A cloud of dust billowed on a road that cut through the African landscape, following a rugged looking SUV that had its windows rolled down for want of air conditioning. The driver was an older woman with silver hair, wearing what amounted to a white coat this far into the dusty reaches of the Savannah. The other was not yet an adult, blonde and fair and no longer worried about a sunburn after her first five. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail to keep it from sticking to the sweat on her neck. She let the breeze wick away the moisture and welcomed the brief chill that accompanied it.

Several meters ahead were two trucks, positioned in the form of a roadblock. The driver of the SUV had no choice but to slow to a stop and allow one of the khaki clad men with a large hunting rifle swagger confidently up to the driver's side window on the right of the vehicle.

"Hello, ladies," he greeted with an ugly sneer and a heavy German accent. "Where are you headed?"

"A medical camp five miles up the road," the driver answered. "We're going there to deliver vaccines."

"It would help if your truck wasn't in the way," the blonde passenger snapped.

The man glanced at the boxes of medicine in the back of the SUV. "You know, medicine sells for a lot this far away from the cities. I'm sure if you wanted to you could find a buyer willing to pay much more zan some villagers. Only thing they do is take it."

"That's kind of the idea," the silver-haired woman replied. "My name is Doctor Leslie Thompkins. I'm here to help end the spread of tuberculosis among the villages. And I would appreciate it very much if you and your men would move out of the way."

The man laughed. "You seem to be under the impression that I will let you pass without paying ze toll. And I have plenty of buyers who will pay a lot for that medicine you're carrying."

The blonde spotted several animal carcasses in the back of one of the trucks, as well as five additional men carrying large rifles. She scowled. "So you've moved on from poaching the local wildlife to highway robbery? Are you trying to set a record for most evil hunter clichés?"

He tilted his head back and let loose a long, riotous laugh. "Quite a mouth on zis one. Hey Jenkins!" He waved over to one of the men, who came up to the passenger's side door. "How much you figure we could sell her for?"

She could feel his lecherous stare creeping over every inch of her body, and she glared right back.

"Common whore like her? Two or three grand, easy."

She was not sure what to be offended by: that they were considering selling her or that they believed she would go for that little.

"Why don't you step on outta the car, Missy?"

He gripped the handle of the door and started to pull when she shoved it open and knocked Jenkins flat on his back. The first man shoved his rifle through the window to try and shoot her, but she was already moving, grabbing the railing on top of the SUV and using it to propel herself into a flip, vaulting over the vehicle and landing boot-first on his head.

The gun went off, tearing a hole in the roof and nearly deafening Leslie, who covered her ears just in time to avoid having her eardrums burst. The man hit the ground hard, and by this time the other two men had started to take aim at her, along with three others who had been sitting in the trucks. She blitzed forward to eliminate their range advantage, landing a flying kick on the first one's chest and sending him to the dirt.

The man on her right came at her with a rifle butt as soon as she landed, but she twisted around him and grabbed the back of his neck, dropping to the ground just in time to avoid a swipe from a machete and slamming his face into the dirt. The machete wielder changed angles and swung downward, but she intercepted him at his wrist as she rose, then grabbed his shoulder to stabilize herself before driving a knee into his groin.

He dropped the machete in a hurry and it clattered to the ground, where he soon landed next to it after she elbowed him in the base of his skull when he doubled over. Another man leveled his rifle at her, but she was already moving, grabbing the barrel and using it to pull herself closer, where she aimed a chop at his throat with just enough force to take his breath away without actually crushing his windpipe. She hooked a leg around his ankle and a hand around his throat, then drove him into the ground.

Sensing a man behind her, she backflipped over him and brought him down quickly with a reverse spinning roundhouse when she landed. One of the riskier moves in her arsenal, but it was effective, and he stumbled a few meters before finally keeling over.

Her luck changed when she turned around and caught a rifle butt to the bridge of her nose, which produced a sickening crunch. She fell to the dirt and tried to stand up, but two of the men held her arms down while another pair secured her legs. She mounted a valiant struggle for several moments before freezing solid when Jenkins came strolling up, twirling a knife.

"You know what? Maybe I'll just cut your belly open and watch your guts spill out for causin' so much trouble." His homegrown Tennessee accent bled through every word, and he licked the edge of the steel before crouching down in front of her. She screamed and thrashed on the ground, trying to break free. She managed to break the nose of the man who had broken hers with a well-aimed kick, but another moved in to replace him and secured her foot. He crouched down in front of her and raised the knife high above his head.

Before he could bring it back down again, a savage cry sounded from behind them and within seconds blood began to spray from the would-be murderer's throat. He fell to the ground clutching his jugular, and the men released the blonde to try and locate this new threat.

A flash of steel was all the warning the second man got before he suffered the same fate as Jenkins, trying hopelessly to keep the blood from escaping his neck. The rest of the men saw it this time, as did the blonde. And what she saw was enough to warrant a double-take.

The first thing she noticed was that the man was completely naked. He was white, with strawberry blond hair and three curved scars in the middle of his chest. His body was lean and ripped, and she could see the individual muscles tensing—not that she was paying that much attention, of course. He carried a knife in each hand, and his eyes told a story of bloody vengeance which the blades made reality.

"Kill him!" one of the remaining four hunters shouted, leveling his rifle. The man was upon him long before he could get the shot off, stabbing him below the sternum, then turning rapidly around and raking it across his chest, shredding his lungs. He fell, unconscious from the shock and bleeding fatally.

