#40: Breaking the Bat, Pt 3 (HoM / Rimmer)

[/b]

You were trained by the world's greatest police officer. No. That's a lie to the world at large-- but to you, yes, he is, and always will be, the world's greatest cop. So use those skills. Sure, you 'apprenticed' under Bruce Wayne-- no, not like that-- but you have the deductive reasoning and analytical mind of a Gordon, Barbara, so use it, and find Dick Grayson! Remember everything Jason Bard taught you. Remember the O'Dares from Opal City, and the nuggets of wisdom they laid out when you visited Remember John Jones, remember Liza Warner, remember every one of their words. Remember that sure, Bruce Wayne trained under the greatest martial artists and senseis the world has to offer, but you... you trained to be a detective. 'World's greatest' doesn't even come in to it. Find Dick Grayson. Prove it to yourself, and nobody else. Now, Barbara. Now.

She landed hard on the Gotham City concrete, and felt the familiar shivers ride up her spine. Las Vegas was home-- but this was where Batgirl-- Batwoman-- was born. On these streets. In this city. She could tell that Kirk Langstrom had gone through one of his 'breakdowns' around here. Glass was shattered, concrete was dust and the police cordon was still up-- and the CDC were running their tests, to make sure, once again, that 'Man-Bat' was not contagious. Was she so used to this, that the concept of Men-Bats was so passé? That the idea of an airborne 'Langstrom Pathogen' tickled the fringes of her excitement, before she pushed it back down, and got back to the real detective work? Excited by danger. How very Oliver Queen of her.

There was no evidence here. "Batwoman. Weird coincidence." Barbara turned, and Detective Renee Montoya nodded at her, as she approached. "You here doing some follow-up on the Man-Bat thing? Or is this something else?"

"I'm doing some solo work, actually Detective Montoya," replied Batwoman, as she changed the lenses in her mask with the press of a button, and looked for anything to help her search.

"Witnesses say they saw a secondary assailant drag Batman away, after knocking him out. But as Batman was seen less than an hour ago at Gotham Central-- I assume he escaped all heroic and what not?" Renee watched Batwoman for a shift in body language, but Barbara gave nothing away. "And this description I have here of said assailant--" she pointed to her notebook, "--would mean nothing to you?" She let it fall to the floor. "Oh, oops, how about that." She turned for a moment, and began to do up her lace. "I'll get to that in a minute."

Batwoman smiled, picked up the notebook, and tore out the description, before she vanished and Montoya stood back up. The detective smiled as she bit the tip of her thumb. "Yum."

Gotham Underground:

[/center]

Henderson knocked quietly at the door of the room. She was behind him, the trench-coat clinging tightly to her curvaceous body. He didn't know what else she was wearing, but he could see her smile, the way she licked her lips as she looked him up and down... he knocked on the door, and called out tentatively. "Boss? Black Mask?"

Sionis' reply was short. "Is she with you?"

Henderson took a moment to look back at the woman who'd travelled so far for Black Mask, and then back at the door. "Yes, boss. The Flesh-Monger is here."

"Send her in. And leave us."

The Flesh-Monger stepped into Roman Sionis' quarters, and Henderson closed the door behind her. "Does it hurt?" she asked, before Black Mask had the chance to turn to her.

"No. I'm self-medicating. I can't feel anything, right now. I prefer it that way," he answered, turning to her, revealing the full extent of his injuries.

She didn't flinch. "Fourth-degree burns. My God," she whispered, moving her fingers slowly over his scorched flesh. "Are you a meta-human, Mr Mask?"

"Not to my knowledge," he replied, uncomfortable under her touch.

"You might very well be, sir, surviving something like this. Necrotized tissue has been removed, but you've not been given any skin grafts. That's a whole new level of pain, I have to tell you. Your eyes are... blue, and still solid, as opposed to liquid--" she laughed, "something I would have expected in a case such as your own, but this is a world of many a-possibility, so we'll roll with that." She undid her trench-coat, and allowed it to fall to the floor. She was wearing next-to-nothing, thigh high leather boots riding up her legs, a black corset, and tight leather straps across other parts of her anatomy. "This'll take... time. And we'll need someone who's skin you don't mind wearing. Any preferences?"

