#(if you can guess which zombie game this bears resemblance to then congrats! you win an entire internets!)

[cakeandpi]

‘Resident Justice’

(zombie-au fun times that no one wanted but everyone’s getting.)

---

"What is that?" Kaldur whispered in fascinated horror.

"I don't know." The scientist beside him responded, voice just as soft. They stared at the ... the thing ... in the cage. It hissed at them, seeming to sense them staring despite a distinct lack of eyes. "Do you think it eats?"

"Doesn't everything alive eat?"

"It was dead an hour ago."

They fell silent again as it began pressing against the reinforced glass of the cage walls, hunting. For just what, Kaldur couldn’t say. An escape? Just exploring its surroundings? Whatever it was doing, Kaldur was rather glad it was trapped. It was quite rare to find a creature that genuinely bothered him, but this was... unnatural. For one, rats did not - should not - get back up and start moving after dying. For another, their insides should not be on the outside while they defied death. It was beyond disturbing, and Kaldur had to swallow to keep his lunch down as the not-rat's exploring left behind a smear of green-grey ooze against the glass of its enclosure.

"And all you gave it was ..." Kaldur trailed off, really not wanting to finish the thought.

"Yep." The scientist inhaled sharply and shook himself. "We should report this."

Kaldur nodded slowly, then frowned. "Wait." He could feel the look leveled at him. Kaldur held up a placating hand. "We should do more tests first. Make sure of -"

"Manta said to report the second we had anything." The scientist retorted sharply. "And this -" he gestured at the cage "- is definitely not nothing."

That was true enough. Kaldur spared another glance for the former specimen and shuddered. "We should see if it can be killed again. Give a complete report." He knew he'd made the right suggestion when his companion paused in opening a comm line.

"Does that matter?" Okay, maybe that hadn't been the right suggestion. "This will give us the advantage against Atlantis. And - hey!"

Kaldur hadn't realized he'd been moving until he'd dragged the the scientist out of the chair. "No." Kaldur shook his head. "No, we -"

Pain bloomed in his chest and he staggered backwards. Scientist or not, everyone in Black Manta's crew was a trained fighter, and Kaldur paid the price for forgetting that for a second. Not for the first time, he wished he had backup for this mission, to catch his mistakes. Like that one. "Listen, kid. I get it, you know?" The man straightened, hands in a guard position as if expecting Kaldur to retaliate. "It's not easy, defecting. I did it too."

Apparently Kaldur’s poker face was not as good as he thought, given how the man smiles wryly at him. "What, you thought you were the only one to come over from Atlantis, disillusioned and angry? No, you're not the first, though I admit I was surprised to find out that the boss had a kid.

"But don't think that just cause you're Manta's little boy doesn't mean you get to defy orders." The man stepped forward into Kaldur personal zone, as if to intimidate him with the few extra inches of height he had on Kaldur. "Manta said to report when we had anything that looked like it could be useful against Atlantis. And I know it's hard, turning against the things you grew up with - but you think you'd be over it by now, what with those missions Manta's sent you on.”

“I am.” He says emphatically, not thinking about what he’s done on those missions to prove his ‘defection’. “It is the ethics of using this as a weapon that I question. And it’s origins. Remember that this drug was given to us for use on ourselves. Someone’s trying to eliminate us.”

“All the more reason to report this.” The man eyed him suspiciously, and Kaldur made himself meet his eyes calmly, without any sign of his fear of discovery. And yet he found a finger pointed at his face. “Of course, a mole would stall, wouldn’t they?”

"That is ridiculous." Kaldur spat out automatically, but he could already see arguing would do no good. The man doubted him, and he was recoiling from Kaldur in a way he hadn't recoiled from the impossibly undead rat. It was more than enough that he was doubted, even if his cover hadn’t been truly blown. Yet. The 'how' wasn't important, not right now. What was important was keeping him from spreading such accusations. Kaldur knew he wouldn't be able to ride out such a rumor - it had taken over half a year to work his way into Black Manta's good graces enough to lead missions. He still wasn't trusted enough to be introduced to the group that called itself The Light that Manta was a member of.

