---

“... live here at the scene, bringing you all of the latest news on the bank robbery turned hostage situation. FPX News was first on the scene as six armed men stormed the First Federal Bank of Bludhaven during an overnight cleaning. When the gunmen realized that the vault had been emptied during the renovations, they took the crew and two posted guards hostage, five hostages in all. Police have not released the n–... what’s that, James? Quick! Quick, get the camera on h–...!”

The FPX helicopter wildly turned its spotlight around, not focusing on the police squads surrounding but to the nearby rooftops. The camera followed, nothing...nothing and then...a glimpse of a figure leaping toward the bank. The figure tucked into a roll, spinning away and then shot a line from his hand, connecting him to First Federal and with a yank he was propelled toward the bank. Turning mid-air at the last possible second, dark feet met window as hands flew to his back, grabbing a pair of sticks, as he disappeared inside.

*CRASH!*

Arms spread wide to stick the landing in the center of the room, Nightwing allowed himself a brief smile. It was good to see their looks of surprise. It was better to be *back*.

“Good evening, guys. Would you like the express trip to Lockhaven or do you prefer the scenic route?”

Instantly turning in his direction they opened fire and found their target missing.

“Scenic route it is, then.”

As he leaped into the air, Nightwing vaulted over the spray of gunfire and let loose his eskrima sticks. Each caught their intended target in the chest, sending them backward, ending their shooting.

“Someone, get him!”

“Is that -...”

“Stop talking and get him! Of course that’s Nightwing, you dolt!”

“Well, it’s good to be remembered,” Nightwing offered back as he spun away from another spray of fire. The pack of four attempted to close in around him. Since coming to this city, he had devoted himself to protecting it from such crimes, taking his years of professional vigilantism to task. Once sidekick to Batman, later a Titan, he was arguably one of the most experienced crime fighters going. Yet, Nightwing had come to find a much bigger project than he had planned when moving to this naughty little sister of Gotham City.

As he leaped off a chair to avoid a shotgun blast, he spun mid-air to toss a pair of Nightarangs. He hit the gun and the hand holding it, causing the goon to drop it. Nightwing landed and rolled forward, coming up just in front of the man and knocked him unconscious with an undercut palm fist to the jaw. Half down.

“Take a week off for personal time and everyone goes crazy, like suddenly its open season on robbing banks. Tsk…” Out of the corner of his eye Nightwing noticed one guy pace back several steps, reaching into the pocket of his vest to draw out something spherical...

“... done playing around with his pajama clown! Boys, get down!” The man swung, tossing the grenade right at where Nightwing had been. One of the other gunmen stumbled into Nightwing’s vacant space, meaning to get behind him with his Uzi and if Nightwing just leaped away then the poor guy...

Tackling the Uzi-goon about the mid-section, Nightwing propelled both away from the thundering explosion just in time, landed behind a thick desk shielding them. Nightwing used the force of the landing to slam the guy down, knocking him out in an instant. A loud swell of startled cries from the vault let Nightwing know where they had stashed the hostages.

Thick smoke billowed in the middle of the room and the carpet had caught fire, prompting the overhead sprinklers to sputter on.

“That was stupid, Clarence!”

“No names! No NAMES! How amateur are you?”

“Like we’re going to be able to salvage this, it was botched from the get-go! You had the dates all wrong! There’s not even a penn–...!” Clarence silenced his remaining accomplice with a slap.

That was the opportunity Nightwing had been waiting for. He vaulted to the side and used the wet carpet to slide and retrieve his eskrima sticks just before the two gunmen spotted him. Nightwing easily took to a one-armed handstand to avoid the predictable gunfire as it tore up his landing spot. He rolled away behind another desk before they could catch him with their bullets.

“Got him now! He’s pinned back there!”

“You go left, I got right.”

The two men eagerly rushed the desk Nightwing was supposed to be behind, only to be surprised to find the spot empty.

“What...?”

“But...?”

Nightwing suddenly landed on top of the desk with both hands together to balance him, his legs extended in a split kick, catching each man squarely in the face. With a sputtering collapse, each fell back, unconscious. “I can’t believe you fell for the whole ‘we’ve got him cornered’ trick.” Nightwing grinned, getting his feet under himself.