"...Excuse me?"

"We're going to move some skin around, Mr Mask," she said, moving her body close up against his, "and we're going give you a face back."

Elsewhere?

[/center]

Dick Grayson wasn't in Kansas anymore. He was falling through darkness, plummeting faster and faster, with no idea of where he was-- when he was caught in the safety net, sprang back up, somersaulted forward, and landed on the mats. The landing was perfect-- he bowed to the audience. The audience? He looked around, and his parents grinned, clapping enthusiastically as they approached. "That's our boy!"

"...Momma?" Dick's hand covered his mouth as Mary Grayson went to embrace him, and he closed his eyes as she wrapped her arms around him.

"You're amazing, my little Robin," she said, "when your poppa was your age, even he had yet to master the double-double flip! Did I ever tell you how that came about?"

Dick Grayson was crying. His mother looked so beautiful, even now. There was grey in her hair, but her face-- her smile-- exactly the same as it was all those years ago.

"Don't rub it in, eh, Mary?"

"John! Come look at your son!" Mary motioned for John Grayson to come out from the darkness, and Dick's parents placed their hands on his shoulders. "We're so proud of you, son."

"Richard... you do us proud. You do... do... uss..." John clutched his chest. "Gghhh..."

"Poppa?" Richard grabbed his father as he collapsed, preventing him from hitting the floor. "Poppa?!"

Dick Grayson felt the world draining from around him, and suddenly he was snapped back into the present, Brimstone looming over him, his hands withdrawing from the Caped Crusader's skull. "How did that feel, Richard?"

Dick Grayson said nothing.

Brimstone's lips curled into a smile. "Yes, just another agony I can bestow upon you, 'Batman'. I can show you a thousand deaths, and when I reach the thousandth-- I can show you a thousand more. How does that make you feel?"

"How about you keep torturing me? Because your banter leaves a lot wanting."

"...As you wish, Richard."

Brimstone flexed his fingers as he moved them slowly toward Batman's head. Dick tried not to scream, but couldn't help himself. Every fibre of his being screamed in agony as his nerves fried at the tips, thrusting pain into his entire being. Images-- memories-- senses-- seeped into his mind like they were his own, and he was lost in the swirl of torment.

"You do us proud."



The Dark Knight and Robin watched the top floors of the Gotham Intercontinental building from across the way through binoculars. "Black Mask is in there. He has to be. The level of security on the floors below have been ramped up, and the top room is completely sealed off to the outside. Curtains and blinds drawn."

"So, what do you want to do?" asked Tim Drake, as he took his bo-staff from the back of his utility belt, and flicked it open, before allowing it to retract. "How do you want to approach this."

Fast and bloody, thought Jason Todd. He grunted. "With extreme prejudice. I don't want any unnecessary violence taking place, but we need to get in there fast. Hhf."

"Sounds cool. How we getting up there?"

Jason smiled. "... let's wing it."

The Dynamic Duo fired off their grapnels, and attached the motorised reel to the line. "If you see someone that looks questionable, kid... you take them down. Black Mask needs to be pu-- taken in."

"Right," said Robin slowly. And with a push of a button, they were off, shooting over the chasm between buildings, and smashing into the top floor of the Gotham Intercontinental hotel building. They rolled to a stop, and sprang up, ready to face Black Mask-- only to be surrounded by a phalanx of gun-toting False-Facers. Robin was the first to react, throwing down a gas pellet, and allowing a plume of red gas to roll across the floor and into the faces of their would-be attackers.

"Tricked. Mother£$%^er." Jason grabbed Tim by the cape and leaped out of the building. "I'm going to break Penguin's legs."

"WHERE ARE WE GOING?!" shouted Robin, frantically holding onto his cape as Jason took a grapnel out and fired it straight up.

