#jason ended up with his own mc somehow and i doubt it was by vote

[scaryscarecrows]

Hostile Takeover

Charles ‘ChiChi’ Smith woke up six hours ago to pandemonium.

Poisonings. Seven of them, the big boss and his lieutenants. Nobody knows what the fuck happened apart from, well, ‘poisoned’. Somebody had gone to find them and they’d been stone dead, vomit drying around them. Nasty business.

Nobody will cop to it, either. That’s the weird thing. Somebody’s clearly making a grab for power, so own it, right? But nobody is. Everyone’s spooked, and pissed, but nobody’s owning up. It’s not like Sionis was beloved by any stretch, and neither were the bastards he kept close, so why won’t the new boss step up?

Well, ChiChi figures, it may as well be him. He’s been here long enough.

First order of business is to find the responsible party. He loves the opening, but they’re a liability. So he’d gathered a handful of their better foot soldiers, big idiots that shoot first and ask questions later. Sent ‘em out. Grabbed more people to burn the bodies–can’t be too careful–and wondered if it’s too soon to start redecorating the main office.

A few hours later, he decided it’d been long enough and headed in, only to be met with a little fucker.

Jason Todd has been here about three months. He’s eighteen, a mouthy little bastard. It’s been ChiChi’s dream to shut his ass up one way or the other, but so far no luck. And he’s sitting in the leather chair with his boots thrown up on the desk, toying with some expensive glass doodad.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” he demands. Todd grins up at him.

“Checkin’ out my new office. What are you doing here?”

He laughs.

“This ain’t your office, kid. Get out.”

“Well, you sure as hell didn’t poison the old man.” Todd’s eyes flash. “Seems I’ve got more right to it than you.”

ChiChi stares.

“You did that.”

“Uh-huh.” Todd stretches back, chair creaking. “Spiked their beer, sat back, and laughed.”

“Bullshit,” ChiChi spits. “Get the hell outta here.”

Outside, there’s shouting and Todd rolls to his feet.

“Sounds fun. Let’s go see.”

Before ChiChi can grab him, he’s breezed by and gone out into the heat.

There’s strangers in the compound. ChiChi doesn’t recognize most of them, but the big guy, Trent Ages, has done business with them before. Not often, and he’s fucked ‘em over a few times, but it’s happened. He’s holding a big duffle bag. The others, guys ChiChi doesn’t know, are armed but standing loosely despite the sheer number of guns trained on them.

“You got ‘em!” Todd crows, striding over. “Nice.”

What.

He turns to the assembly, spreads his hands, and intones, “Last night, I gave our former boss and his cronies a case of strychnine-spiked beer. To put it bluntly, I’m in charge now. Before anybody tries to argue–Ages, throw me that, would ya?”

Ages obliges. Todd catches the bag, staggers a bit, and tosses it towards ChiChi. Keeping one wary eye on Todd, he crouches down and opens it up.

Glassy eyes stare up at him and he scrambles back when it clicks that those are heads, that he knows those heads, he sent ‘em out this morning what the fuck–

“Recognize ‘em?” Todd’s smile is cold. “They had to go.”

“You’re a fucking psycho!”

“No, I’m pragmatic. They were too quick to jump for you.” He raises his voice. “Sionis was small-time. I’m not. We’re not gonna keep wasting our time fucking with the Garage. They don’t have anything better than we do.” He pauses. “Luthor’s got a supply convoy heading this way next week. We’re going to take it from him.”

There’s a wave of murmuring. ChiChi stands up. Todd’s going to get them all killed, which he doesn’t give a shit about. He’s been here too long, put up with too much shit, to let this little cocksucker just roll in here and ruin everything.

“That’s crazy,” he says, marching over. Todd studies him, eyebrow raised. “You think, because you found some nuts willing to humor you, that you can just take over? Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Bullshit. Somebody fucking shoot–hurgh!”

Todd’s suddenly a lot closer, one hand fisted in ChiChi’s shirt and the other down low, where a burning pain is suddenly spreading through his gut. His knees start to buckle and Todd’s grip tightens, forcing him to stay on his feet.

“You were always a sick fuck,” he breathes. “And a liability. But don’t die on me just yet, I’m not done here.”

He scrambles for something, anything; a gun, a knife, even a grenade, at this point, but Todd kicks his feet out from under him and the burning pain shoots upwards before Todd draws his knife back out and lets him fall.

“I will warn you,” he continues, “anyone who gets in my way will regret it. If you want to end your miserable life choking on your own blood in the middle of the desert, that’s your business. I can’t promise you your death will be as merciful as ChiChi’s here.”

BLAM!

Jason Todd holsters his gun and turns from the corpse without a backwards glance.

“Somebody burn this,” he says carelessly. “That bag, too. Then I want everybody in the Big Building. We’ve got things to discuss.”

He starts back towards the office. One of the new men, a redhead, says something in a low voice and he laughs.

“Oh, yeah, the bodies those heads came from are about a mile east. Might wanna do somethin’ about those, too.”

THE END