PRELUDE

CRIME ALLEY, GOTHAM CITY — TWELVE YEARS AGO

THE NIGHT AIR WAS THICK with the lingering scent of decay, the dampness from the broken streets seeping into the very bones of Gotham's infamous alley. Flickering streetlights cast erratic shadows on the cracked pavement, illuminating the forgotten corner of the city where the desperate and the broken resided. Graffiti-covered walls loomed over narrow passages, their painted words often drowned out by the low hum of distant sirens and the incessant rumble of unseen traffic. This was the place where hope went to die, and where survival was a daily fight.

      "It's useless, kid."

The slurred words came from a hunched figure leaning against the grimy brick wall, his outline barely discernible in the dim light. His voice rasped with age and alcohol, as if the years of self-destruction had eaten away at his soul. Jason didn't even flinch. His hands were steady as he jammed another stolen item into the tattered bag slung across his shoulder—a lug wrench, a car jack, a wheel lock key, and a pair of weathered gloves. Each piece was a small victory, a tool for a future he didn't fully understand but knew he needed. The gloves, particularly, had been found in a nearby trash can, their rough fabric stained with dirt and blood, a reminder of how far he'd fallen since the days when he had a home.

The weight of the bag seemed small compared to the weight of his life, but it was all he had.

      "D'you hear me, lad?" the man repeated, his words slow and thick with ebriety, his body swaying in a dangerous rhythm. He pointed a trembling hand, the empty bottle still gripped tightly, in Jason's direction. "You'll get yourself in trouble, and the rats will come for us! Again!"

Jason's eyes briefly met the man's, but there was no fear in them—only a grim determination. The alley felt suffocating now, the shadows closing in as the city around him pulsed with life and decay, indifferent to the boy crouching in its heart.

Suddenly, the loud crack of glass shattered the air, a broken bottle spinning on the ground like a discarded toy. Jason flinched at the sound, his hands freezing mid-motion as the shards scattered across the cold concrete. He finished closing his bag, the small, shaky click of the zipper punctuating the silence.

His eyes lifted, locking onto the figure in front of him—Dante, a man whose words had become as tired and empty as the bottles he drank from.

      "It won't happen again, I-"

      "Lies!" Dante's voice erupted, full of drunken fury. He staggered forward, his breath heavy. "I always knew you were trouble!"

Jason's gaze flicked to the door, his eyes distant as Dante's hoarse accusations clung to the air like smoke. The boy's fingers tightened on the straps of his makeshift bag, its weight a constant reminder of his necessity in this world of scavenging. Muttering under his breath, the words slipped out like an afterthought. "It's not my fault you couldn't keep your stash safe."

Dante, ever eager for a confrontation, lurched forward, his unsteady gait sending him off balance as his boots crunched against the shards of the broken bottle. The sound echoed in the night, sharp and jarring. "What'd you say?"

Jason didn't answer. His silence was a shield, a deliberate dismissal of the man who had already sunk too far to be worth anything more than an echo in the night. He couldn't waste time on this. The plan was already unfolding in his mind, one thread after another. Dante was just noise. He slung the bag over his shoulder and wrenched the door open, stepping into the biting night air, feeling the pulse of the alleyway shift around him.

Outside, Crime Alley's disarray was a familiar chaos—a city at war with itself. Laughter rang out from a shadowed corner, fragmented and desperate, the laughter of those who had learned to wear their misery like a second skin. Far off, the hum of an engine growled beneath the hum of the world, while shards of glass, victims of the street's unfeeling cruelty, scattered underfoot, glinting like forgotten promises. Jason let the rhythm of the street guide him, the knowledge of it flowing through him like an old, well-practiced dance. Every step he took was calculated, purposeful. He was moving with intent—swift, quiet.

A few blocks ahead, the car waited, hidden among the ruins. It had been marked already—nothing special, a relic of a past that no one cared to remember. Its tires, however, they were something else. Solid. Worth the trouble.

The boy didn't need to look back at the car to know the job was done. The tires were free, liberated from their station on the rusted frame. The faint screech of the crowbar against the metal would haunt him for a few moments longer, but it was done. He wiped his hands on the back of his pants, still feeling the residue of the grime and grease that clung to him like a second skin. He could already hear Dante's voice echoing in his mind, angry and shrill, but Jason wasn't about to stick around for more of that tonight.