The scientist's foot scuffed against the metal floor as he backed away. Kaldur didn't think, only reacted, and it was a matter of seconds before the man was out cold on the floor. Kaldur's hands stung a little from the short struggle.

A hissing snarl from across the room made him look up. The unnatural creature sat in the center of its cage, as if watching him. Kaldur felt his stomach turn again.

This mission had just gotten a lot more complicated.

- - -

The bike’s lights illuminated the road before him as he made his way to the docks. He’d been just settling down to bed when Kaldur had messaged him. Normally they’d have set up a meeting for a few days later. But Kaldur had insisted this had to be right now.

Dick frowned as his comm beeped with an incoming message. “I’m on my way.” He growled, the tiredness in his bones leaving him grouchy.

“How soon? I don’t know how long I will be able to wait.” Dick bit down hard on his impatience. It was unlike Kaldur to call for updates, especially when it had barely been half an hour since his last contact.

“What’s wrong?” Dick prompted, and the choked laugh he got in response sent chills down his spine.

“A lot.”

He had never, even on their worst missions before the team had split apart for good, heard Kaldur rattled, let alone scared. Not even in his nightmares.

“Walk me through it.” Dick tried to keep his own voice calm against the fear in Kaldur’s.

“I don’t think I can. Just - get here soon, okay?”

“Five minutes.” Dick was already going faster than was wise. And if he was speeding up even more, trying to shave off minutes from his trip, well. Something had Kaldur on edge. That never happened. More than enough reason to risk turning himself into road paste.

He made it in under three minutes, shaking from that last corner that he had taken far, far too fast. His family would probably chew him out for days, and rightfully so, if - when - they found out about it. But Kaldur -

Kaldur was already walking up to him, glancing backwards as if nervous. “You being followed?” Dick examined the shadows with a practiced eye - nothing.

“.... No. I do not believe so.” Kaldur sounded slightly more calm than he had over the comm, but there was an almost fragile edge to it. As if he was only calm because he was forcing himself to be. “This way. This is better explained if I show you.” Kaldur beckoned, and Dick found himself double-checking that his eskrima were in place as he followed.

Rounding the corner of a now-defunct warehouse, Dick sucked in his breath at the sight that greeted them. There was a massive hole in the thick wall; from the lack of debris, it was one that had existed for a while now. Rebar stuck out from the edges of the hole; one of them drew his eye. Something that looked like it had once been a body had been planted on one of them. A twisted metal pole jutted out through the chest piece that Black Manta’s soldiers’ wore. By all rights, whatever - whoever - that was should be dead.

But as Dick watched, the body twitched. Hands jerked, uncoordinated but moving. The legs too. And the face -

That wasn’t a human face. Was it? Dick flicked his flashlight on and stepped closer for a better look. A hand darted towards him and he jumped backward, stumbling; a strong grip on his arm steadied him.

“Careful.” Kaldur cautioned, letting him go after a moment.

“What happened?”

“The last supply run, we got a rather unusual delivery. Something that our supplier claimed would give us an ‘undisputed advantage’. Some sort of drug. Manta tasked a few of us to look into what it did, in case it was just some rebranded Venom.” Kaldur said as Dick circled the body from a distance. “We experimented on a few rats. It did… things to them.” Kaldur gestured at the body. “He wanted to report that immediately. I attempted to stall, but that turned into accusations of being a mole. We fought, and after I subdued him I got in contact with you to set up a meeting. I had meant to tie him up, let you and Batman take him into custody.” Dick nodded, frowning as the head of the body seemed to track him as he walked around it.

“How’d that turn into this?”

“He fought back.” Kaldur shrugged when Dick glanced at him. “I can be surprised, Dick. But he got some of that drug on him during the struggle, and, well.”

“So you staked him?” That seemed excessive, especially for Kaldur.

“As a last resort. Dick, even Venom-users don’t keep moving after being stabbed through the heart.”

“Venom users also still look human. If abnormally bulked out.” Looking around, Dick found a length of two-by-four. Picking it up, he prodded the body. It reacted violently, grabbing the wood and breaking off the end. Kaldur pulled Dick backwards away from the body which was now armed with a foot of splintered wood.