At this point the three remaining men had surrendered to panic, which the feral avenger used to his advantage. He was a force of nature; a whirling dervish of steel and death that moved too quickly for them to touch. He ducked under the rifle of one of the men, stabbing him in the thigh and sliding the knife all the way down his femoral artery.

The machete-wielder raised it over his head to strike, but the man was quicker, stabbing him in the wrist with the knife in his right hand before yanking it out and executing a three-quarter spin, sinking the knife in his left hand between the second and third ribs, directly into his heart. He continued his rotation, hurling the right knife into the remaining attacker's gut.

He pounced on the final man, stabbing him repeatedly in the chest, throat, and... other extremities before finally stomping on his neck to crush his windpipe. She stood up, uncertain if he would choose to go after her next.

"Hey!"

They both turned around to face the man she had forgotten about, who had awoken from his blackout and was currently holding an antique German pistol to Leslie's head.

"Neither of you come any closer or ze old lady dies!" He had clearly lost it. Taking a hostage in a city was one thing, because there were always places to hide and escape. But on the wide-open Savannah, there was nowhere to run.

Still, she could not take the chance that he would panic and blow off Leslie's head, so the blonde did nothing. The naked man, on the other hand, did not look so worried.

"This is between you and me, Reinhart," he said calmly, advancing steadily without fear. "You don't have to take a hostage. Where are you gonna go, anyway?"

The fact that he spoke with perfect clarity came as something of a shock after the savagery he had just displayed, but it reassured her that she was dealing with a rational human being. One who behaved ferociously in combat, but a man nonetheless.

"I am going take this truck full of medicine and drive into the nearest jungle, then kill zis bitch!" He pressed the gun harder against her temple. "You don't believe me, step closer!"

"You'll have to get the door of the truck open with both your hands full first. And besides, I don't think you have that much to bargain with."

"Ja?" His laughter was just shy of maniacal. "And why is that?"

He answered his question with another. "Do you know why the Nazis had such a hard time using the Luger pistol in the African Campaign during World War II?"

His face contorted into an expression that begged for an explanation. "No. Why?"

The man raised a knife and prepared to throw it.

"I'm warning you! I'll do it!"

The man stepped closer.

"I warned you! I fucking warned you!" He pulled the trigger.

"No!" the blonde shouted, but Leslie's head did not explode. The gun did not even click.

A knife buried itself in Reinhart's shoulder and he dropped the Luger, howling in pain.

"It's because all the dust clogged up the pistol's moving parts." He continued approaching. "The British were using the revolver instead. Semi-autos tend to jam easily in the desert."

He smirked. "You've been in Africa a few weeks now and I'm betting you've never had to use that gun once. You should try cleaning it once in a while."

"Zis one still works!" the poacher shouted, picking up the rifle with the arm that had not been incapacitated and leveling it at him the best he could.

The man charged forward, but Reinhart was faster, squeezing off a lucky shot. The recoil separated his shoulder and made him lose his balance, but he winged the man on the very side of his abdomen, blowing out a small chunk of flesh. The location of the blow rendered the stopping power of the rifle moot, and if he felt it at all through the adrenaline, it was not apparent to either of the women as he tackled the poacher to the ground and stabbed him in the throat.

He stood up and looked down, apparently just noticing that he had been shot. He took a couple of steps forward, then collapsed to the ground, still conscious but not in any condition to flee.

Leslie sprang into action, turning him on his side so that no more dirt could enter the wound. "Stephanie, get the gauze!"

Stephanie obeyed, retrieving the gauze from the back of the SUV and bringing it over to the older woman. Her own wounds could wait, though she did catch a reflection of her mangled nose that she was pretty sure would require some resetting later.

As she applied the sterile fabric over the entry and exit wounds, Leslie continued talking to the man, who was now her patient. "I need you to stay with me," she explained, pressing the cloth into the wound to stem the bleeding. "It's a clean entry and exit so you should survive, but talking will help you stay conscious. I'm Leslie Thompkins, and this is Stephanie. What's your name?"

"Thomas." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Thomas Blake."

Outlaws
Interlude 1: Playing Hero

They were already at the camp by the time Blake awoke. They had put him in a medical tent on a cot that was much too small, and his feet hung over the edge of it. He rubbed his head and tried to sit up, but his body forced him to lie down again, assisted by a pair of teenage hands.

"Whoa there, Tarzan," Stephanie said as she gently pushed him back down. "Leslie says you need to take it easy for the next few days. Give the flesh time to grow back."

"I'm fine," he insisted, though his grimace betrayed the truth.

"That's what they all say."

Thomas chuckled.

"Thanks for the rescue, by the way," the blonde continued, fiddling with the bag on his IV. "If it wasn't for you I'd be the one in that bed."

"Or a shallow grave."

"Hey, I had it mostly under control," she protested. "But I appreciate the assist nonetheless."

Her nose had been bandaged up, he noticed. Given that she had no trouble speaking to him, he surmised that the damage was not permanent.

"So what's your story?"

"Hm?" He blinked.

"Well it was awfully convenient that you were already there, and it seemed like you had business with those guys anyway," she explained. "What did they do to you that got you so pissed off?"

He glared straight ahead, but not at her. "They killed some of my lions."

"Come again?"

Blake raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean by your lions?" she clarified. "Like, you own them or something?"

He shook his head. "I'm the leader of their Pride."

"And what happened to the old leader?"

He traced a hand over one of the scars on his chest. "He gave me these before I killed him," he explained. "Law of the wild mean that I took over as the leader."

Stephanie blinked. "I wasn't aware it worked like that, but what do I know about the laws of nature?"