With one last glance towards the alley where Dante had dissolved into the shadows of his own brokenness, Jason slipped further into the night, his footsteps a quiet rhythm against the unforgiving pavement. The city sprawled out before him, cold and indifferent, but tonight he wasn't ready to return to the claustrophobic despair of Crime Alley just yet.

His mind wandered, following the paths of his restlessness. He didn't mean to end up where he did. It wasn't part of the plan. Yet there he was, walking far from the familiar grip of Crime Alley, drifting toward the higher, rarer parts of Gotham, where life seemed to hum with a different kind of energy—clean, polished, almost false in its brightness. He didn't belong here, but curiosity had gotten the best of him.

And then, he saw it.

A party—more like a spectacle—unfolding just ahead. It wasn't the kind of thing Jason usually noticed, and yet here he was, captivated by the strange scene unfolding before him. It wasn't on some pristine lawn of an opulent brownstone like he'd seen in his stolen dreams, but in the cavernous, rented ceremony room of a place that could easily pass for a forgotten palace. The walls gleamed white, illuminated by soft, golden light that caught the expensive fabric of the kids' clothes as they darted across the floor. Laughter, clean and polished like the rest of them, echoed through the doors that spilled open to the street, while adults, untouched by the grit of the city, clinked champagne glasses with gloved hands.

For a moment, Jason paused, the scene so far removed from his own existence it felt like a separate world altogether. It was another Gotham, one that made him feel even more invisible than the one he knew. His gaze flicked over the scene—kids running through the room like the world was a playground, oblivious to the hunger of the streets, oblivious to everything outside their little bubble. He knew they'd never understand. That thought stung for a brief second before it slipped away into the evening air.

But it wasn't them that caught his attention next.

The car.

Parked on the street like an omen, sleek and unassuming, black as night. Its tires gleamed under the streetlight, an impossible perfection, reflecting the lives of those around it. Jason's eyes narrowed, a strange urge tugging at him. It wasn't just any car. It was the kind of thing he could use—a treasure hidden in plain sight. The tires, untouched, waiting.

It felt too easy, but he didn't care. He was already moving toward it, drawn by the gleam of opportunity.

Reaching the sleek black car, Jason crouched by the rear wheel, his bag already unzipped and ready. The gloves slipped onto his hands with practiced ease, their worn fabric grounding him. Each movement—unscrewing the lug nuts, slipping the tools into place—was a rhythm he had perfected over the years, calming the frantic pulse of his nerves. The final nut came loose, and as he reached to pull the tire free, a shadow fell across him, blocking the faint light of the streetlamp.

A voice, soft and unexpectedly clear, interrupted his focus. "You know," the voice mused, distinct and calm, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Jason froze, his heart hammering in his chest as the words cut through the silence. Slowly, he turned his head, expecting trouble, only to be met by a girl standing just a few feet away. She couldn't have been much younger than him—maybe a year or two at most—but there was a confidence about her that made her seem older. She stood with her arms crossed, her posture composed, as though she belonged in a world he had no access to.

But it was the way she looked—almost impossibly pretty—that caught him off guard. The soft curve of her face, the way her eyes glinted with quiet intelligence. There was something about her that made the dim light from the streetlamps seem to soften around her. She was... beautiful in a way that didn't belong in a place like this, in a world like his.

The moment stretched, uncomfortable and foreign. "What do you want?" Jason snapped, his voice coming out more hostile than he intended, but he couldn't quite help it. He was already on edge.

The girl tilted her head, her gaze studying him, but there was no fear in her eyes. Instead, there was something else—curiosity, maybe, or amusement. "You're stealing tires," she said matter-of-factly, her accent faint, like a melodic trace of something refined and distant.

Jason's scowl deepened, but his stomach twisted with an unfamiliar feeling—a strange mix of guilt and something else he couldn't quite place. His hand clenched around the lug wrench, the tool suddenly feeling too heavy in his grip. "Yeah? So what? You gonna call the cops?" His voice came out rougher than he'd intended, his instinct to fight the unexpected attention mixing with an anxiety he was too used to hiding.

But to his surprise, she shook her head, dismissing the thought with a quiet certainty. "No." The word was gentle, too gentle for the situation, her tone softening the sharp edges of their encounter.

       "...No?" Jason repeated, disbelief making his voice sound sharper than he meant. This wasn't adding up. He didn't know what game she was playing, but it felt off.

Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to read her. "Why do you care?"

She hesitated, just for a moment, then replied, her voice calm but carrying weight: "It's my parents' car."