“I still have a sample of the drug. I can spin a tale to throw off Manta, but this came from somewhere. I can give you details on the supplier, but I doubt they are also the manufacturer.”

“And you want us to track down who that is?”

“Yes.”

- - -

"So you think this person’s, what, immune?" Dick leans over Zatanna's chair, eyes intent on the papers scattered across the table in front of her. They feature mostly security footage stills of one person, blond hair braided and coiled around their head, always wearing a stylized orange mask. The actual report on what’s known about them is two pages. Two short pages.

"Possibly. I'm trying not to jump to conclusions without anything concrete." Zatanna tugs on a bit of her hair, trying to ignore the warm hand Dick rests on her shoulder. It's easier than usual because of Wally's presence. He's not exactly sulking, per se, but he's definitely unhappy to be here and not even trying to hide it. That's fine with her, as long as he doesn't try to start shit. Again. He hasn't said a word to her yet, had merely nodded at her curtly as he followed Dick inside and then did his best to become one with a corner of the room. Compared to some past exchanges with him, this was almost pleasant.

"At the bare minimum, they have skills we could use. But look -" she flips open a folder, and hands a handful of pictures to Dick. "That's from before the latest sightings. No changes since."

Dick grunts. "They wear a mask, though. And the newest strain exhibits only facial deformities when not further agitated."

"True." Zatanna watches as Dick takes the pictures over to Wally, who glances at them and grunts. Her shoulder feels cool now that Dick’s not there to warm it; she busies herself with straightening up the table to keep herself from rubbing her shoulder. "But it’s not like they’re living a sedentary life, Dick. Records show that they’ve been a mercenary, and a highly successful one at that, for almost three years now, and those” - she gestures at the pictures in his hands - “are from a month ago. You don’t get fame like they’ve got by just sitting on your ass. They’ve been out there, fighting. If they were infected, they should have shown signs by now. And besides, most of our own wear masks anyway.”

"Domino masks."

"I don't." Wally mutters from his corner. Zatanna purses her lips and reminds herself that she is twenty-two years old, has been on her own since she was fourteen, and that she needs to be the more mature one here. That doesn't make it easy to not roll her eyes.

"Anyway," and if her voice is louder than strictly necessary, who cares? "The point is that whenever we haven’t been sure in the past, we've always gone by behavior and observation."

"Hm." Dick flips through the pictures. "There's been no changes in their actions?"

"No more than there's been in Wally's."

She can hear Wally shift uncomfortably in the corner, and for all that she wishes he weren't here, she does feel a little bad for bringing that up. More than a little, actually. But what happened to him, then or after, hadn’t been her fault. Not alone, at least, and she’s tried to make up for it since.

Dick merely grunts in response, ignoring Wally, a sign that he's thinking hard. "Well, either they're infected and its affecting them incredibly slowly, or they're actually immune. Either way, we could study that."

"Study?" Wally asks harshly.

Dick’s head snaps up from the photos. “Not like that.” Wally’s glaring at him, eyes bright and nostrils flared. “Never like that.”

Zatanna nods in silent, firm agreement. Yes, it had been her and Dick that had left him there - but Wally had been the one to suggest it in the first place. Wally had needed a safe place to rest and recover - and to be isolated, just in case his brush with one of the infected became… worse. Where better than Star Labs? How were they to know it had been anything but that, when the times they’d visited Wally hadn’t said a thing about it, not even in coded messages to Dick?

But given all that he’d been through, it stood to reason that Wally would be just the littlest bit prickly about anything that even hinted at more of ‘human science project’.

After a long moment, Wally nods, visibly relaxing from angry back to ‘I’m only here because I have to be’ moody. Only then does Dick relax too.

"We wouldn't do that, you know that, Wall-man."

"I know." The redhead shifts, shoving himself slightly more upright against the wall. "Just -" His mouth twists and he shrugs. "Some would."

"Yeah. Some would." Dick agrees. "Which is why you’re here. What do you think about finding this person before those who would do that?" He holds out a photo to Wally. “Think you can do it?”