Suddenly he looked up to the main doors and turned, vaulting away. “Ah, that’s my queue. Thank you, gents. It’s been fun but...” He was away just as Bludhaven S.W.A.T. stormed the room.

Fifty minutes later Nightwing slipped back into his apartment and with practiced ease peeled his costume off as he had one destination in mind: his bed. He had work to do in three hours, literally. No longer was his only profession Nightwing, costumed crime fighter. Dick Grayson was a detective for the Bludhaven police force and everything was different, though some things remained the same. He couldn’t be late for his return shift in the morning. With a yawn he crawled into bed, next to the redhead who should be sound asleep by now.

She was Barbara Gordon, a super heroine in her own right and the most courageous, strongest woman he had ever known. And she was the great love of his life. Thumbing the ring on his finger before slipping his arm around her, he drew himself up behind her, nuzzling into her crimson curls, startled by the soft green light of her open laptop.

“Good night, Mrs. Grayson,” Dick laughed softly and shook his head knowingly.

“Mrs. Gordon,” she reminded him, wiggling her back to him welcomingly. “You’re not the only one who itched to get back to work,” she scolded in a half-awake murmur and absently reached out to snap her laptop shut.

“Mhmm,” was all that Dick could return before sleep took him.

---

“GRAYSON, GET IN HERE YA’ SACK O’WORTHLESS SORRY EXC–... oh, there you are,” barked Bludhaven’s chief of police, Harvey Bullock. It was as much a surprise to the new chief as anyone else, and the whole city seemed to be unsure what to make of the Gotham detective’s arrival to such a lofty title. The previous chief had gone publicly insane, blowing himself up after a bloody rampage. By comparison, Chief Bullock seemed safe despite all of his visible faults and shady past. He stood in the doorway of his cluttered office and held the door open for the young detective. Considering Harvey’s unhealthy girth, it took Dick’s natural grace to slide through the narrow doorway into the bureaucratically overwhelmed office.

Both men stared at one another for a lingering moment, as if unsure what to say. Dick had known and worked with Harvey many times before in Gotham, as Batman’s sidekick Robin and then later when began operating as Nightwing. Only rarely had Dick Grayson and Harvey Bullock seen one another, and what little the Chief knew of Dick was that he was the young, spoiled and ungrateful ward of meddlesome *billionaire* Bruce Wayne. “This ain’t Gotham,” Harvey finally broke the silence as he slid behind his small-seeming desk, landing hard in his chair.

“Yes sir,” Dick chewed, getting the words out behind a stifled yawn. He had woken late and only just made it here on time, thanks to Babs pushing him out the door.

“Bored already, are you?” Bullock snorted, eying the kid.

“Excuse me?” Not expecting that, Dick caught himself and quickly added, “Sir…I mean, I don’t understand.”

Bullock ignored the question and turned to the smear of papers strewn all over his desk. There seemed no end to the myriad of reports and newspapers littered about, but that was business here in Bludhaven. Corruption and crime where as common here as oxygen, and every resident seemed to breath equal amounts of both. Rumors of corruption had even touched both men, and each knew it. “Got something here you oughta see,” the Chief said instead as piles fluttered to the floor to add to the layer already there.

Dick looked away from the desk, out the open door to the squad room as he adjusted the jacket of his suit, his tie feeling tight and so unnatural. Since making the rank of detective six months ago, he had his ups and downs with the position. Out of respect for his wife, a police chief’s daughter, he found himself with a profound sense of duty and wished to show the position the respect he should. Plus, a suit helped to hide his Nightwing costume beneath exceptionally well. “By the way, I don’t think I ever said it, but congratulations Har–... I mean, Chief Bullock, on the promotion.”

“Hah,” Harvey snorted, “We’d both rather be back in Gotham,” he tossed out casually, almost dismissively, but decisively. Before Dick could reply the chief gave a short ‘a-hah!’ as he’d found what he had been looking for and held it out toward the detective. “Until I get assignments shifted ‘round, I’m gonna’ partner up with you. Hope you don’t mind showin’ me around,” Harvey had to chuckle.

