âI donât know what I was so worried about.â Damian muttered to himself, as he watched the assassin cultâs hide out. The security was basic, no one seemed worried about being tracked or found, and the hide out itself was rather easy to find. At least, easy to find would be what he would say if asked. Without any of his technology or weapons, it had taken him a little over a week to reach this point, and another four days of investigating the hide out before he felt confident in trying to do this.
He just had to steel his nerves for what he was planning to do. He had ditched his mask, taken off his R patch and had been mentally going over how he planned to pull this off. Surely with such basic security and lack of care, it wouldnât be too hard to succeed.
After making sure that the hideout was empty, Damian dropped to the floor and looked around as he approached the door. He took a deep breath as he waited for the question.
âWhat is lifeâs greatest illusion?â The door asked. The question didnât seem to change, at least from what he had noticed. It was always the same, with the same answer. One he could agree with, shockingly.Â
âInnocence, my brother.â He answered back, easily. The door opened, giving him a welcome greeting.Â
The first thing he noticed, was how different this hideout was from his grandfathers. In fact, if you added a few computers and a car, it would almost resemble his fatherâs batcave. Still, his heart was pounding as he explored the area quietly, gripping one of the hunting knives heâd stolen in case someone tried to attack him for breaking in.
âIs this it?â He asked to himself. He had been expecting something⌠different. More than this. It was almost laughable how simple this place looked.Â
@dreadwhispers planned starter
Nestled into the ruins of Yesteryear was the hideout, in a crumpled basement of a building that had long succumbed to the environment around it. Overgrowth covered the door, hiding it from sight to passers-by. Careful observation was needed to find it in the middle of all these ruins that looked so very similar...
Inside was dark, cold, and fairly primitive. Candles and sconces replaced any electricity, and the main water line seemed to be woefully broken, with the only thing holding it back was a cork.Â
A pot sat atop the embers of a cooking fire, with something simmering away inside. Rugs lined the floor in some places to cover the earth, and a mattress with heavy wool blankets lay in the sectioned-off part of the room.
Clean-looking banners with a black handprint hung in a few places, presumably for decoration, and a few flower wreathes lay in certain places. By far, the most disturbing thing about the place seemed to be a wrought iron sarcophagus, propped up in a shrine-like manner. Incense and flowers lay there, perhaps as gifts.
The voice, having a more amused tone than a hostile one, belonged to a figure that leaned against the entrance way. More than any other, the assassin knew where to place her feet in her own hideout to muffle her steps. This teenager certainly wasnât the first she snuck up on.
His presence had been noted only twice before, though the Listener was unsure of his intentions, and left the boy alone.
âYouâre already breaking into our home. You donât need to criticize my decor, too.â