The redhead takes the offering gingerly, holding it by the corner between thumb and forefinger. “Do you think the sky’s blue? Of course I can find this person. But then what? They’re a mercenary, right? They'll want something in return for cooperating with us.”

“Money’s usually a fair bet.” Dick shrugs casually. “Don’t be surprised if they ask for a few grand just for cooperating for a day or two.”

Wally’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead. “A few thousand? For a day? How good is this person anyway?”

“Good enough that the Markovian Freedom Army tried recruiting them.” Zatanna pulls a report out of the folder and brings it over to Wally. “The MFA’s rates vary a bit, but the average is, at minimum, a grand a day when there’s fighting. Not counting bonuses.”

Wally whistles low. None of them state the obvious - there hasn’t been peace in Markovia in years. Or that the so-called ‘freedom army’ had a distressing tendency to chew through its mercenaries like gum. “You said tried?”

“Yeah. They’re working with them, through a secondary group currently calling itself the Hawks, but otherwise they’re a solo act. The Hawks are an independent group, and work for the current highest bidder that’ll take them. Anyway. Our mystery person has so far been working in parallel to the Hawks and the MFA. The pay is higher as a solo, technically, if you don’t take into account all the extra expenses.” Zatanna taps on the desk idly. “That said, I’m still not convinced that money is this person’s true motivator. Otherwise they’d still be back in Bialya - the pay there for mercs is far, far higher.”

Dick shrugs. “I don’t disagree, but it’s not like they’re about to just up and offer to help us solely out of the goodness of their hearts. Just be prepared for them to ask for a lot of money - liquid cash or otherwise - for helping out. And for them to be on guard and suspicious about your intent.”

Wally grins. “Good thing I’m good at talking to people then. Did your research turn up a name for this ‘might be the key to saving the world’ person, or am I going to have to pay them for that as well?”

“It did, though it’s just a codename. Tigress.”

Once they’ve settled the rest of the details, Dick leaves. Zatanna raises an eyebrow as Wally lingers, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if uncomfortable. “Something for you?”

Wally’s mouth twists as if he’s bitten into something sour. “I’m sorry, about, well. How I acted. Been acting. For blaming you for what happened with Artemis.”

Zatanna sucks in a surprised breath. “Wally -” She starts, about to tell him to not worry about it. Except, well. It’s been almost ten years, since Artemis disappeared and Wally put the entire blame on her. And he’s only now apologizing. What is she supposed to do with that?

“Anyway.” He rubs the back of his head, and it strikes her that this is just as awkward for him as it is for her. “I’ll, uh, be going then?”

“Wally.” He freezes with his hand on the doors. “Thank you. And - I’m sorry too. For, you know.”  She makes a vague gesture with her hands, even though he’s turned away and can’t see it.

He exhales heavily. “That’s - it’s fine, you know? Don’t blame you or Dick for that.” He doesn’t have to say most of the time; Zatanna hears it anyway. “You guys didn’t know.”

“We should’ve paid more attention.”

Wally snorts and turns to give her a lopsided smile. “Well. Maybe one day we can laugh about it and everything?”

“That would be nice.” She smiles at him in return, watching as he leaves. Only once the door has latched behind him does she let the smile drop.

- - -

There’s always some non combatant tag-alongs hanging around wherever they set up base. Most of them are someone trying to make a buck somehow or another, be it goods and services… or more physical, intimate versions of the same. Less often it’s people who think hanging around mercenaries will be safer than elsewhere. Or here to sign their souls up for the ‘glory’ of battle.

Tigress strides past all these people as she makes her way to this week’s base of operations. She ignores all of their calls; the glory hunters will find their way into battle soon enough, and the ones seeking protection won’t be any safer for her acknowledging them. As for the vendors -

She sidesteps a woman who thrusts a basketful of food in her direction. Tigress gives her a discouraging scowl as she passed by. The fighting had caused prices to skyrocket, especially for food as fresh as the woman had proclaimed it to be. But the prices were too low for that to be true… that or the food was laced with energy boosters. Not uncommon, for all that it made everything taste like garbage.