“Sir, I’m afraid I already have a partner. Detective Rohrback, Amy. She’s due back any day now, so I don’t...”

Harvey waved the paper he held out, impatient and unwilling to hold it out any longer so he just tossed it toward Grayson. “Since I got some filin’ to do, you best get to the reports on your desk. You gotta’ double stack. Yours and...”

“Amy’s,” Dick gulped as he’d caught the paper falling in his general direction, his eyes immediately falling on the lines ‘tender my’ and ‘thank you for the opportunity’.

“Give it back ‘fore you crumple it too much more,” Harvey then quickly shifted to his feet, snatching the resignation letter away from Dick before he could finish scanning it. “You got work to do,” he waved Grayson out.

“Yes... sir...,” Dick managed to stammer. Amy quit? Last he spoke to her before leaving for the wedding she was almost done with her rehabilitation, set to return to work just before him.

“I said get to work, Detective Grayson,” Harvey barked, “and cut out that ‘sir’ crap,” he added as Dick fumbled back out the doorway. “Chief will do,” he concluded as he followed, closing the door sharply behind the stunned detective.

---

It had started precisely at noon.

“Get in there, you damned fool! This is what I’m paying you for!”

“But... but Mr. Des –..., sir! This is...it’s...!”

“I don’t care, get out there and do what you’re supposed to. Just slow. Him. Down.”

With that, the much larger man grabbed hold of his hired help and tossed the costumed criminal down the hallway, body and assortment of throwing knives and all. Brutule sprawled and Roland Desmond didn’t waste time to see where he landed. He had already fled through the expansive kitchen in his posh mansion toward the garage.

His hallway, his kitchen, his garage. This was happening here and that enraged Blockbuster more than anything else – someone had dared to put a price on his head.

Now that was to be expected. He had always been a bully but since coming into his powers and then later his genius, Roland had built his own empire. The central force for all criminal activity in Bludhaven, he rose to power and maintained it even through the farce that was his capture and ‘death.’ Roland had many enemies but none bold enough to make a move against him before.

As far as his city knew, Blockbuster was still missing, presumed dead. He had no intention to die here, today...not in his own house. He was a hulk of a man, hence his moniker. He demonstrated his inhuman strength by ripping the garage door out of the wall and tossing it away. However, Roland had made a deal with the devil Neron to have brains to match the brawn. He knew that even though he was weak and recovering he was still a brute. He should be able to stand and fight, to handle anyone stupid enough to throw themselves before him.

However, he was smart enough to run from...

“That’s far enough.”

“Deathstroke,” Roland snarled as he spun to face his attacker.

Deathstroke strode forward, non-phased by Blockbuster’s tensing strength. He shouldered his automatic rifle and drew the sword he carried on his back. “In case you’re wondering…five million to do this in five minutes; I’m afraid I already wasted a minute playing with your men so with the fun out of the way it’s time to get to business. Quicker this is done, the more this becomes the easiest five mill I’ve ever collected.”

Blockbuster snorted at that and raised his hands, fingers flexed and ready. “Is that all it took to hire the world’s greatest mercenary to take me out. No matter. If it’s m–...”

Deathstroke cut him off. “They don’t call me ‘The Terminator’ for nothing. Flattery will get you nowhere.” He took another couple of steps closer, both hands going to the hilt of his sword. “Nor will your money. We have some history, you and I. I did fetch the heart that’s beating in your chest, now it’s time to cut it out. Business is business, and to remain in it then there is a certain reputation to maintain and all. I can’t go being bought out of every contract, now can I?”

With that he swung for Roland’s throat, far faster than even the super-enhanced man could react, only be aware of...

*SPRANG*

A pair of blades caught the sword just short of its target, one quickly sliding away to lash out at Deathstroke.

The assassin easily stepped back out of the way, almost lazily, though immediately amused. “And just who are you supposed to be,” Deathstroke half-chuckled, taking in the mottled yellow and rusty brown costumed figure who had gotten in his way, one sporting a pair of bladed batons.

