His Songbird a story by Cat
Chapter 1 - Party Crasher
TW: Mentions of guns ⚜ Gun violence ⚜ ⚜ Masterlist | Chapter 2 -> ⚜ WC: 2.6k ⚜
◆》》》⚜《《《◆
There was nothing more extravagant than a charity ball in Gotham; glittering chandeliers, velvet gowns, and champagne poured as if the city’s troubles had never existed. One often wondered if the hosts spent more on the spectacle itself than the cause it claimed to serve. Still, tonight’s air was electric, for the honor of unveiling the evening’s great announcement had been entrusted to none other than Leroy Jacobs. Gotham adored him: young, golden-haired, and blessed with a smile that could topple defenses more swiftly than any army. He glided through the crowd with the easy grace of a man born to command attention, his charm weaving effortlessly among the city’s most formidable elite. Yet beneath the flawless poise thrummed a current of nerves; tonight was no ordinary task. Horizon Enterprises had chosen him, Leroy Jacobs, to present their grand charity check. It was more than a performance; it was a proving ground. Leroy & Company—his creation, his lifeblood—balanced on the edge of this moment, and perfection was the only currency he could afford.
“Hello? Earth to Leroy?”
Leroy snapped out of his daze and focused his attention upon Cyrus; fellow band member to Leroy & Company and his bestest friend in all the world.
“Ah, sorry,” Leroy offered a sheepish smile, “This is just… Wow.” “Don’t overthink it, bro. We’ve played venues bigger than this—it’ll be a cakewalk,” Cyrus said with an easy grin, the kind that smoothed nerves before a note was even struck. And in truth, he wasn’t wrong. Leroy & Company weren’t some fresh faces scrambling for recognition; they’d carved out a legacy on Gotham’s stages, a standard other performers now aspired to. Leroy, barely twenty-one, had built that reputation with relentless drive, sweat, and a refusal to let the city swallow him whole. The band’s talent was undeniable, but in Gotham, talent alone never guaranteed survival. Here, it was the connections, the handshakes, the whispers in velvet-draped halls, and Leroy had fought to master them all.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I’ve got this,” Leroy said with a quick nod, as if willing the words into truth. His light brown eyes swept over the glittering crowd, catching flashes of silk and crystal under the chandeliers. A smile tugged at his lips, half nerves, half bravado. “Now—where are the others?”
“Well, you know Malcolm. He has probably flirted with half the room by now. And I think Theo and Cindy went to grab drinks at the bar.” Cyrus turned his head around the room though had no luck in spotting any of their friends. With a shrug, he faced Leroy again.
“Can you try and round them up soon? I wanna talk about—”
“Mr. Jacobs, it’s time.”
Leroy’s eyes widened for the briefest moment before he slipped on a practiced smile, turning to greet the event employee with effortless warmth.
“Of course, I’ll be right there,” The employee nodded and disappeared into the crowd, “Well, I guess this is it. I’ll see you on the other side.” “Or will you?” Cyrus teased with a playful wink, his hand settling reassuringly on Leroy’s shoulder before giving it a firm squeeze. “Nah, I’m just messing with you, bro. You got this. You’re gonna take us far with this.” “Thanks, man. See you soon!” Leroy shot back with a grin, offering a quick salute as he backpedaled into the thrumming crowd. He pivoted toward the stage, his stride sharpening with purpose. All around him, glittering eyes and heavy wallets tracked his movements, eager for a word, a smile, a sliver of his time. But that could wait. Tonight, duty called first; Horizon Enterprises had trusted him with their spotlight, and Leroy Jacobs would meet that trust without hesitation.
The event employee was waiting at the foot of the stage, microphone in hand. As Leroy approached, the man offered it with a respectful nod, and Leroy accepted with a soft, “Thank you.” He began his ascent up the staircase, and with each step the music bled away, the chatter fading into silence. By the time he reached center stage, the ballroom itself seemed to hold its breath.
The lights dimmed, leaving a single spotlight to crown him in gold. Leroy’s smile caught the glow, his presence radiating against the darkness. On stage, he carried an effortless grace, a touch of something almost otherworldly. It was clear in the hush of the room, in the eyes fixed on him; Leroy Jacobs was born for this.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for joining Horizon Enterprises for the annual Charity Ball!” The crowd responded with a ripple of applause until Leroy lifted his hand, commanding quiet once more. “Horizon Enterprises brings us together tonight as a reminder that there is more to business than success; that there are services we must give without expectation, and that is true compassion for community. After all, without the people of Gotham, Horizon Enterprises could never have become the international powerhouse in technology that it is today. And so, in honor of such a strong and supportive city, Horizon Enterprises has chosen Gotham’s Children’s Hospital for—”
The rest of his words were swallowed by sudden darkness. The ballroom plunged into pitch black, a collective gasp sweeping the audience before breaking into scattered whispers. In a breath, the sanctuary of light was swallowed whole by darkness. Leroy’s instinct urged him to search the crowd for his bandmates, but he forced himself to remain steady, to remember that hundreds of eyes, though unseen, still looked to him. His grip on the microphone tightened. Leroy cast his gaze toward the wings of the stage, straining to catch some sign of movement, a cue from the crew, but the void offered nothing.