She knew most of those around her swore by the boosters. And sure, they’d keep a person awake for thirty hours, but then there’s the crash and the shaking and the hunger for more. And worse, if the supplier wasn’t reputable - and often they weren’t. She’s seen it often enough that she doesn’t want to touch the chemical mix, be it through a needle and vial or laced in her food.

Besides, she already has a stash of fresh apples in her gear here at this temporary base. Or she should - if those apples are gone she’s going to take it out on someone’s face. She stamps her way into the base and upstairs, to where she had left a meager amount of belongings she could bear being parted with, if she had never made it back. She snorts - the likelihood of being unable to return and being alive were astronomically small. And yet she can’t imagine dying.

A voice calls out from behind her, and she turns to see one of her associates. “Tigress! We’re celebrating downstairs, wanna join in?” Tigress shakes her head at Sienna.

“Gonna get some rest while we’ve got a break.” Grabbing her pack, she reaches in and fishes out an apple. “Besides, the rest would riot over these beauties.”

“More like grumble that it’s not meat.” Sienna glances furtively to the side, as if checking the short hallway for eavesdroppers. Tigress pauses just as she’s about to bite into her apple, watching them. “Hey,” Sienna says low, conspiratorially when there’s no one there. “Trade you some cheese for one of those?”

Tigress blinks, mouth salivating. She hasn’t had cheese in a long while. “Done.” The trade’s done quickly, and Sienna tucks the two apples she bartered away and hidden.

“My group managed to snatch up a couple of SABA’s resupply trucks. Would cut you in on a bigger share of the goods - your work’s better than most solo acts we pick up - but my team would riot, you being separate and all.” It’s not the first time Sienna has tried to recruit her, and it’s not the first time Tigress has declined.

“It’s good.” Tigress waives aside Sienna’s vague offer to join their little group. “Like the front-line action I get.”

“Suit yourself.” Sienna shrugs and leaves to join the party downstairs, already going strong, from the sound of it.

Tigress flips her mask up and sits, leaning back against the wall as she takes a large bite of cheese. Savoring the taste - it’d been too long - she pulls out her knife and cuts off a generous bit of apple. Popping that into her mouth and chewing, she lets herself relax a little bit as laughing shouts filter their way upstairs.

For the moment, the fighting had lulled, though there’s still the occasional crack of a gun now and then. Even the MFA, which had had months to entrench themselves here, had been forced to pull back to lick their wounds and regroup. Which gave the Hawks, the group she’d been working alongside this past month, a chance to rest. Or party, as the case may be.

It had been a decent month. But that had been before the SABA had decided to ‘intervene’ in the fighting, and before the MFA had decided to change their tactics. Tigress didn’t much care if the Markovia Freedom Army ‘restored’ Markovia’s royalty or not - personally she doubted that was their true intent. But money made traveling easier, and at the time the MFA had not been using bioweapons. So it had seemed simple enough - she was mercenary for hire, and the MFA and the Hawks needed solo acts to go where they couldn’t.

Of course, now that the quasi-military ‘Surface-Atlantis Bioterror Alliance’ group - stars what a mouthful - had shown up, the MFA had decided since they were being accused of using bioweapons, to go ahead and use them. Which was so dumb it made Tigress’s head hurt in a way she hadn’t dealt with in years, back in a different lifetime where she had argued about the existence of magic with one of the most insufferable boys she’d ever met.

Which meant it was about time to pack up and leave. She has just about enough saved up to get back to the states, weapons and all. So a few days more, and she would be out of here. In the meantime, she has to stay alive long enough to actually leave. And the battles would be back underway before nightfall. So she intends to spend what time she could actually resting. Her apple and cheese finished, she’s thinking about stretching out for a nap when she picks up on the sound of running, harried footsteps.

There’s no shouting from downstairs either.

Slamming her mask back down, she’s back on her feet in one fluid movement. She keeps her hand low, flicking her knife up and out of sight between her wrist and torso. Seconds later, the source of the footsteps appears in the doorway facing her.

