Talia found Yasmin's hide out only two days after the bomb.
It wasn't easy. Yasmin had hidden herself well - her monthly reports had never mentioned an acquaintanceship with Vladimir Masters, the absolute gall of that girl - in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin. She bypassed the few security measures with ease, eventually finding her daughter sitting at a kitchen table, hyperventilating.
"What happened?" Talia's voice was cold and demanding.
"The-" Yasmin gasped before stealing herself. "The Fentons are dead."
"I know the Fentons are dead." Talia circled the girl. "One split navel to throat, the other strangled. What. Happened?"
"The Fentons discovered their son was a Meta. Specifically, they thought he had been replaced with the extradimentional species they study." She took a deep breath. "By the time I had discovered their actions, Daniel was... dissected on a table."
Talia closed her eyes. She knew from Yasmin's reports that she'd been acting as the Fenton child's primary caretaker since her adoption and a fondness had developed. "Yasmin-"
"Don't, Mother." She snapped. "Don't act like this is anything less than a tragedy."
"I know-"
"He was a child-"
"Everything's been taken care of," Talia said. "As far as the authorities are concerned, Jasmine Fenton died in that explosion you caused. You need to return now-"
"No!" Yasmin bolted to her feet, glaring at Talia. "He's dead, Mother! An innocent child, the child I raised as my own, is dead because I couldn't protect him! Don't you dare try to sweep this under the rug like... like Danny was something shameful! I'm not leaving! I have to-"
Time Out.
Yasmin shut her mouth mid-sentence, giving Talia time to convince her off her self-destructive path.
"What happened to Daniel is a tragedy, Yasmin. But wallowing in grief and what-ifs only leads to further pain." Talia sighed. "The Fentons and the research you were so fascinated with are gone now. You made sure of that. It's time for you to return home and put that knowledge to use."
Yasmin stared down at her hands. Odd that Talia hadn't noticed, but Yasmin's hands cradled a small, dark blue jewel, polished into a smooth, oblong oval. It glittered under the candlelight, like stars in the sky.
Yasmin swallowed the rock and spoke, refusing to acknowledge what she'd just done. "You are right, Mother. The time of Jasmine Fenton is gone now." She stared straight at Talia, no trace of fear in her gaze. For a moment, Talia wondered where her child had gone. Yasmin never met her eyes unless prompted to when she was growing up. Now she was met with a younger version of herself with cheap dyed-red hair, with the same level of determination that made Talia the Right Hand of the Demon Head. "I will mourn for Danny... on my own time. For now, what is my mission?"
Talia studied her daughter. There was a reason why she'd hidden the girl so far out of the way of her Father and her son. Yasmin was a strong fighter, but had her father's heart, despite her willingness to kill. She'd always reminded Talia of a bodyguard rather than an assassin, but Yasmin wanted to go her own way, wanted to study everything. For years, Talia had indulged her daughter, but now it was time for her to return to the fold.
"For the next month, you will be training to remove any weakness the Fentons may have left in you. After that, you will be guarding an ally for me."
"Which ally?"
"A boy a few years older than you, a son of the Bat." Yasmin didn't react to the mention of her father. Good. "His mind is infirm, but by the time you finish your training, he will be ready to strike a blow against Gotham. You will act as his guard during his training and act as my spy while he's in Gotham. Do you understand?"
For a moment, Yasmin's hand brushed her stomach before she forced her fists to her sides. "Yes, Mother. I will do as you ask."
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The people of Gotham both fear and revere The Signal. As they do the rest of the Batfam but for Signal it's a bit different.
For starters, he's the only daytime hero. The other Bats usually only come out at night when the city is quieter. And while it's far from asleep, they prioritize stopping the numerous crimes that occur in the shadows. Civilian interactions far and few. Most pictures of them online seemed more like cryptid sightings than heroes soaring through Gotham skies.
The Signal on the other hand was the people's Bat. They got to see him soar through the sky, or ride his bike in all his golden glory. He gave autographs, took photos, and joined them on their daily commutes. He was a regular at mom-and-pop shops, made sure the troubled kids made it to school, and checked in on the sick and elderly. And while he did work with them when necessary, he mostly liked to fuck with the police, like a true Gothamite would.
All in all, he was the sweet sunshine that Gotham needed. He was far more human than the others. Not that he was human, oh heck no! NONE of the bats were human! But it felt that way. Until you were reminded that he was INDEED a Bat.
The way he merged and appeared out of the shadows despite his bright yellow suit, and moved without a sound. He knew about people and things before they happened. And had an intelligence that was absolutely terrifying when thought about. And the way he took care of crimes?