“Aha… technical difficulties, am I right?” Leroy called into the dark, his microphone suddenly useless. His voice carried anyway, practiced enough to reach the nearest rows. A ripple of polite laughter broke through the crowd, thin and uncertain, but the unease beneath it lingered. Something about this wasn’t right. Horizon Enterprises didn’t stumble, not on their biggest night of the year. And yet here they all were, hundreds of Gotham’s finest plunged into darkness. It didn’t feel like an accident. It felt… off.
Leroy’s instincts proved right when, seconds later, a shrill scream cut through the tension like glass shattering. The floor trembled beneath him, the building itself seeming to convulse, and he staggered to keep his balance. Then came the chaos; panic bursting across the ballroom as silhouettes lurched and collided in the dark, desperate to escape. Forcing his frozen legs into motion, Leroy tried to move, to get off the stage and out of harm’s way. But he barely managed two steps before the sharp crack of gunfire tore through the air. The sound thundered from the back of the ballroom, echoing like a death knell. He dropped instantly, crumpling against the stage floor. His hands flew over his head, arms curling tight around himself as if his body could make itself smaller, invisible. Each gunshot drove his heart higher into his throat, his chest heaving as tremors wracked him. Eyes screwed shut, he clung to the single, desperate hope that if he stayed still, if he made himself unseen, the nightmare might pass him by.
Why? Leroy cursed in his head. Why? It was the only thought he could hold onto as screams, gunshots, and the crash of chaos blurred together into one deafening roar. His mind drowned in it, spiraling, the word pounding through him like a drumbeat.
Why why why why why why why why why why why why—
The spiral shattered when an unyielding hand clamped around his bicep and hauled him upright in one brutal pull. Leroy’s breath caught, his vision swimming as his eyes blinked open to new details. The lights had returned, though weak and flickering, casting the ballroom in a sickly glow. And standing before him was a figure who froze every thought in his head.
The man looked like something torn out of a nightmare, or a comic book. A deep green gi, trimmed in gold, covered his body, the fabric drawn tight across powerful lines of muscle. His arms, bare and scarred, flexed like steel. Behind a black mask, there was a pair of cold, unblinking eyes locked onto Leroy with lethal precision.
Leroy couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He stood caught in that gaze like a deer in headlights, lips parted but no words escaping. Fear hollowed him out until only one thought remained—Forget why. Who in the hell did I piss off?
“Get it together,” The man ordered, voice low and sharp as steel. “I’m the one keeping you alive right now. Try not to waste it.”
“Save?” Leroy echoed, the word escaping in a thin squeak as his eyes went wide. Save him from what?
It was only then that he noticed the man’s weapon: a katana, gleaming faintly in the dim light, but no gun in sight. That small detail offered a flicker of relief; whoever this man was, he likely wasn’t the one filling the ballroom with bullets. But that comfort was short-lived. The gunfire was growing louder now, sharper, ricocheting closer with every burst. Whoever held the trigger was moving in fast, too fast, and Leroy realized with a spike of dread that his precarious safety might already be gone.
“Hold onto me,” the man ordered, his voice flat, unyielding. Without waiting for permission, he slid a powerful arm around Leroy’s waist, anchoring him in place. The grip wasn’t comforting. It was control. Leroy hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to resist. But staring up at the masked man’s steely eyes, he realized trust didn’t matter. This wasn’t a request.
“There he is!” Leroy’s head snapped toward a gruff voice, and his eyes locked on three men stationed at the base of the stage staircase, guns leveled squarely at them. No warning was needed. Instinct took over. He wrapped his arms tightly around the mysterious man’s torso. The man’s grip around Leroy’s waist remained unyielding, while his free hand slipped to his belt and produced a small, circular device. It looked like a bomb, though Leroy couldn’t be certain. Before he could register it, the man hurled the device to the foot of the stage. It detonated in a thick plume of smoke, choking the attackers into coughing fits. Without pause, the masked man snatched another device from his belt. Leroy barely had time to glance at it before they were lifted into the air, soaring toward the ceiling as the chaos below them erupted into panic.