He chuckled. "What about you?" he asked. "What brings you to Africa?"

"And here I would have thought the fact that we already had medical equipment with us would have been a dead giveaway," she said, picking up a clipboard and studying it.

"Ah." He nodded. "Relief workers?"

"Yeah. This area's been hit with a really bad strain of TB lately and we're helping give out vaccinations. We're at a free medical clinic for underprivileged villagers right now, the ones who are too far away from any major cities to get good medical care."

He had a few thoughts on that, but did not mention them.

"Anyway," she continued, setting down the clipboard and moving over to his bedside, "You really do need to rest. Lie down."

He did so without complaint. He was not so stubborn as to refuse to admit that he was hurt, even if the shot had only grazed him. Even so small a wound could eventually be fatal in this part of the world if allowed to fester.

"Leslie will be in to check up on you in a few hours," she informed him before stepping out of the tent.

Thomas sighed and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift into unconsciousness again.

He dreamed of lions.

The sun was nearly below the horizon when the convoy encountered the bodies. The lead vehicle stopped, and a large, muscular man exited. Leather survival boots kicked up a small amount of dust, and the man, bearded and wrinkled by some forty years of hard living, looked at the scene before him with disdain.

Maximillian Reinhart had not reported in, and now he knew the reason why.

"Get this shit cleaned up," he said, his accent cold and American. "We're lucky we found 'em before the authorities."

The men behind him worked moved quickly to follow his orders, and he moved over to examine Reinhart's body.

"Looks like the poor bloke was... stabbed," the dark-skinned Englishman next to him noted. His Northern English accent made him easy to understand, unlike some of the incomprehensible Limeys he'd had the displeasure of working with before.

"Thank you for the observation, Marcus," the man replied with a faint sneer. "I wouldn't have guessed that, what with the giant knife sticking out of his neck and all."

"No, I mean... it's weird that he was done in by a stabbing when there's two guns lying in the dirt next to him," Marcus Beecham explained. "And look at those guys over there; they were all carrying when whoever had the knives dropped 'em like a bunch of rank amateurs."

"That's because they were a bunch of rank amateurs," he pointed out. "But you're right, whoever did this was obviously skilled with blades." Removing his sunglasses, the man pinched the bridge of his nose. "At least tell me we have some idea why someone would come after them."

"Well, the lion pelts on the truck over there might be a clue," said Marcus. "There've been reports in this area about a wild man leading a Pride of lions and killing any poachers who come sniffing around."

"That lunatic?" He released an aggravated sigh. "Crazy vigilantes with weird hang-ups are the reason I left the States." He put the sunglasses back on. "Any idea where he might have gone?"

"No, but this is probably his blood." The Brit pointed to a small pool of the stuff that looked as though it had leaked out a little at a time as opposed to being violently expelled. "And those tire tracks aren't consistent with any of the other vehicles Reinhart and his men were using. We follow those, we find where he went."

"Get to it, then. You lead an advance squad out so we don't lose the trail. I'll make sure things get wrapped up here."

"You're sure you don't want to go yourself and let me monitor the cleanup?"

"When there's a mess this big I like to oversee things personally to make sure it doesn't come back to bite us. Besides, I hired you because you're the best tracker in the world, so I'd rather get my money's worth on this one."

"I'm hardly the best in the world, sir."

"Best I could get, then. I was trying to pay you a compliment, but I guess that went over your head. Now go find this asshole and put him out of his misery before the trail goes cold."

Beecham nodded. "Yes sir."

He pointed to four of the other men and made a twirling motion with his arm, and the five of them piled into a vehicle and drove off parallel to the tracks their quarry had left.

It wasn't conducive to his recovery to be out of bed this soon, but Thomas couldn't help himself. He was getting bored inside that tent, and that always led to introspection. He'd had enough of that already on this sojourn to Africa following his exile. Still, it had been some time since he was around people that he was not actively trying to murder, so it took him a moment to adjust to the crowd that occupied the camp.

This was not an ordinary refugee camp, nor a simple medical visit to a village. As Stephanie had said, the entire area had been hit with a nasty strain of Tuberculosis, and the doctors were here to vaccinate those who had not yet come down with it, as well as treat the ones who had. And from the look of things, they seemed to be doing a fine job of it.

They had given him pants, he noticed as he took a few more steps outside his tent. He was still without a shirt, but so were most of the people here, so it suited him just fine. He breathed in and continued exploring the camp.

He found Stephanie at the end of a long line, administering shots. A mother held her son's arm out for the needle, and while the boy flinched a little, the blonde worked with his mother to soothe him and rewarded him with a lollipop and a smile. Then she moved on to the next patient.

She loved it here, he realized, for an entirely different reason than he did. Thomas had come to Africa to get away from people, but Stephanie seemed at home around them, and not in that condescending way that the occasional celebrity with a camera crew did when they came rolling in to do a token endorsement and kiss a few babies. Stephanie genuinely seemed to love helping people.

That was what gave her away.

When he saw her fight, he had not been certain, but now that he saw the other side of her, the kind big sister with a heart great enough to fit everybody she met, he knew. There was no way someone was that good at fighting and that compassionate without being from a line of work that he had come halfway around the world to escape.

Still, the sight of her in her element did cause him to smile just a little bit. He was so engrossed in watching her that he almost didn't notice Leslie stalk up beside him.

Almost.

"She really takes to this kind of work," he observed, to which she nodded.

"Like a fish to water. The kids really love her too."

"She's running from something though, isn't she?"

Leslie gave him a sidelong glance, as if to question how he knew that. After a moment she figured it out.