The Signal is cold, borderline brutal, and efficient (with commentary that leaves you agape and a chill down your spine) when dealing with criminals. It was always jarring to witness the sudden change from Gotham's sunshine boy to stone-cold Bat, and back again. It almost gave you whiplash to realize that this was the vigilante that you were talking to about your puppies a few moments ago. And it really instilled the Fear™ that that bats were known for.
The other Bats were terrifying, shadowy demons that moved through the night. Stopping crime in the darkness. Gotham knew and appreciated this. But the Signal? He was the bright light at the end of the tunnel and the warmth of the brilliant sun. But he was also...
'Gotham's Darkest Angel'
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Echo’s world has gone decidedly… wobbly. Blurry. Fuzzy at the edges, and what-will-you-else. He can’t feel his fingertips, is his first thought. Kriffing overdid it on the glowing green shots, is his second.
“Holy kriff, Echo, that manhole-cover underneath you is moving!”, Fives exclaims, third. Or more like slurs into Lt. Jesse’s shoulder, who is himself moaning indistinctly into the Captain’s pauldron, who is in turn swaying back and forth gesturing at Commander Cody.
And it really is - the manhole cover, that is, once Echo stumbles off it with a shriek. Jumping up into the now open air with sudden force, steadying and then scraping across paveme-
“Are those kriffing hands?!”
In an instant, seven highly drunk pairs of fists and one blaster, courtesy of Commander Cody (the only one present who’s sober enough to be legally handling it) are aimed in a circle around the cover slowly being shuffled to the side, then the hands reaching up to palm at the edges of the hole -
- and are slowly being lowered again when two white-red painted helmets are heaved into view, along with chest-deep groaning and grunting. Two armored Corries collapse in a heap at Commander Cody’s feet, who stares down at them in open-mouthed shock.
Slowly, Echo blinks. Slowly, he raises a hand to snap his fingers in front of his face. No, still there. Slowly, Fives grabs for a piece of flank underneath his blacks and twists. Echo yelps, and slaps his hand away hard enough to hurt himself. “OI!”
“B’have, boys”, Captain Rex makes a brave attempt to slur out as he sways on his feet, still staring down at the trembling heap of armor at their feet. Whoa, Echo didn’t know they had those kinds of funky armor designs in the Guard. Very avant-garde.
“That’s blood, Ey’ika”, says Appo.
Oh.
Slowly, Hardcase raises his right foot, inching towards-
“Don’t even think about it”, Commander Cody snaps, and Hardcase’s foot whips back to the ground next to its companion. Fives chortles. “Yeah, genius, those are Commander kamas - they’d put you down in a second flat!”
“Why would two Corrie Commanders go crawling out of holes in front of 79’s, huh, genius?!”, Hardcase retorts, somewhat justly, Echo feels. Next to him, Commander Cody frowns, and kneels carefully. “Good question, trooper. Fox, can you hear me? Fox’i-“
Which is when one of the bodies - Commander Fox, Echo realizes with a shudder, The Marshall Commander Fox - convulses on the ground, and an arm rears up to nail Cody face-first with the back of a hand, sending him sprawling back into the pavement with an undignified squawk.
“Thorn”, the sad figure that is the highest decorated clone in existence groans, still faceplanted into pavement, “Thorn, I’m hallucinating Cody. Thorn, tell him to shut up.”
“Shuddup”, Commander Thorn heaves, loyally. Cody makes an affronted noise, braced back on his shebs. “Sdubid Codeh.”
Commander Fox’s visor scrapes against the ground with his nod, a sound that sends the surrounding vod’e cringing. “Yeah, you go, Thorn. You’re my favorite.” A considering pause. “Oh, kark. I need to call in medevac - Fox to Stabby, Fox to Stabby - the kriffing Narglatches are back on the lower levels.”
The Commander’s comm crackles to life, as he heaves himself over with a punched-out moan - oh, yup, that dark patch’s definitely not paint, and are those teeth marks?! On plastoid??
“I’m going to wring Senator Hliii’s neck, and then I’m going to twist him into a human kriffing meat-lasso to catch every last one of his little pets with”, sounds through Fox’s comm, who just hacks out a laughcough in response. “Pinging your location now. Where’s Thorn?”
“Pr’snt”, slurs Thorn.
“Concussed”, adds Fox, “We crawled out forty levels to behind 79’s, so no one would see us.”
Awkward silence follows.
“Uh, about that”, begins Rex, only to be interrupted by a deep groan from Fox.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kriffing kidding me! As if Cody’s ugly mug wasn’t - WHAT THE KRIFF ARE YOUR KRIFFING ARC KARKHEADS DOING IN MY HALLUCINATION, REX?!”
“Shuddup, Rex”, Thorn moans bravely.
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