“Shrike. And you’re down to three minutes.” Shrike leaped at Deathstroke boldly, though the Terminator just swept the interloper aside with a crushing high roundhouse kick. Shrike thundered against the double refrigerator, slumped to the floor but struggled to his feet, rushing at Deathstroke again.

“You got spunk, kid…that or a death wish,” the mercenary grunted, sidestepping a swipe of Shrike’s blade and expertly driving his elbow down to the sound of a sickening crunch. “Not that it matters to me. There’s only one way that this ends. Even if I don’t know you, you know me, and you know this job’s for the Blockbuster. his is your last warning – get out of the way or you won’t be going anywhere but to an early grave.”

To his credit, Shrike only grunted, fell back and dropped one baton as his broken arm could no longer hold it. “I can’t do that. I’ve got business here too.” Shrike dropped briefly, launching himself into a vault that carried him up and over Deathstroke. He landed between the assassin and Roland once more. “So let’s get to it, shall we.”

“Your funeral, kid,” Slade replied as a foot swept back, his stance ready. Shrike faked a lunge and stopped short kicking at Deathstroke’s kneecap. “Are you meaning to lose? You’re going to have to be better than that,” he snarled as he backpedaled but then closed before Shrike could right himself. Deathstroke punched Shrike in the throat, causing Shrike to stumble backwards, choking.

Before he got too far away, Slade swung his sword around, swatting Shrike with the flat of it across the face and sending him spinning. “Got to say, at least your dogs are obedient,” the Terminator spoke as he turned back to Desmond, who hadn’t fled during but stood there looking perplexed.

“One that failed me and was sent away; truly, I thought I had seen the last of him. Once we were united for a common goal, the destruction of someone we both wish to see gone. However, my priorities have shifted and I have no need for him any longer.” Blockbuster mused as Deathstroke stepped up to him.

“I’ve got too much history of my own to care much about yours.”

“One who shouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have known to be unless...,” Roland continued, seemingly forgetting about the mercenary standing before him as his large brain calculated. “My initial payout to Shrike had been five million.”

“You’re still talking. Let’s take care of that.” Deathstroke brought the sword up.

Shrike returned to the fray, giving a painful grunt as he collided with Deathstroke’s armored back. With only one arm to hold onto the Terminator, Shrike squeezed his legs about him, not hampering the assassin but...

“I’ve had enough of you,” Deathstroke growled. He reached back with his free hand to grab Shrike’s head. He yanked on the kid’s costumed head and flipped Shrike over him to slam down to the marble floor. Even with the wind knocked out of him Shrike attempted to rise, until Deathstroke’s thick boot took him across the face, leaving the broken man huffing for breath. “Now that was a stupid thing to do…desperate even,” Deathstroke spoke as he brought his sword around to Shrike’s throat. “Assignment was just for the big man, no one else. In fact, it had been rather specific: Blockbuster and no one else, and if not completed in five minutes to leave him alive. But you pissed me off, and for that–...”

“...how...how’d I...I...how d-id…d-doooo,” Shrike rasped, barely holding onto consciousness.

It took the Terminator a second to realize what Shrike had asked. “Twenty-four seconds.”

Blockbuster remained silent, mulling over what he was seeing. Shrike fought to remain conscious enough to ask, “...an-nd...normal...normal man...?”

“Three seconds, if he was lucky.” That reply seemed to satisfy Shrike who slumped unconscious, and Deathstroke drew his sword away from that throat to press against Roland’s thick neck.

“Wait. You realize of course that he hired you to do this, to what end I’m not entirely sure. To test himself against you, possibly? Or perhaps as some means to impress me back to my employ.” Deathstroke only nodded to Desmond’s rambling, sparing the bigger man a moment to finish his thought. “Though he failed again.”

“I still have two minutes left.”

“But you say if it had been someone else, like the men in the hall, he lasted eight times as long.”

Again, Deathstroke nodded.

“How long can Nightwing withstand you?”

Deathstroke took a moment and instead of answering said simply, “Time’s up. Last words?”

“Why didn’t you kill him?” Again, Deathstroke took a moment and the pause was cause for Blockbuster to smile.

“Let’s say I know something about young men seeking to impress their elders,” Deathstroke spoke, feinting indifference.

