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[COLOR=red][indent][sub][I]Some Shithole, Texas, USA[/I] - [I]Present Day[/I][/sub][sup][right]Issue 1.01.01: Taste of Violence[/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][sub][B]Interaction(s):[/B] [I]None[/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][b]Previously:[/b] [I]None[/I][/right][/SUP][/indent][/color]

[color=red]"How do you do it? How do you just live like this?"[/color]

Sitting across the table from the speaker was a red-headed, lean man in a sleeveless red mechanic's vest. He had on a simple baseball cap with an American flag emblazoned across the front of it, and blue jeans that were ripped and worn around the knees. He was currently in the midst of devouring a triple bacon cheeseburger, juices and sauces dripping down his chin and onto the plate below. Roy Harper set the burger down for a moment, chewing the giant bite of food that he took as he grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the side of the table to wipe the liquids off his mouth before responding. [color=orange]"What's that supposed to mean?"[/color]

Jason Todd sighed. He felt out of place in a run-down bar in some basically no-name town in Texas. He was wearing a designer black turtleneck with the sleeves rolled up and black slacks. His hair was carefully constructed and gelled to look somewhat messy. As Roy answered, Jason leaned back in his seat. [color=red]"How do you not want to get back into the action? You were the best sharpshooter in the business. If you made a call, you could be back in Team 7 in a heartbeat."[/color]

Roy plucked another napkin to begin wiping away the sauces on his fingers as he gave a sly smile. [color=orange]"I did my time. Followed orders, had some fun. But you know... I never really saw this country. Traveled around it for competitions, but was never allowed to actually see anything. I've never been to the Alamo, or the Empire State Building. And neither was my dad."[/color]

That last word hung in the air for a moment. Despite the distance from his death, that fact still stung Roy. As for Jason, it made him stop in his tracks and rethink what exactly he was asking his former coworker to do for him. And as the two men sat in silence, another sound from outside the bar cut through the awkward silence.

The two men watched the scene unfolding outside. There, a few men with pick-up trucks that were proudly flying the confederate flag pulled up into the parking lot just as a black man in a t-shirt and jeans was walking towards the bar. The confederate-supporters got out of their pick-up and started surrounding the guy, blocking his path to getting into the bar. Jason's eyes narrowed as he watched one of the large men start shoving the victim of their hate.

Jason turned his gaze back to Roy, who was watching his dinner companion with concern.

[color=red]"I need to use the bathroom."[/color]

[color=orange]"Don't."[/color]

[color=red]"Don't what? I need to take a piss."[/color]

Roy simply shook his head as Jason stood up from the small two-person table and made his way towards the back of the restaurant. He went into the back of the bar, finding the small closet that was marked as the men's restroom. As soon as he entered and locked the door, Jason  looked up towards the ceiling for window near the top of the bathroom. He went to try and lift open the very wide and simple window, only to find it to be a bit stuck. The former spy sighed as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small utility knife. He flicked it open and ran it along the bottom of the window, removing a layer of grime and filth that was keeping the window a bit stuck down. With another attempt, the window was able to swing out. Jason then sighed and quickly jumped up into the air, using his momentum and strength to kick from one wall to the other and then up towards the window sill. He slid himself out from the window and landed behind the bar.

As Jason circled around the side of the bar, he could hear the situation had escalated. He could hear a cry for help as there was grunting and the sound of kicking and groaning. So Jason rushed around the side of the building, his fists clenched and at the ready. As he rounded the corner, about five men were gathered around their victim. They were kicking him in the head, chest, back, and legs. One of them, the one stomping down on the guy's legs trying to break them, shouted out, [color=gray]"Get back on to your ghetto now, boy! This place ain't for your kind."[/color]

Jason could feel the rage boiling inside him as he began rushing forward around the corner of the bar. With each kick and hit, he remembered the sensations coursing through his chest, his arms, and his skull. He almost thought the painful sensation in his hand was just a sensory memory until Jason was brought back to reality at the sound of a different voice yelping in pain. One of the racists was clutching the side of his ear as he fell down to the ground over the bloody mess of his victim, and was trying to scramble back onto his feet as his compatriots stared in shock. 

The next moments were a blur of adrenaline and pure instinct. When one came in on his right with a right hook, Jason stepped back and provided a small redirecting shove to have the man clock one of his friends in the face. Another came forward trying to tackle the former spy to the ground, but Jason simply stepped to the side and provided a quick kick to the man's knee. The sound of the crunch was satisfying as the Team 7 operator decided to go on the attack in delivering a quick strike to the man he had first attacked in the neck by the time he got to his feet, leaving him choking for air.

While caught up in the chaos of the hand to hand combat, Jason was surprised and petrified with fear as he saw the two other assailants has run back to their trucks and were loading up their shotguns with appropriate shells. He had only a moment to duck back behind another car in the parking lot before the shotguns began firing off in his directions, followed by whooping and hollering. That is, until Jason heard something he wasn't expecting. He heard screams of pain coming from where the two men were firing. As Jason peered around the hood, he saw that the men had been struck by arrows in their shoulders. It didn't take long for Jason to put two and two together, especially when his marksman friend stepped out from around the other corner of the bar holding his bow with an arrow nocked and drawn. Roy turned his gaze towards Jason for a moment and nodded for him to make his way over. The vigilante did so, and began running towards the archer. Without so much as a word, Jason and Roy fled to a beaten up red van and got in. The latter threw van into drive and spun out onto the empty evening road, taking off from the scene of their crime.

Without sharing a single word, the two men knew what they had just done. And they knew that it wouldn't take long before the police were called and the authorities were looking for them.

As far as they were concerned, Jason Todd and Roy Harper were now Outlaws.