The boy's brow furrowed. He couldn't tell if she was lying or messing with him, but either way, he didn't have the luxury of wasting time. He was already pushing his luck being this close to a place like this.

      "Look, kid," he muttered, taking a step away from the car, "Just go back inside and forget you saw me, all right?" His hand tightened on his bag, ready to grab what he could and get out of here before anyone noticed.

She didn't move.

Jason's frustration surged. "Seriously. You're gonna get me in trouble." The words were edged with a little more irritation than he wanted, but he was already trying to move past her—he didn't need her holding him here, making him second guess his every move.

The girl tilted her head again, as if considering his words with a quiet deliberation. Then, without another word, she turned and walked back toward the venue, the hem of her dress brushing the ground as she disappeared into the shadows.

He stood there, watching her for a beat, unsure whether to feel relieved or even more on edge. His heart was still pounding in his chest, the feeling of being caught uncomfortably real. He bent down to grab his bag, eyes flicking back to the place where she had just been, and for a brief moment, he wondered what the hell she'd been thinking.

But there was no time for that. He didn't wait to see if she'd change her mind. With a quick motion, he slung the bag over his shoulder, ready to vanish into the night.

Then, out of nowhere, he heard her voice again—this time from inside the building.

      "Mom! Dad!"

The raven-haired boy froze. His chest tightened, his heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears.

The girl's voice carried, but her words were lost in the rush of his thoughts. He imagined it: the rush of guards, the blare of alarms—everything he'd been trying to avoid. His muscles coiled, ready to sprint in the opposite direction. But then, instead of shouting for help, her voice remained oddly calm, even... cheerful.

He crept closer to the building, careful not to make a sound. Just enough to peer through the open door. Inside, she was standing with a group of adults, casually gesturing toward the ballroom. She was stalling. Stalling for him.

Jason's breath hitched. He couldn't believe it. After everything, after he'd been caught in the act of stealing, she was still on his side. But why? He didn't know, and that was the most unsettling part of it.

He didn't stick around to figure it out. The distraction wouldn't last long. Slinging his bag back over his shoulder, he bolted into the night, every step heavier than the last. As his feet hit the pavement, he couldn't stop his mind from circling back to her.

Who was she? And why the hell had she helped him?

Jason's feet pounded the cracked pavement, his breath coming in sharp bursts, the cool night air biting at his skin. He didn't dare look back, but the weight of her gaze, her voice, lingered like a whisper trailing behind him. A strange tension coiled in his chest as he sprinted through the shadows of Crime Alley, the dark streets folding in around him. He'd escaped, for now, but the girl—the one with the quiet authority, the one who could've turned him in without a second thought—kept creeping into his mind.

Who the hell was she?

He didn't know why he cared. He'd been stealing for as long as he could remember, been caught, had run from the cops more times than he could count. Yet something about her—her casual indifference, the strange amusement in her voice, the way she'd casually distracted her parents—it all kept pulling him back.

Why had she helped him? Was she playing some kind of game? She didn't look like someone who'd make a habit of picking up strays, especially ones like him.

Jason's thoughts tangled, his pace slowing as he came to a stop in an empty alley, hidden from view. He leaned against a grimy brick wall, taking a deep breath to steady himself. His mind refused to settle.

For a second, he almost wished he'd stuck around to ask her. To figure out what the hell had just happened. But that was a luxury he couldn't afford. People like him didn't get to make friends at parties in fancy houses with parents who likely had money to burn. The world didn't work like that.

Still, the unease gnawed at him. The guilt. And the weird, inexplicable pull he felt when she looked at him—when she saw him, even for that brief moment.

      "Forget it, Todd," he muttered to himself, the name sounding foreign on his lips, like a stranger's. He shoved the bag to the ground, wiping his face with his sleeve. "She's just another part of this messed-up city. Nothing more. Get your head on straight."

But as he gathered the stolen tires into a new hiding place, ready to sell them in the morning, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. Maybe it was just the adrenaline, the close call—but something about tonight felt different.

The girl.

He just didn't know how.

JASON HADN'T PLANNED ON SEEING HER AGAIN.

In fact, he'd done his best to avoid the area. That part of town, with its pristine streets and well-dressed residents, wasn't his scene. It was a world too far removed from his own. He didn't need more complications.

But as Gotham had a way of doing, trouble found him anyway.

He was cutting through a narrow alley downtown, his bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, when he spotted her. There, standing near a street vendor, was the girl.