“Then,” Blockbuster’s smile broadened and he lowered his hands to adjust his tie, “then would you say that the cost of redemption is greater than an easy five mill?”

---

“...are you sure, Dick? Not that I think Harv would be one to pull a prank like that.”

“He’s not. I mean, I read the letter, Babs. It had Amy’s signature and everything.”

“I’m sorry, babe. I know you liked her.”

“It was more than that,” Dick sighed from his perch atop the dryer. Before him, Barbara was unloading the washing machine into the basket on her lap, her least-favorite part of their return home.

“Some help here? Your turn to take over,” Babs offered up the basket.

Dick stirred from his roost and leapt down from the dryer to take the basket. He began to dump the wet clothing into the dryer with a slap echoing off the walls of the apartment’s basement laundry room. “I respected her, trusted her. She had faith in me too. She was a mentor, a friend.”

“And partner.”

“That too. That especially.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

After a moment’s pause Dick finally huffed, “I don’t know.” He emptied the last of the basket and then hopped up and sat on the emptied washing machine to face his wife. He shrugged as he loosened the tie from his suit.

“Well, you have to do something.”

“I will,” he nodded. “She isn’t answering her calls, so I called Jim’s cell. He agreed that maybe seeing each other would be good. Apparently she’s only locked herself away pretty much with the kids, so poor Justin and Emma could use a break too, I’m sure.”

“Not to be too much of a kettle or anything, but being shut in right now seems like a really bad thing.”

“Yeah, yeah... The initial progress looked so good, but then she stopped responding to the treatment and when they had to take the hand. Well, I guessed when she stopped picking up my calls that she was just going to deal with me when she was back. I thought that maybe getting back to work would do it for her, turn it around.”

“Dick, you can’t beat yourself up over that. That was her fight to win or lose.” Babs took Dick’s hand and squeezed and her silent reassurance made him nod. What else could he do?

“So, Friday we’re supposed to go over there for a barbeque or something.”

“Okay,” Babs agreed instantly.

“But you’re supposed to be back in Gotham then.”

“Then I’ll find some way to work around it,” she smiled and held out her hands toward him. “If we’re going to make this work...”

He leaped up, bypassed the hands and leaned in for a kiss. “You’re amazing.”

“I know,” she grinned and then gave him a playful push back. “She’s important to you, which means she’s important to me too. Besides, I have a fondness for a good cop. They’re rare to find in these parts. I hear.”

Dick nodded and shrugged as he stashed the basket on top of the churning dryer and headed for the door. “Well, she’s the best…next to me of course.”

Babs just snorted as she followed.

Dick turned to retort to that and backed into something large and hulking in the doorway. “Ompht!”

“Oh, hi, Dick.”

“Aaron! Ah, sorry buddy, I ...ah…didn’t see you standing there.” Dick backpedaled to Babs’ side reflexively, though truthfully he need not be so protective. Aaron Helzinger had once been the superstrong criminal Amygdala. Treatment had tempered his uncontrollable rage and he was now a peaceful citizen relocated to Bludhaven. That was until months ago when he lost his job at Lockhaven. During an escape attempt he had been tampered with, causing a successfully destructive distraction.

“My fault,” Aaron bowed, squeezing through the (for him) small door frame to join the couple in the laundry room. “I heard you were back. I wanted to say thanks, you know, for –”

Dick cut him off. “It was nothing, Aaron, nothing at all. It wasn’t your fault what happened.”

“I know but –”

“Not your fault,” Dick reinforced, and then quickly changed the topic. “Hey, I haven’t introduced you to the misses yet. Aaron, Barbara. Babs, Aaron Helzinger.”

Embarrassed to have ignored the lady, Aaron turned and offered his large hand. “Oh! Oh! I didn’t know you got married. I’d have gotten you a present!”

“We don’t need anything,” Babs had to smile, jumping in here. “However, if you’re free sometime I could use your help with something. There’s a ramp in the back but not one out front. Since I can’t get the new landlord to ever reply to any of my emails, I’m just going to go ahead and get that done. I could use a pair of strong hands.” Aaron blushed. “I could tomorrow after my shift,” he promised readily. “At the zoo, which,” and here he turned back to Dick, “thank you again. I’d never have been given the chance after what happened without your letter.”

