There's one thing Svetlana was absolutely brilliant at — and it was holding her own. A battle was a battle and one she'd happily run blindly into. She wasn't so good at picking her battles but ... oops?

The teenager was a good fighter — a very good one at that. One that in that moment, Red Hood was stood watching. She had had to have had a lot of training to get this good. Now, he understood why Dick and Virgil were particularly concerned and that maybe Damian wasn't that weak that he'd let a pretty girl win but rather she was a lot stronger and he expected.

Jason Todd leaned against the wall.

Svetlana Orlova could very easily hold her own, it seemed the deal he made with Damian and the brothers was pointless. The girl needed no protection, but rather observations — like why was she so good?

It would seem she had once only witnessed battles and lived by battling, and it seemed he was correct in his assumption.

The girl was no match for the army of twelve men — she was much better, having half of them down in the ten minutes Jason was avoiding doing anything useful.

"Что с внезапным желанием меня? Я ребенок, да? Это немного странно, он так меня жаждет." Svetlana spoke, her head just dodging a bullet and a fist at the same time. What is with the sudden desire for me? I am a child, yes? It's kind of weird, he craves me so much.

"Агент Тринадцать нужен не здесь, а там. Война идет по пути, тринадцать. Не сомневайся в своем наследии." Agent Thirteen is needed, not here but there. The war is on it's way, Thirteen. Do not doubt your legacy.

There was a memory game that came with stalking Damian's not-girlfriend, and a need for Jason to go back over his Russian. Knowing so many languages was after all confusing.

It's like something ticked in the girl. A bloody rage that made her mind flash red. She grabbed the gun that was strapped to her waist under the crewneck.

The man who had spoken and called her Agent Thirteen was no more.

If Jason was still fifteen (a little before his own death) he would have been either star-stuck or mildly confused. A teenage girl had just shot someone in front of him. To teenage him that would be very hot!

But, he knew the desire, the burning rage and the blatant need to kill the people who wronged you. No, not wronged, but tortured and damaged. And if he was correct, there was so much more to Svetlana, and these men were no where near the main problem.

Svetlana had the abilities of a trained assassin, a trained child with the ability to strike someone down with out a single flinch or flash of guilt.

Jason Todd had been like that, almost two years ago when Red Hood hadn't been particularly 'good' — sometimes he still felt that rage. He had been fifteen when he had died, simply to be risen by a woman who had once bared his adopted brother. An anger had taken over him, an anger similar to Svetlana's.

Jason had been in this position. Hell, Damian had too. Svetlana was a trained killer, just like they were. And if they could be redeemed, so could she.

But Jason was worried. After one shot the gun was useless. Why did a teenage girl need a gun with one bullet? Somewhere deep in the dark and tormented mind was a plan — a plan to make it all stop. A plan he could empathise with.

And Jason knew what that bullet was meant for. A plan he figured out when a flash of shame and sadness rushed over her face, but only when she looked at the metal weapon. There was no guilt or shame of her action but only shame of her finale plan.

"Кто-нибудь еще, жизнь в смерти кажется особенно милой, не так ли?" The girl questions, a wild look on her doll like face. There was innocence in her face, deeply painted in that couldn't be removed. She giggled lightly, allowing the gun to fall from her hand. Anyone else, a life in death seems particularly sweet, no?

She flipped, span and laughed as she dodged bullets — not designed to kill but only to injure her enough to drag her back to The Corporation.

"Скажи Корпорация, что я говорю нет. Агент Тринадцать давно ушел, как и остальные из вас!" She tells them, having gotten ahold of a gun, killing men one by one. "Дети не солдаты. Я оружие, но я не твой. Теперь беги, я уверен, что папа ждет." Tell The Corporation I say no. Agent Thirteen is long gone, and so will the rest of you! Children are not soldiers. I am weapon, but I am not yours. Now, run along, I'm sure daddy's waiting.

With one man standing, Svetlana made her brisk escape, taking the two guns back with her.

Jason stood for a few seconds before grabbing the lone man, deciding it was best Damian got to know the man who was a threat to the teen's crush — even if he rather not talk to the fifteen year old.

Arriving at home was easy. Svetlana didn't face guilt for her actions — she should, but she didn't. The best part off being a trained child assassin is that traces weren't left behind. The guns were washed down and stashed, the clothes were burnt and her body was washed.

She was changed, in the living room watching tv in Russian with her phone in hand.

I messed up.
My deepest apologies,
- Robin.

Svetlana was glad he agreed. Robin did mess up and she appreciated that he responded with an apology — even if it was a digital one.

