turn from Tim.

“I wouldn’t bother if I were you,” Tim interjected. “We already have what we came for.”

Jacobs gestured for the guards to halt. “You do?”

“Well, no,” Tim shrugged. “We came looking for information on Checkmate’s operations, anything we could use to formulate a strategy moving forwards. But you like to keep work separate from home, don’t you Kingsley?”

Nothing.

Tim continued. “Instead, Azrael found something much more disturbing. I have it here on my suit’s computer if you guys all want to see.” He moved to press his gauntlet display, to project the photographs Jean-Paul had sent him via hologram, but Jacobs moved first.

“No,” he snapped. “You don’t need to do that.”

Tim shrugged. “Checkmate are awful, but they have standards. I’m sure your investors will be thrilled to see what you get up to when you’re off the clock, won’t they?”

“S-Sir?” the captain of the guard stuttered. “Do you want us to shoot?”

Kingsley said nothing.

“He knows it won’t stop me,” Tim grinned. “I was trained by Batman. I wouldn’t reveal my gambit if there was any chance of you stopping me.”

“A dead man’s switch,” added Kingsley.

“Exactly,” Tim nodded. “So give me the information I ask for, and I’ll throw out what I already have. You can run and go clear your browser history, empty your Recycling Bin.”

“S-Sir, that’s ridiculous!” the captain remarked. “You don’t believe this creep, do you?”

Kingsley gritted his teeth. “Unfortunately, when someone trained by Batman looks you in the eye and tells you what they’re capable of, I’m smart enough to know to believe them. What do you want?”

Tim loosened, no longer threatened by the guards surrounding him, knowing they wouldn’t fire. He reached to the ground and retrieved his quarterstaff, which he then collapsed and attached back the rear of his utility belt beneath his cape. “I want—” he began, “—to know exactly how Checkmate intends to bring about their goals, of putting a Checkmate assassin in every world leader’s employ.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kingsley shook his head rigidly. “You can’t stop us.”

“I can try,” Tim replied. “Now speak.”

The grandmaster froze. He took a long and slow breath, readying himself, consigning himself to his fate. “We have enacted plans to infiltrate the government of Vlatava. From there we intend to direct our forces against the nation of Markovia. Show the world what happened when a country doesn’t have sufficient protection to rely on.”

Tim took note, nodding slowly. “And where can I find them, the rest of Checkmate.”

“I couldn’t say.”

“But you will.”

Another pause, another hesitation. Kingsley Jacobs hung his head in defeat, then moved to look at Tim once more. “You can find them in—”

A deafening screech sounded and the dull darkness of the room was replaced with a nuclear hot scarlet glow. Tim stumbled, his ears ringing, his eyes straining to see through the intense light. Then, as things grew clearer he saw something awful. The guards were paralysed in fear, looking to their boss. Kingsley Jacobs had fallen to his knees, the contents of his brain scattered across every wall of the room, a fine mist rising from his charred torso.

Tim whipped his head around, turning back towards the window he had entered through, which was now an array from fractals scattered across the floor. He charged onto the balcony and looked up to the narrow tower standing over him, the very same vantage point he had previously descended from. There, he saw him - that mask, that visage. The chalk white image that had haunted his nightmares. With the moonlight behind them, Red X stood bold, their xenothium hand cannon still sparking after being discharged.

Tim didn’t have time to rationalise it, only to react. So he leapt, producing his grapnel gun and aiming it upwards. Moments later, the taut line of the grappling hook plucked the third Robin from his fall and carried him upwards rapidly, up towards Red X, who turned over their shoulder and began to run. Tim shot towards the tower at a speed the pretender Red X couldn’t hope to match. They’d barely crossed the roof as Tim clambered onto the platform. “Who are—?!”

Tim’s enraged questioning was interrupted as Red X dropped prone and delivered a kick into Tim’s chest. He stumbled, dropping his grapnel gun in the process. The force behind the blow sent Tim toppling off the building and towards the rapidly approaching garden below.