“Did you take any?” Tigress stares at the figure, overprotected against the chill in a beige fur-lined jacket and dark pants. With the jacket’s hood flipped up, she can’t pick out much of a face, but she sees a flash of red fabric under it. There’s no insignia she can pick out, no identifying marks, which means that this person is either a spy or unaffiliated. Either way, they mean trouble.

“Did you take any?” The person - man? The voice is low but so’s Sienna’s - repeats, voice raspy.

“Take what?” Tigress growls. She adjusts her grip on her knife, so that when they inevitably drew closer she’d be ready. “You looking for goods, hit up the vendors outside. They’ll be happy to take your money. I don’t do trade.” Not with unknowns, she doesn’t add.

The stranger lets out a frustrated sigh. “Any food. You -” They pause. Tigress frowns as their head moves from her general direction to something to her side. Shifting, keeping the stranger in sight, she turns to find a member of Sienna’s crew standing in room’s other entrance. From the scar on their neck, Tigress thinks she remembers this one goes by Carver.

There’s something off about Carver’s stance, though. Tigress jerks a nod at him as she tries to work out just what is wrong.

The answer comes in the form of a snarl and attack. Tigress dodges sideways as Carver lunges, eyes wild. Pivoting, Tigress kicks out and sends him slamming back into a wall. “What’s your damage?” Tigress growls. In her peripheral vision, she can see the stranger’s standing in the same place, rooted in spot and eyes wide. Shit, were they one of those pacifist types, here to tell anyone who wasn’t outright hostile to them about how some off-key singing around a campfire would solve all the world’s problems?

There’s no time to wonder about that, as Carver straightens up and his face … changes. The skin of Carver’s forehead shifts and splits and bleeds. Something eyeball-like rises out of the mess, rotating and rolling as if disoriented.

Oh, fuck.

“Oh man, that is so gross.” The stranger murmurs. Carver’s - what used to be Carver’s - eyes, all five of them, old and new, focus on the stranger.

Tigress sheathes her knife - no sense in losing it to an infected’s rotting flesh - and moves as Carver lunges anew. She jams her open palm up against Carver’s face, and she feels what ought to have been cartilage squish under the heel of her hand like so much soft, rotting fruit. At the same time, she sweeps out with one leg, sending him crashing to the floor. Reaching up, Tigress unsheathes the sword at her back and plunges it downward into Carver’s chest.

Carver twitches twice before suddenly stiffening and the tell-tale sudden tightening and cracking off of skin. Unlike seconds earlier, there’s barely any blood from this wound; what little there is barely runs, almost instantly coagulating. Tigress waits for a long moment for any sign of movement. When there’s none besides Carver’s skin cracking like old concrete, Tigress rests a boot on his chest and reclaims her sword. His chest only gives a little bit under her.

A glance shows that the stranger is still in the doorway. “You should leave.” She tells them. The stranger has no obvious weaponry, and if their instinct is to stay put when even just one of the infected is attacking, well, they won’t stay human themselves for long.

“You’re Tigress, right? Nice name.” Tigress pauses in the middle of wiping off her blade.

“And?” She raises an eyebrow, hoping they get to the point soon. Where there’s one infected, there’s usually more, and she does not like that she can’t hear any sounds - be it party or fighting or sex or anything - from downstairs.

“You could be the key to saving the world.” The stranger gives her a brilliant smile and pulls down the hood of their jacket. The red fabric she glimpsed earlier covers their head, and her heart jumps at the sight of that mask. “The Flash, at your service.” He bows elaborately.

The Flash. The Flash, in the flesh, right before her. Excitement leaps along her veins - a living Leaguer - before she gets ahold of herself. The League’s no more, dissolved years ago, most of its members either infected or presumed dead. And anyone could put on a mask and call themselves whatever they wanted. That’s what a good half of the mercenaries she’s worked with over the years do. And the actual Flash shouldn’t have just stood there like so much fresh meat as one of the infected attacked.

Tigress frowns. But before she can challenge ‘Flash’ on their claim, more infected appear in the doorway Carver had come in from. “Better save ourselves first, though.” The Flash says, sounding almost cheerful, and she inhales as a red-beige-and-black blur crosses the room and weaves in and among the infected. Okay, maybe that actually is the real Flash. Only a speedster can move like that.