"Takes a runaway to know one, doesn't it?"

He smiled.

"She's recovering," the doctor explained. "And this helps with that. That girl has seen some of the darkest shades of humanity, but she still wakes up smiling every morning."

"Not everybody has the same reaction."

"I'm sure. She really is something special, to be so resilient. And she spreads that optimism to others. That's why I'm confident that one day soon she won't need me to prop her up anymore."

He considered asking what Stephanie had gone through, but decided that if he had a right to know, the girl would tell him herself.

"Thanks for patching me up," he told her. "I should be going before nightfall, though."

She looked at him with understanding. "I suppose the associates of those men you killed will be after you now."

Thomas nodded. "They have been for a while. It would be irresponsible to put everyone here in danger."

"It's irresponsible to put yourself in danger when your wounds are so fresh," she scolded. "If you really are going, I suggest lying low for a while. I've seen too many men with vendettas nearly get themselves killed."

"It's not a vendetta," he told her. "Just unfinished business."

"We'll be sad to see you go so soon," she replied. "But I thank you for not bringing that 'business' down on the rest of us."

He gave her a weary look. "I'm not the kind of person you thank."

Leslie chuckled. "We'll see about that."

Stephanie found him later on a dusty hill overlooking the village. He was staring off into the horizon, watching the sun climb slowly down the ladder at the edge of the world.

"Nickel for your thoughts?" she asked as she stood next to him. He raised an eyebrow.

"Why not a penny?"

"Inflation."

"Ah."

She turned her head to look at him. "But really, what's up?"

"They're coming," he said. "I know it."

Steph put a hand over her brow and gazed off into the distance. "You can see them?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "But they've found Reinhart's body by now and they'll be here in a few hours at most. We need to be gone by then."

"But we're not done administering the vaccine yet."

"Forget about it. If they raid the camp while we're here, it won't end pretty."

She shot him a look. "And if they raid it when we're not?"

He looked right back at her. "Not our problem."

Stephanie crossed her arms. "That's a load of crap. Those people need us."

"No they don't. You just have a hero complex."

"A what?"

"You heard me."

She glared at him. "What even gave you that impression?"

Blake sighed. "What were you doing right before I rescued you? What made you decide to fight off all those poachers by yourself?"

"They were threatening to sell me," she answered. "I was defending myself."

"No," he asserted, turning to face her. "You were playing hero."

"What makes you say that?"

"The way you moved," he replied. "You only went for incapacitating blows; nothing that would kill a man. There's only one type of of person who fights like that, and they have a real bad habit of playing hero."

"And who might that be?"

He looked her dead in the eye. "Bats."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her with a raised hand. "Don't bother. I know you trained with him. You were a teenage vigilante operating in Gotham, but something bad happened and you ended up here."

Stephanie let out a frustrated sigh. "How'd you guess?"

"I didn't," he said. "I figured it out. Wasn't hard. Your overpowering need to help everyone and everything was what gave you away, though."

She pouted. "You don't know me."

"I know enough."

"Okay, fine, you win!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "I did the vigilante thing in Gotham for a while. I was even Robin for all of five minutes. And you're right, something bad did happen and Leslie helped me fake my death to get away from it. But since when is wanting to help people a bad thing?"

Blake rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. You think this place needs your help? The government here is more than capable of caring for some villagers."

"Yeah, except they aren't doing that."

"And do you know why? Because pretty little American tourists like yourself keep volunteering to do all their work for them."

Stephanie raised an eyebrow.

"And that's not all," he continued. "You know why the textile industry is tanking in most African nations? Clothing drives. A bunch of Americans donate their old rags to make themselves feel better and put factories here out of business because the charities undercut them. Same thing with food donations, house building, and all those other charities you hear society wives prattle on about while they try and spin the image that Africa is still some backwards continent that needs someone to help civilize it."

"Hey, at least I actually come here and get my hands dirty."

"Yeah, but like I said before, the government only puts up with it because it saves them the trouble. Same reason the cops put up with you when you put on a costume and started beating up street gangs."

"It was about more than that!" she insisted. "Why do you hate heroes so much anyway?"

He sighed and returned his gaze to the sunset. "Because I used to be a villain."

That stopped her rage cold. She blinked at him. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"And you're not anymore?"

"I wouldn't say I was much of one to begin with." He looked down at the camp. "I fought against the Bat a few times. Then Green Arrow. Then I almost got killed by Monsieur Mallah and The Brain, and finally relocated here to get my life back on track."

Stephanie drummed a finger against her chin as she tried to correlate that specific career path with the villains she knew. She concluded that he must have been before her time.

"What did you call yourself?"

He looked mildly embarrassed. "Catman."

"Catman? Really?" Now she remembered. She scanned his immaculately sculpted physique. "No offense, but didn't you used to be...?"

"Fatter?"

"I was gonna say dark-haired, but whatever floats your boat." She smiled disarmingly. "I guess living with lions keeps you fit, huh?"

He chuckled roughly.

"So what made you do it? Why do you have it in for us hero folk?"

"Because you all try to stick your nose in where it isn't wanted or needed," he answered, not looking at her. "Because the JLA are basically gods up in that orbiting base of theirs while the rest of us mortals have to try and live in their world. People put too much trust in them. What gives them the right?" He looked her in the eyes. "What gives you the right?"

She crossed her arms and frowned sadly. "If I had an answer to that question then I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"The world functions well enough without us interfering," he continued. "We're better off leaving it alone."