"Up," growled the Dark Knight, "and over." They sprang over the roof, and Jason didn't hesitate for a moment. He sprinted over the roof-top, the grapnel line retracting back into the firing mechanism, and then took a running leap over the edge of the other side of the hotel, firing the grapnel directly behind him as he did so. He swung hard-- and shattered the windows behind the False-Facers before they could turn to face him. The Dark Knight was in amongst them, punches flying, kicks being dossed out with malevolent glee. He was in his element, at this moment, becoming the weapon that Bruce Wayne had trained him to be, anticipating movements, breaking bones and faces-- no shots were fired, the attack taking place so suddenly-- until the Dark Knight breathed in sharply, and exhaled, clenching his fists and flexing his muscles as the last False-Facer fell.

Robin descended down and peeked into the room. "What just happened?"

"Extreme prejudice, Robin. Penguin screwed us over. So we're going to go blow up the Iceberg Lounge."

"You can't--"

"I can!" interrupted Jason loudly, "this city needs to fear the Batman, don't you get it, kid? We were played! Penguin thought he could take the $%^&, and he did! So now we're going to show him the error of his ways."

"No," said Robin, a sense of finality to the word.

"'No'?" Jason took a step forward, the adrenaline pumping through his faces, "you forgetting who the Batman here is? And who's the Redwing?"

"You aren't Batman, Jason. You're a guy wearing a cowl, keeping the seat warm whilst the real Batman is in trouble-- don't you remember what Alfred said? We need to find Dick. And it's not Redwing, Jason, it's Robin, something you never were. And never could be."

Jason shook his head. "Oh, don't you get smart with me, Timmy. Don't you dare. I didn't have to come here, save your asses whilst Gotham falls into the gutter, did I?"

"Yeah, you did, Dark Knight," snapped Tim, "else Alfred would cut you off. You may be doing good by yourself, but you aren't a team player. I thought you were cool, Jason. I thought you were alright, and all the bad stuff I'd heard was them not understand, but... jeez, you're a headcase, with an ego as big as the city."

"Bull£$%^," shouted the Dark Knight, "if you aren't happy, $%^& off! I don't need you for this."

"I'm gone," replied the Boy Wonder, as he vanished from sight, leaving the Dark Knight in the middle of a pile of unconscious gang-members.

"...Good," whispered Jason.

[/b]

Boss Synth emerged from his safe-room, and tipped his fedora to the men he'd gathered around him the months previous. "I'm havin' a good day. Feeling all super-charged, super-ready. Gotham is rottin', so let's take advantage of that." He took out a map from behind his back, and grinned, his silver mask twisting into a contorted expression of joy. "I mapped out a number of targets that would destabilise the city. Key places that, if destroyed, would send the entire infrastructure into a state of chaos. I'm talking... hell raining down on Gotham, and us rising up. 24 hours to make our preparations, and then 24 hours for you to do your part. When I wake up, 24 hours after that... the city will be ours. Time is a-waiting, my friends."



Lucius Fox came as soon as Alfred Pennyworth rang. Mickey Fynn had been a staple of the earlier years, when Bruce ran with a vigour that would eventually fade, to be replaced by a morose brooding that saddened the soul of Fox. Alfred opened the door, and ushered Lucius inside the Manor, and into the Cave, where Fynn was sitting, sipping coffee. Fox looked to Pennyworth then, confused, but Alfred shook his head. "The Wrath is back, Lucius. Back and tormenting Mister Fynn-- and so Mister Fynn came to the only people he could think to come to."

"... He knows..." said Fox quietly.

"Yeah, I know. Knew a long time ago," replied Mickey, finally calm, with a warm beverage in his belly and the shakes receding back to the hours been and gone. "Your secret's safe, o'course, but... damn... if he's back, then Batman has to know. And you're the guys with the direct connection... and after Bruce's death... I guess it's the Grayson kid in the cape and cowl? Yeah, makes sense. The Wrath was on par with Bats, wasn't he? Took an explosion to get him off the board before. And if he's back-- if it's the same guy-- then we're in for some trouble."