You messed up, let's talk.
- Svet xx

It had been barely seconds before she heard a tap at her fire escape. She pushed herself off the sofa, shoving her phone into her sweatpants pocket. Svetlana unlocked the fire escape and allowed the vigilante to climb in.

"I'm sorry."

"Good, Симпатичный мальчик." pretty boy

Damian wanted to roll his eyes at the stupid Russian words, but his face and body betrayed him. A buzz of giddiness had taken over, leading to a stupid smile laying on his features, a smile that made her smile too.

Svetlana grabbed his hands, looking to see bloody knuckles.

And once again his heart raced — he wanted to call it allergies but they told him it was a crush.

"Глупые мальчики и их глупые драки, да?" She complained, running her thumb gently over the broken skin. Stupid boys and their stupid fights. "What are these from?" She asked, pulling Damian towards the downstairs bathroom so she could clean the wounds.

Damian didn't want to say he brutally attacked someone to find out about Agent Thirteen and The Corporation — but he owed her the truth if he desired trust again.

"I know about The Corporation."

"No you don't." She told him, rubbing the alcohol into the wounds. "You know the perfect picture." Svetlana said, avoiding his eyes.

This was the first time she felt guilt, and the first time the rolls were reversed. She wasn't cleaning his wounds, but rather he was hers. Off course, she was physically and he was only metaphorically . . . but, nonetheless it meant everything to the two of them.

"Tell me about it, Svetlana."

She shook her head at first, remembering the blood on her hands. Svetlana dropped his hands, allowing them to fall to her lap as she stood up, pulling off the grey coloured sweater, leaving her in light grey sweatpants and a white turtle neck with no sleeves.

Svetlana sat on the edge of the bath, looking at Damian who was sat on top of the toilet seat bandaging his hands.

Damian looked at her. She beautiful, but she was broken. Destroyed inside and out. Scars covered her body and all he could see were the few on her arms. But on a numerous occasions he had seen the other silver lines.

Silver lines that taunted him — reminded him he knew nothing of her.

"I ran away, Russia to Gotham." She began, getting up again to walk over to the sink, she ran the tap to splash water in her face. Cool off the pain and torment. "It worked of course. What's another homeless girl? What's another eleven year old to the streets? Mum and dad took me in. They're a lot different then me, they accomplished life's greatest goal, love, I'm their miracle child. A black couple and the white daughter. It causes a lot of distress, I mean they are the complete opposite of me."

Damian listened, he doubted he'd hear about her past all that often. Maybe passing comments but he couldn't imagine a girl like her flaunting her trauma.

"Amara and Reginald Oswald and their daughter Svetlana Orlova. A girl with a mockable accent and a fear of sex. It makes sense to me. My accent is who I am. I am Russian, I was raised and born there. But the fear of sex . . . erotophobia, they call it . . . makes sense to. Корпорация used sex as a punishment. I never experienced the punishment, at first I was too young but then I was too perfect. I can kill better then anyone there. I was eleven when I left . . . pretty outstanding to be the best and smartest assassin when there are people of all ages around, but I was the only child. They only needed one child." The Corporation

Svetlana didn't look at Damian, she was scared to see disappointment in his features.

"They called me Агент Тринадцать, the numbers are rotated as each is killed. Bye bye twelve, hello new twelve. I was Агент Тринадцать for five years, which doesn't seem outstanding but that's the longest an agent has survived. Many started at eighteen years old, I started at six, many died by twenty, I am fifteen. Two years they last, we would kill each other. We died in battle or at their or each other's hands. Who's? I never found out. We died on a mission or we died in fights to the death or in their hands. We accepted it as gospel. I ran away." She told him, patting her face dry with a clothe. "Конец истории." Agent Thirteen. Agent Thirteen. End of story.

Svetlana turned to Robin, seeing him holding his mask in his bandaged hands resting on his lap. In his place (still wearing the Robin suit) was Damian Wayne. "I would have been top of my class if I left you to die."

"Our class, my life is worth more then a grade."

"I was going to get a dog if I was top of my class. I did not spend ninety three hours studying to not get a Cane Corso."

Damian pondered over her words, nodding in agreement. "Maybe I was wrong, that's a first and only time, my life was worth less then a grade."

"Glad you agree, Симпатичный мальчик." Pretty boy.

"It's always good to agree, ‎أعز فتاة." Dearest girl.

Svetlana tilted her head. He was playing her game now. Using a different language to throw her off his track, a different language to have the upper hand. The words were likely Arabic, considering she knew Chinese and the words were likely linked back to his biology, just like hers were.

There was smugness in his face, and she finally understood how annoying it was to be in the receiving end of foreign words.