Stephanie chuckled suddenly and shook her head. "You are so full of crap."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, it's funny, because if you hadn't interfered when we first met, we wouldn't be having this discussion," she pointed out, grinning with satisfaction.

"I had business with Reinhart and his men anyway," he said defensively. "And just because I don't trust superheroes, that doesn't mean I'm going to ignore someone who gets put in my path. Heroes go looking for trouble. I help out if the situation warrants it. That's the difference between you and me."

"Whatever you say."

He let out an annoyed sigh.

"Look, let me at least warn them. We can all leave together."

"They'll only slow us down."

"I don't care," she replied. "If I'm leaving, it's not going to be without making sure those people don't just raid the camp anyway to get back at us."

"Fine," he said. "Do whatever you want. But I'm leaving tonight."

He started walking back to the camp when something caught his eye. "Actually, hold that thought."

"He's not far from here," Beecham declared, kneeling in front of the tire tracks and scanning the horizon. "See that camp down the hill? Smart money says he's there."

"I heard western relief workers set up a medical camp around this area," said Walsh, who stood to his right peering through a pair of binoculars. "If he was wounded this would be the most likely place for them to take him."

The Englishman nodded. "I agree. Radio back and tell them we've found the lion man. We sit here until backup arrives, then we take the camp."

"It's mostly villagers down there," Walsh replied. "And a lot of the relief workers are sponsored by the UN. This could bring a lot of heat down on us."

"We're only after one man. If they give him up nice and easy, along with a few crates of medicine that we can resell, this doesn't have to get messy. Now radio our location."

He complied, sending their coordinates back to the main group. Orders came back to hold their position until backup arrived.

"And now we wait," said Beecham.

"Waiting was never really my strong suit," came a voice from the darkness that none of them had heard before.

Before any of them had the chance to locate the speaker, a figure cloaked in shadow was already moving, camouflaged more by the second as the sun held its breath for the night.

Matthews was the first to fall, hitting the dirt about as softly as a meteor crash. Then down went Jameson, felled by a punch to the sternum and a chop to the throat that left him gasping. Erickson was fast enough to produce his machete, but too slow to keep the figure from grabbing his wrist, maneuvering behind him and stabbing him through the spine with his own weapon before kicking him off his feet.

In the space of seven seconds, five had become two, and those two were absolutely terrified. Walsh had produced his pistol and wrapped his finger around the trigger, but a second figure emerged from the darkness and wrenched it from his grip before roundhouse kicking him in the face. The second shadow coolly disassembled the weapon and discarded it in the dirt.

The two figures moved closer to him, and in the growing moonlight Marcus could just barely make out their faces. The first shadow was a man with primal fury behind his eyes, while the other was a young blonde woman with a more urban fire behind hers that made him briefly wonder what she was doing out here in the wilderness.

"You didn't have to threaten an entire camp full of innocent people just to get my attention, Marcus," the man said, his words made of cold steel. "Besides, an order like that doesn't really seem your style. I'm guessing it came from your boss."

"How do you know my name?"

"I know everything about you, Marcus," the man said. "I know your brother's the Highwayman, while you prefer a less ostentatious approach to international crime. I know you occupy a position on the list of top five trackers in the world, just a couple spots behind yours truly."

Beecham finally remembered where he'd seen the man's face before. "Thomas Blake? That really you?"

"In the flesh."

"And who's the strumpet?"

"Don't call her that," Blake warned. "And she's none of your business. Your beef is with me."

"Not my beef, really," he corrected. "This is just a job for me."

"Which is why I'm willing to let you go, as long as you pass on a message to your boss." He leaned in close. "Leave those villagers the hell out of this. You can chase me all over Africa to your heart's content, but only me. Touch anyone else and you all die slowly. Understood?"

"He's not going to take that very well," Beecham said matter-of-factly.

Blake smiled and handed him the radio. "I'm counting on it."

"Your funeral." He followed the man's instructions and radioed the message. "Now can we get this over with? I'd rather you kill me now than embarrass me by doing it in front of my boss. Wouldn't look professional."

"I don't plan on killing you at all," said Thomas. "If you're as good of a tracker as the rumor claims, that means your boss sunk a lot of money into you. He'll at least want to protect his investment. That makes you the perfect hostage."

"If he sees me in this position I think he'd rather just cut his losses, actually."

"Whatever." He turned to the young woman, who had not spoken a word. "You should leave. Go warn the people down below to evacuate."

"What about you?"

He smiled. "I'm staying right here. I think it's about time I stopped running from my problems."

The girl smiled faintly. "Guess you're taking my advice after all, huh?"

"I guess so. And you should take mine. Get everybody out of here. Their problem is with me and me alone."

She nodded, frowning slightly, but left all the same.

"Now, Marcus," he said, smirking. "Want to guess what else I know about you?"

Leslie had just finished securing the last of the medicine boxes when Stephanie came tearing in to the camp, making a beeline straight for the elderly doctor. The look in her eyes confirmed Leslie's worst suspicions about the fallout of rescuing Thomas.

"We gotta go," the blonde panted as soon as she reached her. "We need to get all these people out of here."

"Catch your breath," Leslie ordered calmly, then sighed. "So I'm guessing those men we ran into earlier weren't the whole group?"

Stephanie shook her head. "We just ran into another squad. They tracked us here. Thomas is keeping an eye on them so I could come down here and warn you. We have to get everyone out of here or they'll all be in danger."

She nodded. "I can take care of that. You should stay behind."

"Why would I do that?"

"So that you can cover our escape," Leslie explained patiently. "By now whoever's in charge of those men knows where we are and might already be on their way here. It's going to take several hours to move everything out of here, and it'll be impossible to hide the trail. You and Thomas are the only hope we have of fending them off."