“I didn’t know Bludhaven even had a zoo,” Babs said, sounding a little astounded.

“It doesn’t, not really,” Dick explained. “Well, it used to, back in the ‘40s or something. It’s been pretty much abandoned since then yet in recent years has become somewhat of a dumping ground for other cities’ unwanted or damaged zoo animals, or a holding area for the more...unique animals. Radiation, mutations, toxic poisonings...”

“We have an elephant that glows pink,” Aaron beamed.

“I see,” Babs grinned, looking back to Helzinger.

“They were nice to take me in too, after the docs got my meds right again. It’s nice to be making a paycheck again.”

“Think nothing of it, really,” Dick forced a smile and patted Aaron’s massive arm. “Just have your toolkit ready to go tomorrow,” he said as he attempted to work around Amygdala. Aaron shuffled further back, giving room for Babs to roll past as well. “And be ready to work really hard. This one, she’s quite the taskmaster!”

Aaron chuckled and waved kindly. “Will do. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Barbara; you’re even prettier than Dick said you were!”

Rolling quickly after Dick who had skipped ahead, Babs swatted at his hip. “You’ve talked about me, huh?”

“A bit,” Dick admitted. “You can’t fault me for being giddy. And proud. And excited. Mostly amazed, really.”

Babs rolled her eyes, but despite herself she smiled.

“Anyway,” Dick continued as he bumped the door to the mail room open, “I guess with Amy out, Harvey’s decided to ride with me. Now that is bo–…oh!”

“Grayson,” came the reply from the elderly man at the other end of the mail room. “This must be the wife. I heard we were getting a new resident.”

“A part-time one only, really,” Babs stated as she rolled in to offer the man her hand. “Barbara Gordon, and you must be John Law. Dick’s spoken of you. Gushed really.”

John Law had once been a World War II superhero known as the Tarantula. Now he was retired and rarely left the local neighborhood.

“I’m sure.”

“No, really, I did. Some,” Dick volunteered.

John raised his eyebrow as he looked to Babs in her chair and she raised an eyebrow right back. He leaned a little heavier on his cane. “Part-time, huh?”

“Yep,” Babs answered right back.

Dick leaped in with, “She works in Gotham and lives there, mostly. I visit, she visits. Gotham’s not too far of a commute.”

“Huh,” Law snorted.

Before Babs could reply to that snort, Dick stepped in again. “It works for us.”

“I see,” John said and turned to leave, walking past Babs but stopped to swat his mail at Dick’s arm. “Now that you’re back, you best get to work. I saw on the news today that the fool Nightwing is back,” he nearly growled. John Law was ‘hesitant’ (to say the least) about Bludhaven’s self-appointed costumed vigilante.

“Yes sir, I’ll get right on it.”

The elder man just nodded and half-turned to give Barbara a polite nod of his chin and then was on his way.

“Well, you best get to the streets Grayson and find this Nightwing character if you’re going to arrest him.”

Dick beamed at Babs. “You don’t mind, seriously?”

“I have several somethings to check in on anyway, so you might as well get some done as well.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know,” she winked at him. “Now, let’s get changed into our pajamas and get to work.”

---

Sadly, it only took him ten minutes from leaving the apartment to find someone to hit.

Nightwing leaped from his rooftop perch toward the ground, using a series of vaults between the two buildings to land in the alleyway behind the man he had suddenly needed to chase. “That’s far enough.”

“No!” The man wheeled around, a gun in hand. He took unsteady aim and fired at Nightwing.

“Robbing someone at the ATM in the middle of the night is one stupid thing. Pointing a gun at me is another,” Nightwing stated as he avoided the gunfire, though to do so he had to leap to the side and that gave the man enough of a break to resume his departure.

“Get away, keep away! I don’t mean to hurt anyone!”

Nightwing took off after him. “Says the guy shooting a gun at the first ‘boo’.”

The man exited the alley and ran right into a car that came to a screeching halt. The driver pushed open the passenger’s door. “Get in, Timmy! Hurry, hurry!”