She looked... different. Her dress was simpler, nothing like the flashy thing she'd worn at the party, the one that had made her stand out like a figure from another world. This time, she was wearing a faded, loose sweater and a scarf draped around her shoulders, her outfit blending in more with the everyday Gotham crowd.

Jason stopped, instinctively sizing up his options. He could keep walking, pretend he hadn't seen her. Duck back into the shadows and disappear before she could do anything about it. But just as he started to step around the corner, she turned her head, and their eyes met.

It was the last thing he expected.

Her expression shifted from the surprise of recognition to something softer. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Jason's stomach tightened, and for a moment, he didn't know how to respond. His mind raced, trying to figure out what she was going to do next. Would she call him out? Demand to know why he was still around? He half-expected her to march right up to him, ready to drag him into whatever kind of trouble she could cause.

But instead, she walked toward him, like they were just two people running into each other by chance. No anger, no accusations—just that calm, almost knowing smile on her face.

She didn't stop until she was a few feet away, the faintest trace of amusement in her gaze. "Small world," she said, her voice light, almost teasing. "Fancy seeing you here."

Jason blinked, taken aback by how casually she was treating the situation. The girl he'd expected to be angry, maybe furious, was now standing in front of him as if nothing unusual had happened at all.

His mind scrambled for something to say. "Yeah, well... didn't expect that either," he muttered, awkwardly shifting his weight. He kept his distance, his hand instinctively tightening around the strap of his bag.

She glanced down at it, then back at him, the curiosity in her expression never quite fading. "You're still stealing tires?" she asked, her tone light but with an edge of something more knowing underneath.

Jason frowned, the familiar defensiveness rising. "What's it to you?"

Instead of answering directly, she turned her attention to the vendor behind her, handing over some cash in exchange for a small paper bag. She held it out toward him, an odd gesture that made Jason hesitate.

      "Are you hungry?" she asked, her voice still soft, like it was nothing out of the ordinary.

Jason stood still for a moment, unsure whether to be irritated or... something else. "I didn't come here for snacks, kid."

She shrugged, unfazed, her smile lingering as she took a small bite from her pastry. "If you say so."

Jason snorted despite himself. "You're weird, you know that?"

      "And you're rude," she shot back, but there was no bite to her words. "Take it or don't, that's your loss."

Jason hesitated for a second, then took the bag. Inside were two steaming meat buns—the kind he'd only ever smelled wafting from the market stalls, but never had the money to buy. He tried not to look too eager as he bit into one, the warmth of it spreading through him like a surprise. The taste was richer than he'd expected, almost indulgent.

The girl watched him, her expression unreadable, as if she were waiting for something. Her eyes, though soft, didn't look at him with pity. Instead, they were full of... something else. Curiosity?

      "So," she said after a moment, breaking the silence that hung between them. "Do you always hang out in alleys, or was that just a lucky coincidence?"

Jason chewed slowly, not looking at her. "What's it to you?"

      "Nothing," she replied with a shrug, but there was a flicker of something playful in her eyes. "Just thought it was funny. I almost didn't recognize you without your tools."

The boy narrowed his eyes, suddenly uneasy. "You're not gonna tell anyone about that, right?"

She cocked her head, the smallest hint of a smile curling her lips. "Why would I? I didn't last time, did I?"

He couldn't argue with that, so they fell into a quiet, strange rhythm. Jason finished the first bun and eyed the second, trying to convince himself to save it, but his stomach growled louder than his resolve, and he took another bite.

      "Thanks," he muttered finally, almost sheepishly, not meeting her eyes.

She smiled again, this time with a gentleness he wasn't used to. "You're welcome."

The words didn't feel like a dismissal. It was strange, but Jason found himself standing there a little longer than necessary, feeling almost... lighter, for reasons he couldn't fully grasp.

       "What's your name, anyway?" he blurted before he could stop himself, the question hanging in the air between them.

For the first time, she hesitated, like the answer might be more significant than it seemed. Then, her expression softened, and she spoke, her voice quiet but clear. "Maheen. And you?"

Jason considered lying, but something about her gaze—steady, not judging—made him second-guess. For once, he didn't feel like hiding.

      "Jason."

Her smile widened, this time almost reaching her eyes. "Nice to meet you, Jason."

The boy didn't say anything, but as she turned and walked away, he realized something he hadn't felt in years—he wasn't in a hurry to disappear.

It felt... strange, but not wrong.

For the first time in a long time, someone knew his name, and it didn't feel like a threat.

© ADONYSIAC ― IZIA™