"But I need to stay with you," she insisted. "I need to keep you all safe. I'm not just going to abandon you."

"You won't be. But honestly Stephanie, I know you're not afraid of them. What's holding you back?"

The girl appeared thoughtful for a few moments. Finally, she answered: "I guess I'm just not sure if I should start playing hero again."

She laughed. "Playing hero? You are a hero. You have been for a long time."

"I know, but the nude wonder said some things that kinda made me question whether I should go picking fights that are over my head. I mean, that's what landed me in this position to begin with."

"Stephanie, you made a mistake. Everybody does that at least once in their life. But you've been working past it ever since you got here. You're ready to start being a hero again."

"How can you be sure?"

Leslie smiled warmly. "You know, I usually take medical residents on these trips with me to broaden their horizons, and do you want to know the hardest part? Shaking them out of the clinical mindset that medical school drilled into them. I have to teach them to see their patients as people."

The girl raised an eyebrow, as if to ask where she was going with this.

"I didn't have to teach you that. I watched you hand out vaccinations earlier, and your compassion for other people is simply astounding. You love to help people. It's who you are."

She fixed her with a steady gaze. "You didn't become a superhero because you wanted to imitate Batman and Robin. I don't even believe you really did it in reaction to your father's crimes. That might have been why you started, but do you know why you've stuck with it for so long? Because it's who you were meant to be, Stephanie. You shouldn't need me to tell you that."

Stephanie smiled. "Okay, I get it."

"If you want to help load the trucks, that's fine, but I need you to make sure those men are stopped, or they'll never stop chasing us. There comes a time when you have to stop running."

"I know. And thank you."

She chuckled. "Don't mention it, kiddo."

"Well, here they come."

They stood side by side, watching the convoy approach. There were five vehicles total, with three trucks and two SUVs. She could see men with rifles in each of the truck beds through the binoculars they had pilfered from the advance squad.

"Yep."

"Sure you don't wanna run?"

Blake nodded. "I just wanna make it clear," he said. "I'm not doing this to protect anybody. I'm doing it because I have a score to settle."

"And I'm doing it because I'm not ready to give up being a hero yet," she replied. "And because now I've got a score to settle with these punks too."

"Well, that's very heartwarming," said Marcus, who was on his knees in front of them. "But you do realize I mean precisely nothing to them as a hostage, right? They'll shoot all of us without a second thought."

"Then we'll see you in hell," Thomas responded without missing a beat.

By this time the convoy was nearly upon them. The headlights overtook their entire field of vision, and Stephanie had to shield her eyes from the glare. The vehicles came to a halt in front of them.

"Hello there, Marcus," a voice said, obscured by the lights to the point where neither of them could see his face. "I see you found him."

"Hey boss," Beecham replied. "Dreadfully sorry you have to see me like this. I tried to get him to just kill me like a gentleman, but this fool thinks you give enough of a damn about me to use me as a hostage."

"Well, he's not wrong, actually," the shadow said. "This hunting trip would be a waste if I lost my only tracker."

"I'm touched," said Marcus. "Still, this is awfully embarrassing."

"Don't worry about it." The man turned his attention to the other two people in front of him. "So who are they?"

"Well, the man holding the knife against my neck is Thomas Blake, the actual best tracker in the world. No idea who the girl is."

"And you never will," said Thomas. "That's awful rude, asking for our names without introducing yourself first."

The man laughed and stepped out in front of the lights, moving forward until they could just make out his face.

"Hey," said Stephanie. "I know that guy. He's Solomon Haines."

"Aka the Lion of Wall Street," said Thomas. "You made a killing by investing in construction companies just before the quake hit Gotham. There were rumors that you were also laundering money for a number of Gotham's prominent crime families, and after the gang war killed them all you disappeared along with 750 million dollars."

"Give or take a few million," he replied with a smirk. "You seem to know a lot for a guy who went missing a few months before that happened."

"I have my ways of getting information, even out here. The question is, what are you doing in Africa?"

"I live here now," Solomon answered. "It's great. Unregulated banks, easily bribed government, and an outstanding exchange rate. Nobody from the US can touch me here. Not even Batman or his people."

Stephanie chuckled. "I wouldn't be so sure of that."

"And what about you, young lady? I'm guessing like your friend here, you came to Africa to 'find yourself.' How's the search going?"

"Well, I've at least found someone I'd like to punch in the face."

He laughed, gesturing to the twenty or so armed men behind him. "Go ahead; see how far it gets you."

"Let me ask you something," she said, ignoring his threat. "If you've got more money than God out here, why the hell are your people poaching wildlife and stealing medicine?"

"You don't get rich by ignoring a money making opportunity," said Solomon. "And it's not the medicine I'm interested in so much as its availability. See, a lot of pharmaceutical companies have offices out here, and I have a large stake in their operation. A man in my position could stand to make a lot of money if those became the only options available."

"You're trying to create a shortage," she surmised. "And the poaching?"

"I call it hunting," he replied. "And that part's just for fun."

They both glared at him with murder in their eyes. Thomas was the only one who intended to follow through with it, however.

"You really are in no position to bargain," he told them. "I'd hate to lose Marcus, but if if gets you out of my way..."

Thomas chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that you're not the only one who brought backup."

Before Solomon could ask what he meant, a man vanished from one of the truck beds. Then another. Then a third. "What in the hell...? Out of the trucks! Find whoever's doing this!"