Timmy jumped in and slammed the door shut. “Go dude, go! GO!”

Timmy pointed his gun out the window and expected to see Nightwing racing toward him, but instead he blinked back sweat and stared at the empty alley. “Aiden, you deaf? GO! It was Nightwing, he almost had me!”

Aiden released the break and took of, unaware of the dark figure clutching the roof of the car as it raced away.

“You get it, man?”

“Yeah, dude had like $3,000 in his account but stupid machine had a $500 withdrawal limit, so I grabbed his card too and –”

“Wait. Shut up, shut up! You.. you hear that?”

Gritting his teeth, Nightwing took to holding on with one had as he quickly opened a compartment on his armband to answer his ringing cell phone. “Babs?

Honey, hi. I need you to come home. Right. Now.

“Seriously dude, what was that.”

“I don’t know, but it was on ... the roof!”

“Ah, I’m kind of busy at the moment...”

I realize that, sweetums. But I need you here. Now.

“Is everything…?”

BANG! BANG! BANG! Gunshots ripped through the roof of the car around Nightwing.

Everything is all right, honey. Good news is I finally got in touch with the landlord, Mr. Nguyen. Bad news is he’s here right now and he needs the key you have for Dr. Fledermaus’ apartment. Apparently he’s downstairs and wants to get into his apartment and you have the only key with you.

“Did you get him? Did you?”

“Shut up, man! So I can hear...I...I think so, I mean, I don’t hear anything now.”

That was true. The key to the apartment adjoining his was on the keyring tucked away in his armcuff compartment. The trouble was Dr. Fledermaus didn’t exist. Dick had crafted him in order to secure the empty apartment next door for added security. “But, Dr. Fledermaus is away on business as he always is.”

“Damnit, reload faster, Timmy! He’s still up there!”

“I know! I KNOW, okay?! Drive faster, or something, let me do this...”

Well, he’s not. He’s here. So, get home and help solve this.

“I’m on my way.”

Quickly Nightwing slid the phone away again and leaned over the side of the roof, right at Timmy’s open window. “Well, I’ll take that,” he could only grin as he snatched the gun right from the gunman’s hands. “Now pull over. You’re going eighty in a thirty. Do you have any idea how much speeding tickets cost these days?”

Aiden, the driver, just slammed on the breaks, causing the car to come to a screeching halt. The abrupt stop tossed Nightwing forward. He rolled with it propelled away from the car and came up to his hands and feet unharmed.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know, ma–”

Already Nightwing ran forward, arms crossed his body as he hurled a pair of Nightarangs at the front tires. POP! POP! Without the car, both men panicked and scrambled out their doors and attempted to run for it in opposite directions.

“I hate it when they run,” Nightwing sighed as his arms flashed twice more. “It only takes longer to gather them up.” Nightarangs took both men simultaneously.

In the distance there were sirens. “Well, that’s a break. Someone else can handle the clean-up,” Nightwing turned, in the direction of home. “Besides, I have somewhere else to be right now.”

Nightwing swung his way back to the apartment complex and retrieved the laundry from the dryer downstairs containing a change of clothes. Stuffing his costume in among the clothing, Dick raced up the flights of stairs to his own apartment and found the door unlocked. He rushed inside. “Babs?”

“Here,” she rolled from the living room toward the door looking, Dick thought, oddly calm. He knew that look. She was secretly afraid. “Sooooo, Nguyen, the landlord, was tired of waiting. Since he knew you had the key…”

“I do, but there’s just no way that,” yet he stopped short as he heard noise from the living room, like someone was standing up from the sofa.

“As I was trying to say,” Babs tossed out quick in the precious seconds she had as that someone headed toward them, “Mr. Nguyen just brought Dr. Fledermaus up here to wait for you. And…” but that was as far as she got as ‘Dr. Fledermaus’ appeared behind her.

The suit was expensive, German even, but the eye-patch and silver hair was unmistakable. Slade Wilson…otherwise known as Deathstroke the Terminator.

“Good evening, Grayson. I was in town and I’ll be needing a place to stay. I believe you have my key?”

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To Be Continued...

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