In the blink of an eye, the infected are no longer a threat, their misshapen bodies hardening in a final death. “There’s more down that hallway,” the Flash says as he zips back into the room. “And probably the way I came in too. Gonna be a real mess to fight through.”

Tigress shakes her head, already pulling open a hatch on the wall she’d been resting against moments ago. “Afraid of the dark?” She asks flippantly as she lifts herself into the chute the hatch had covered. She doesn’t look to see if the Flash follows her down - she hopes he does; it’d be a chance to get some answers about, well, everything - but her own skin comes first. Keep moving, keep breathing, keep living.

The mantra is an old friend, one that’s kept her alive over these past few years. She’s not about to abandon it at the first sign of hope that not all of the League - and maybe even not all of the team she’d once known - has been destroyed. That there might be someone with some leads on where her family’s gone. But that will have to come later, when there’s less of a chance of running into infected.

Which means getting out of the watery, dimly lit tunnel the chute deposits her in. The landing jars her a little, but she’s moving as soon as she’s not falling - she can hear the whispering rush of cloth above her. Soon enough, the Flash lands where she was. “Steady,” Tigress growls, putting a hand out before the Flash can pitch face-first into the water. The second he’s regained his balance, she pulls away and moves towards the stairs she’s spotted.

“So, you do this often?”

Tigress hisses for the Flash to be quiet, ignoring the part of her screeching that she was shushing a Leaguer. It wasn’t as if the League existed anymore.

“It was just a question.”

“Look.” Artemis draws upright as they reach the foot of the metal (which meant echoes, which meant noise, which meant target) stairs. “Right now? Really not the time for idle chitchat.” She waits as he inhales sharply, thinks better of it, and closes his mouth with a click. “Good. Now, this way. Quietly.”

She half considers asking the Flash to use his superspeed to get them out of here. But they’d need a safe place for him to catch his breath - at least, if his powers work anything like Wally’s. Her heart pinches tight - it’s been years since she thought about him. Vague memories of Bialya and that dry desert heat press against her, but she shakes her head, as if she can shoo them away like flies.

“Something up?” The Flash is, thankfully, quieter than he’d been before.

She can’t tell him she was wondering if his sidekick still lives. So she ignores the question and ghosts up the last few steps, barely daring to take a breath. Signalling for silence, she listens for a long, long moment. She can hear distant shouting, the echoing report of gunfire, and grumble of diesel engines. Sounds that she’s become accustomed to having as constant companions in recent years. But it’s all distant and far away. Which could only mean that the rest of the Hawks had noticed the outbreak in their den … or had been overwhelmed by it.

She really hopes it’s not the second. She had liked Sienna.

Gesturing for the Flash to follow, she darts out of the doorway of the stair landing to a fresh shadow. And another and another. Then she’s trying to make herself as one with the shadows as possible as a group passes. It’s a mixed group of Hawks and MFA mercs, from the arm patches she spots, but their faces - well. She probably would have recognized some of them once.

It takes the better part of an hour to work their way past groups of infected. The sheer amount of them leaves her uneasy - there was no way this was from the MFA simply mishandling the bioweapons it’s turned to using. And it couldn’t be the Hawks - they eschewed that sort of tactic as thoroughly as the SABA. But something must have happened, for it to spread so widely with no outcry. And with the buildings here being more rabbit-warren than defensible outposts, Tigress would prefer to go undetected rather than risk her skin in a bloodbath.

Speaking of, the building currently sheltering them would be their best bet to talk for a good bit, seeing as it only had two exits - or three, if one counted the windows overlooking the cliffside.

“Three hundred grand. That’s to start with, and covers all of my services. Another three hundred when this’s all done and over with. As for weaponized infected - those start at two grand each. More for the bigger nasties.”

Her neck prickles at the feeling of Flash staring at her. She doesn’t look, instead peering out through the small, cramped window at the far side of the canyon, trying to see if the SABA camp on the other side has noticed anything odd on this side. There’s some vague activity, but nothing that looks like preparations for immediate battle. Not from this distance, at least.