The men turned on their flashlights and took off in multiple directions, searching the brush for whoever was hiding there. One man poked his rifle into a bush, only to be tackled to the ground seconds later, accompanied by a deafening roar.

"Lions!" one of the men shouted, raising his rifle and firing off a shot that barely missed the lioness who was busy ripping out the downed man's throat. More lions appeared from the brush, launching into a savage attack on the group.

Then all hell broke loose.

Lions possessed spectacular night vision, and had no need for the flashlights that the men swung around too clumsily to get a bead on the quickly moving predators. In addition, Stephanie had broken off to engage the men who weren't locked in a battle against the beasts, while Thomas headed straight for their leader with a knife in each hand.

Solomon had produced a machete and swung hard at Blake, who swerved around it easily and stabbed at his throat. Solomon ducked, leveling a punch at his chest. Thomas was sufficiently stunned by the blow, but still managed to avoid the machete as it swung down at him again.

Weaving around the butt of a rifle, Stephanie aimed a quick chop at the back of her attacker's neck, causing him to stumble forward. She hooked her foot around his ankle, and the forward momentum sent him crashing to the ground. She turned to face another opponent to her left, scooping up a stick from the ground and whacking it repeatedly into his abdomen before elbowing him in the back of the neck. A quick roundhouse to the sternum downed a third man, and she rushed towards the next group.

Thomas had managed to remove the machete from the equation with a well timed kick, but had lost one of his own knives in the process. Solomon produced a large Bowie knife in response, slashing it around like a madman. Blake fought smarter, dodging the savage swipes and letting the other man tire himself out.

Three men had surrounded Stephanie, who hopped back to avoid a punch, letting it strike the man beside her instead. Grabbing the first man's shoulders, she drove a knee hard into his chest, then rolled over his back when he doubled over. She continued building her momentum, angling a spinning kick at the next man's clavicle with the speed of a well-swung sword. He went down hard, and she turned her attention to the man who was still dazed from the misdirected punch. She twirled once, then extended her leg in a powerful side kick, knocking him to the dirt.

Meanwhile, the other men faced a massacre at the hands of the lions, who attacked with a coordination that the panicked men could not hope to match. This was not the behavior they had come to expect from the beasts, and indeed lions did not normally act in this way. But under their Pride leader's directions, they were brutal, efficient killers who had been trained for just such an occasion.

And somewhere in all the confusion, Marcus Beecham had disappeared.

Batting his opponent's knife aside, Thomas punched Solomon in the face to stun him before launching a quick side kick to put some distance between them. Another man tried to rush him, but received a knife in the eye as his only response. Removing the blade from its bloody new sheath, he waved it around ominously and the two men began to circle one another.

At the same time, Stephanie was doing her best to avoid poorly aimed shots from a .38 revolver that hit nothing but air. With the way the man's hands were trembling, she did not have to try very hard. A moment later, a lion tackled the man to the ground, removing the problem.

None of the lions were going after her, Stephanie realized. In much the same way that a guard dog didn't attack people that their master was familiar with, these lions seemed to follow Thomas' directions without a word. She'd have thought it was superpowers if she didn't know for a fact that he had none. Still, she wasn't about to question it.

Solomon made the first move this time, charging a Thomas in a frustrated rage. Blake easily sidestepped the attack, slicing open the other man's hunting vest. He ducked under the follow up attack, a horizontal swipe that followed a 180 degree arc, before countering with a well aimed uppercut.

As Haines stumbled back, Thomas admitted to himself that he was a remarkable knife fighter. It just so happened that he was better.

"You're not that different from me, you know," Haines taunted. "We all came to Africa to get away from something. I know you got your ass handed to you by Green Arrow. I heard a rumor that you were gorilla shit, and yet here you are. You're not here because you actually give a damn about the people in that camp. So why the hell do you insist on making my life so difficult?"

"Because," said Blake, casually twirling his knife. "You killed part of my Pride. And now we're going to kill you."

"I'd like to see you try."

Thomas rushed forward, nearly blind in his anger. His tunnel vision was such that when he raised his knife to counter a swing from his opponent's blade, he completely missed where his other hand was going.

A fist slammed into his bandage, and he could feel the stitches tear open and the blood rush from the wound once more. Haines followed this up with a swing from his knife, but Thomas managed to bat it aside with enough force to send both of their weapons flying into the night. Solomon did not even slow down, punching his cheek with another fist before striking the open wound several more times in succession, until Thomas felt he was about to pass out from the pain.

The onslaught only halted when Stephanie sailed over his head with a flying kick that he barely avoided. She wasted no time swinging around with her fist as she turned, which he blocked by making an X with his forearms. He countered with a straight punch, which she dodged with a butterfly kick.

Thomas tried to stand, but his wound made that all but impossible. He pressed hard against it, trying to avoid bleeding out. Stephanie was doing a remarkable job against the larger man, weaving through his defenses to strike at his weak points. The more she hit him, the more frustrated he got, and the more predictable his blows became.

Launching a rapid flurry of punches to his chest, Stephanie ducked under the clearly telegraphed haymaker and struck at his chin. Solomon wobbled backwards, and she launched another punch at his sternum. He recovered in time to catch her arm, then grabbed her other wrist and held her up in the air, where he prepared to headbutt her into submission.

Growling, she put every ounce of strength she had into the cheapest shot she knew, planting her foot squarely between his legs like she was kicking a field goal.

Solomon howled and released her, doubling over from the pain. She brought her elbow down in the middle of his back, sending him to the ground, where he stayed, clutching his crotch.