On muscle memory, he ducked into a roll, tumbling through a patch of petunias. That stung. Tim rose to his feet, confident he’d at least fractured something. He pushed through the pain. With Kingsley Jacobs dead the assassin was his only lead, and he needed to know who this Red X was.

Glancing ahead, he saw them making a break for the clifftop which the late Checkmate boss’s resort sat beside. Tim sprinted, not left with any other option without his grappling hook.

Red X glanced over their shoulder and fired another blast of red-hot energy. Their arm movement gave Tim just enough time to throw himself to the side in a dodge. The point of impact was left as a charred patch of grass. He drew his staff as the pair reached the cliff’s edge.

Tim moved closer, scanning Red X’s armor. He wouldn’t have been able to make a shot on Jacobs like that with the suit Lord had given him. This one was equipped with small dials on the wrists. Tim smiled - so long as he didn’t give them time to adjust the settings, Red X couldn’t fire another xenothium blast without catching themselves in the blast radius.

“Who are you?!” Tim cried before steeling himself. “Why did you kill Jacobs?”

Red X’s voice was garbled through some technical apparatus in the mask. “Just your average Checkmate pawn. A murderer for money.”

Tim gritted his teeth. They had to be using the Red X moniker to get it to him. That didn’t make it sting any less. He charged forward, swinging his quarterstaff in a wide arc. Red X raised their forearm and the staff recoiled off it. Tim swung again, and again. Red X blocked, but each hit drove them closer to the sheer edge and its fifty foot drop.

Tim went in for another swing, but Red X gave a quick jab before it could land. Their fist collided against the shoulder Tim had previously injured on his fall. He winced in pain and the battle staff slipped from his grasp, plummeting off the edge. Before it could clink against the jagged rocks that lined the cliff face, Red X followed up with an elbow against Tim’s face. It knocked him back. A trickle of blood ran down his lip.

“You’re so angsty!” they spat. “Although with twice the daddy issues, I guess you’ve got every right to be.”

Tim balled his hands into fists. Staff or no, he needed to put this impostor in their place. He dug his heels into the ground. No - that was stupid. Not something he could afford. Knowing his limits, Tim grabbed a smoke pellet from his belt and threw it against the ground.

A thick white cloud engulfed the area, with a high pitched hiss, buying Tim a few precious seconds as Red X stepped into the epicenter of the cloud. Sometimes the simplest tricks were the best. He furrowed his brow as Red X lashed out, delivering a powerful kick ahead of them. It would’ve been a knockout if Tim were standing anywhere near it.

He launched himself from the ground and hit Red X with a drop kick. With a loud click, the skull-like plate of their mask detached and clattered across the ground. Through the clearing smoke, Tim started to make out the assassin’s features. Red X was… a teenage girl? Far from the grizzled killer Tim expected, the girl couldn’t be any older than sixteen. A terrified look was plastered across her face.

“Please!” She pleaded. “If I fail, Deathstroke will kill my family!”

Tim softened, breathing out a sigh. They’d blackmailed another poor kid into doing their dirty work. “Everything’s going to be alright. The Justice Legion can—”

Red X sucker punched Tim in the stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs. Then, in one swift movement, she grabbed him by the waist and suplexed him over the cliff’s edge.

Tim flailed, grasping for something - anything to latch onto. His gloved fingers scraped against the cliff wall until they were torn to tatters. But he persisted, finally managed to hook his bloody fingers into an outcropping while Red X smiled from above. “I really didn’t think that would work. What a nice surprise.”

Tim heard the rhythmic beat of a helicopter rotor and the girl glanced upwards. “Looks like my ride’s here. Go home to Gotham. Leave real business to the professionals.”

Red X stepped away from the cliff’s edge and Tim was helpless to act. He couldn’t reach for his belt without losing a grip on the cliff face. Slowly, but surely the sound of helicopter rotors faded into nothingness. He was alone, and the new Red X had escaped.

The pain made the minutes that followed feel like hours, but Tim lowered his head in relief as a rope tumbled beside him. Tim ascended, then rolled his exhausted body onto the grass.

The armored and expressionless form of Azrael stood above him. A burn mark singed his chest plate.

“I lost her.”

 

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Next: Another side in Ravager #4