“I’m not… hiring you?”

Tigress does glance back at that. “Then what? Just doing some sightseeing? This is kind of a war zone, you know. Didn’t think the Flash was the morbid type like that.”

He shifts uncomfortably, looking down at his feet. “Actually. I’m, uh, here for your blood.”

She blinks. Then straightens and turns to stare at him. “My what.” She says flatly.

He grimaces and looks up at her. “Some… associates… of mine have been interested in you. And your tendency to walk out of infected areas,” he gestures towards the direction they’d come from, “alive and still human. We would like to, well, study your blood. See if you’ve got some sort of special immunity or something going on. With your permission, of course”

That was not at all what she’d been expecting. She focuses on the first thing she can think of, trying to stall for time to think. “Associates? Kind of vague, don’t you think?” Gods, was this even the same Flash that Wally had worked with? Wally had mentioned once about getting his powers in some sort of science experiment - what if this person had done the same thing and was just claiming the Flash’s title?

He must have picked up on her uneasiness because the Flash holds up his hands placatingly. “Even you must have noticed that those were different from your average infected, right? Usually they’re slow, uncoordinated, and while the body is usually distorted from the infection it’s not so… dramatic.” Tigress nods reluctantly. “We have a new, fresh virus outbreak on our hands. You heard about what happened to Gotham, or Star City, years ago?”

She hadn't been to Star City, ever, but she had seen the remains of Gotham, up close and personal. Her mother’s apartment… Tigress presses her lips into a thin line. “Massive outbreaks. Both of them quarantined and razed - didn’t get rid of all the infected, though.” At least Gotham hadn't been bombed, just… burned. And had been given time, albeit paltry, to evacuate beforehand.

“Analysis from those incidents point to a particular virus strain. No actual cure, not yet, but we can at least immunize against that one, for the most part. And there’s a particular way infection from that virus takes place. But this, here? This is different. The people I’m working with - Nightwing? No? Uh, maybe you’ve heard of Red Arrow?”

“Jackass.” Tigress says on automatic before she can quite stop herself.

That startles a laugh out of the Flash. “He certainly is, sometimes, isn’t he? Anyway. We’d heard whispers of a new virus strain, but nothing for certain that it wasn’t from some failed vaccine experiments not working out. Until now, that is. I was trying to find you and secure your help, in case of a new outbreak, but seems like I was a little slow on that point.”

Tigress folds her arms and stands back, taking a long look at this person calling himself the Flash. She’d never had a chance to meet the actual Flash, only heard Wally talk admiringly about him and seen clips of him on the news. This person doesn’t quite match up with memory, but the broad smile is familiar, if a bit more self-deprecating than she thought she remembered.

Well. It’s not as if she’s the same person she used to be either. At one time she would have laughed, outrageously, at the idea of a zombie apocalypse. And now she's doing her best to survive it.

“Okay.”

“Really? That's great!”

“Eighty million.” She suppresses the urge to grin as the Flash’s face contorts into abject dismay. “Cash. Not negotiable. That will get you one pint of my blood - no more, no less.”

“What’re you going to do with that much money?” The Flash says weakly.

Tigress raises an eyebrow, not that he can see that under her mask. “None of your business. You might have been part of the League once, but the League’s gone, and staying alive has gotten expensive. You want my blood that badly, you'll pay up.” That, or he'd try to take it without her cooperation. In which case he truly wasn't the Flash and she'd have zero compunctions about stopping that particular charade for good.

“All right. I’ll need to run it by Nightwing first, but assuming he’s okay with that - we’ve got a deal.”

“And you can’t do that now because…?”

He digs out a cell from his jacket pocket and holds it up. “No signal.”

Tigress barks a laugh despite herself. “Damn. Zombie apocalypse and we’re still stuck with finding out who can hear us now.”

The Flash grins. “If we can get over to the SABA base, I can get a boost off their communication lines. And also get us a ride out of here.”

“Sounds good.”

Deal struck, Tigress gives her gear a once-over and makes sure everything’s strapped into place. Then she signals for the Flash to follow her once more.