The next sequence unfolded in a blur. One moment, Leroy was on the catwalk, high above the choking smoke and the armed men now flailing blindly below. The next, the man was yanking him along the narrow walkway toward a bright green EXIT sign. With a single, fluid kick, the metal door swung open, and they hurtled up the stairwell. Leroy stumbled to keep pace, but falling behind wasn’t an option; the man’s grip on his wrist was ironclad. Several flights later, they emerged onto the rooftop. The night air hit them like a blast of ice, sharp and clean, carrying with it the distant wail of sirens and the city’s hum below. Leroy’s chest heaved, his pulse pounding, and yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the figure holding him aloft; calm, lethal, unyielding.
As the man released him, Leroy collapsed to hands and knees, wheezing heavily. He struggled to steady his breathing, mind racing, while the masked figure swept the rooftop with precise, practiced movements, scanning for any remaining threats. Once satisfied that the area was clear, the man turned back toward him. He moved with such deliberate purpose that Leroy instinctively scrambled to his feet, taking small steps back, heart hammering. Panic clouded his mind, blurring the line between danger and safety. The man seemed to notice, and abruptly halted—but his posture didn’t relax, and his gaze remained ice-cold, unyielding, and unreadable.
“Leroy Jacobs,” the man said, voice low and precise, each word sharp as a blade. “Care to tell me why someone thinks you’re worth killing?”
His stomach dropped like a stone. Somebody wanted him dead? Leroy’s breaths came fast and shallow, each one sharper than the last. No, no, no… who would want me dead? In a city like Gotham, every interaction was a gamble. He had spent years carefully navigating people’s egos, smoothing over offenses, and keeping himself on everyone’s good side. Every word, every smile; measured, precise, like walking on eggshells. And now… it still wasn’t enough.
“Tt.” The man tutted, voice flat and unyielding. “I’m here to keep you alive. So, talk. Why does someone want you dead?”
“I—I have no idea!” Leroy stammered, breaths rapid and ragged despite the man’s warning to calm down. “I don’t have any enemies… at least, I don’t think I do!”
“You’re wrong.” The man said, voice flat, cutting through Leroy’s panic. “You’ve made one very dangerous enemy. And I’m here to make sure they don’t finish the job.” “But… why?” Leroy stammered, utterly dumbfounded. This man looked more like an assassin than a hero; lethal, precise, and unflinching. So why did he care that Leroy was in danger? Not that Leroy didn’t appreciate it. Hell, he wanted to live, of course. But… this man, the attack, the chaos; it all coiled his gut with a tight, anxious knot, screaming at him to get out, to run, to escape before it was too late. “It benefits me.” The man said, moving to the roof’s edge. His gaze cut over the scene below, sharp and unflinching, like a predator assessing its prey. Leroy exhaled, tension easing just a fraction. He didn’t know what he had hoped to hear, but it was enough. At least this man would help him survive, even if his motives were entirely his own.
“I should hand you over to the police,” he said, turning from the roof’s edge. His eyes bore into Leroy, cold and unyielding, and for a moment, the younger man felt his resolve falter under the weight of that stare.
“Wait—wait. I mean, I want to go to the police, don’t get me wrong. But… What happens after this? Somebody wants me dead. I can’t be safe and…” Leroy trailed off, struggling to put the chaos of his thoughts into words. This couldn’t be the end. Whoever had attacked the Charity Ball was serious, ruthless enough to crash Horizon’s event. If tonight was any indication, they wouldn’t let this failure slide.
“Your safety’s my concern, not yours. Now get moving.” None of his concern? The words hit Leroy like a punch. His face contorted in a mixture of shock and indignation, eyes wide as he tried to process the audacity of the statement.
“Hold on! How am I supposed to trust you?” Leroy interjected, a spark of unusual boldness in his voice. “I don’t even know your name!”
“Congratulations,” he said, voice flat, dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve officially made yourself unbearable. Stop talking.” Leroy froze, stepping back instinctively. The man let out a long, sharp sigh, the kind that carried both irritation and judgment. “I saved your life, in case that escaped your fragile memory. Name? Just call me… Hashishin. Try to remember it, or I swear I’ll make you regret asking.”
“I… uh… alright…” Leroy stammered, words catching in his throat. His mind raced for something else to say, but the icy stare and rigid posture of Hashishin left him completely frozen.
For now, Leroy had no choice. He had to take a leap of faith. Trust this man, or face a far grimmer reality: staying in the dark about who wanted him dead, completely exposed to anyone who might come for him next.
Hashishin extended a hand, sharp and unwavering.
Leroy’s chest tightened. He drew a shaky breath, heart hammering, and slowly reached out, placing his hand in the other’s.
◆》》》⚜《《《◆
Masterlist | Chapter 2 ->