By this time the lions had dealt with the other men and surrounded the group. Stephanie rushed to Thomas's side with worry in her eyes.

"Shit, your stitches are open," she said, panting heavily. "We need to catch up to Leslie soon."

"I know," he told her. "But not before we wrap this up."

Leaning against her as she helped him stand, Thomas glared hard at Solomon, who had recovered from the groin kick but remained on the ground.

"Is this the part where you have your lions eat me?" He seemed almost bored by the prospect.

Blake shook his head. "I wouldn't want to upset their stomachs. But don't think you're getting out of here alive."

"Wait," said Stephanie. "Couldn't we just hand him over to the park rangers? He's been poaching like crazy out here. They'll put him away for a long time."

"You heard him," he said. "He's got the entire government in this region bought and paid for. This guy won't face justice no matter where he goes."

"I still don't see why that means killing him in cold blood."

"I didn't see you complaining when all of those men were killed," he rebutted, gesturing around them.

"Look, I'm not Batman," she told him. "I can understand taking a life to protect yourself or somebody else. But we were able to subdue this guy. He should answer for what he's done."

"He will," said Thomas. "Besides, I'm not the one who's going to kill him."

"He's right about that, luv."

They turned to face Marcus, who had emerged from behind one of the trucks carrying a pistol.

"What the hell is this?"

"How did you put it, Solomon? You don't get rich by ignoring an opportunity? I'd say that's precisely what we have here."

"What are you talking about?"

"See, the Americans weren't the only ones you pissed off by disappearing with three quarters of a billion dollars. The organization I represent had a substantial stake in your investment firm as well."

"And what organization is that?"

Beecham smirked. "Her Majesty's Secret Service."

"You're a fucking secret agent?! How the hell did that not show up on the background check?"

"Deep cover, mate. Thomas here actually did his research, though. Really impressive stuff. So he offered me a deal: I let him vanish into the night, and he presents me with the opportunity to bring you in."

Solomon chuckled. "Thought you were gonna kill me."

"I still might," he replied. "But right now we have more interest in getting back that money you stole. So come on, then. On your feet."

"Looks like you live to fight another day, Blake," he said. "Or not."

Right on cue, Thomas blacked out.

It was several days later when he finally awoke. Stephanie was waiting at his bedside, just like before.

"Hey," she said softly. "Look who's finally back with us."

He chuckled. "Where's Haines?"

"On his way to an MI6 interrogation facility, I imagine," she said. "I gotta say, I really didn't see that coming."

"You weren't supposed to," he admitted. "I made that deal with Beecham while you were warning people to evacuate."

"So why were you talking like you were gonna kill Haines?"

"That," he explained, "was actually for you. I wanted to test how much of a hero you actually were."

"And?"

"And it confirmed exactly what I thought. When it comes down to it, you still value human life. Just not to the point of impracticality."

"Well, I'm just glad everything worked out."

He smiled faintly. "So are you heading back to Gotham now?"

"Actually, I'm going to stay in Africa a while longer," she said. "I promised Leslie I'd help her on this trip and it's time I started keeping my promises. And besides, things still haven't cooled down enough back home for me to return yet."

"Well if you ever need anything, don't be afraid to look me up. After this I think I owe you one. I'd never have been able to bring them down without you."

"I might take you up on that someday." She stood up. "There is just one more thing I've gotta bring up, though."

"And what's that?"

"I know you didn't just stay because you had a score to settle. You were ready to leave right up until the moment you heard Marcus give the order to take everyone in the camp hostage. I know he was your ace in the hole, but you still had twenty armed men to deal with, and even with those lions on your side, I really don't see you as a guy who takes that kind of risk just to get revenge."

"What are you saying?"

"Oh, just that it was rather... heroic of you to do what you did," she said, her face aglow with mischief.

"I was not playing hero," he insisted, though even he didn't fully believe that.

"Sure you weren't."

He glared at her for a few moments, but eventually cracked the slightest of smiles, which only made her grin wider.

She started to move out of the tent. "Now get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."

He nodded, and closed his eyes again.

Thomas Blake had never been a hero, and likely never would be, no matter what Stephanie claimed. But maybe there was a place for heroes in the world. At the very least, Stephanie deserved to have something in life that drove her, even if it was a goal that could never be reached.

As for him, he still needed to find something to fight for. But for now, a peaceful life with his lions was good enough for him.

"Wakey wakey, Haines."

Solomon Haines shivered as the cold water struck his face, and quickly came to terms with the fact that he was strapped to a chair. The room was dark, and the décor was decidedly old-fashioned. Arab, to be sure. The stonework was incredibly intricate, and the overall motif suggested something foreboding.

A blindfold was pulled from his eyes, and it took a few seconds of blinking for him to adjust. "Where the hell am I?"

"Somewhere you won't be able to buy your way out of," said Marcus. "It's time you learn the true reason I spared you."

He glared. "Do tell."

"You pissed off a lot of people when you took that money, Solomon. My organization depended on that money to fund several of our operations. Imagine our surprise when it suddenly dried up."

"Ain't that what taxpayers are for?"

"Oh, MI6 is just my day job," Beecham corrected. "The organization I truly represent has a much grander vision for the world."

"So, what? You infiltrated my crew and waited for an opportunity to take me down? Why not just kill me?"

"Killing you won't get us the money," said a voice from the darkness. Female, this time. "It is the only reason you still breathe."

"And who the hell are you?"

The woman stepped forward, and he could see something ancient and terrible in her eyes. His heart skipped a beat.

"My name is Talia Al Ghul," she answered. "And I have a few questions for you."