"The Wrath was always a weird one, wasn't he, Alfred?" Lucius typed something into the Computer, and looked over to Fynn. "Type in your IM address and password please, Mister Fynn."

Fynn stood, placing his mug of coffee on the examination table next to him. "Don't you want to know my provider, or something?"

"Please," smiled Fox, "your IM address and password."

Lucius took a step back, and turned to Alfred. "Where's Dick?"

"Missing," replied Alfred. "Jason Todd is prowling about Gotham, along with Robin and Batwoman."

"Todd? Are... what... Dick's missing?"

"I did it," said Fynn, taking a step back from the computer.

<FOUR. NEW. INSTANT. MESSAGES.>

"Oh, lord," whispered Fynn, as he sat back in the seat. On the screen, in glowing letters, read the latest from The Wrath:

WofK: I do not like it when you leave without saying goodbye, my little friend.

WofK: For this, I will kill someone tonight. Out of spite for you. Because of you.

WofK: When you run to your saviours- those you think will save you- I hope you know that we are in this together.

WofK: Connected by the Work. Connected by death. By Her.

Alfred placed a hand on Mickey's shoulder. "We will solve this mystery, Mister Fynn."

"He's going to kill someone because of me! And it's not like we can predict who, or, like-- Goddd!" He swiped at the mug, spilling the warm liquid on the cold stone floor, and causing it to shatter into a dozen pieces. "He's a force of nature. Utterly convinced of what he's doing. And he's focusing in on me. Making me the reason. Why? Why?"

"Master Bruce once told me that he could relate to you on a very simple level, Mister Fynn," said Pennyworth, as he shook his head at the newly made mess in the Cave, "because you are an investigator of the rawest kind. You search for the facts amongst the dirt, just as he did on many an occasion. We will solve this mystery."

<ONE. NEW. MESSAGE.>

WofK: Oh, and say hello to Mister Pennyworth for me, Mickey. Tell him I miss him so. Tell him we shall meet again soon, and that I look forward to it immensely.

"Oh, my," whispered Alfred.

[/b]

Batwoman didn't recognise the description. She had pressed the small pin-sized button on her glove that accessed the New Outsider's homebase, and a green door frame of crackling mystical energy had appeared from nowhere. Where the door would be was a wall of stars, and without hesitation, she stepped through. No longer did she need to rush to the Cave for intel, or scramble to find one of Bruce's spider-holes. Her computer was more advanced than the other station in the base, and she typed in her access code and went to work immediately. The description was sparse, but the costume detail? If this guy had been in Gotham before-- if this guy had stepped foot out in the open before-- she'd track him down. She tapped her fingers against the desk, and ground her teeth together.

"Come on. Hurry up." She tore out of her seat, and began to pace the room. Moments later the computer flashed up with information, and her brow creased together. "...What?"

[/b]

"I did my part," squawked Oswald Cobblepot, as he frantically moved about the room, "I told that Bat-freak you were where you weren't! And now he'll be gunning for me!"

"You're looking spry, Oswald," said Black Mask quietly, and Oswald immediately stopped hurrying about. "Regardless, I brought in a consultant to help out with my endeavours in Gotham. She'll be around for a while, and she'll help me with my... problem." He tapped his skull. "But I'll need somethings, and some peace before hand. The kind of peace I think ruling this city will bring. So fixing my face can wait."

The Flesh-Monger smiled from the shadows where she stood, and Penguin didn't bother to turn to look at her. "You're the boss, Mr Mask."

"Well, what are you going to do?! He'll come for me! You didn't see the way he acted! The... his... he was different!"

"Stop complaining, Oswald."

"I won't stop complaining! He'll kill me! He's different, ever since Ra's Al Ghul came and went from Gotham!" Black Mask looked over to the Flesh-Monger, who nodded curtly, and took a step toward the Penguin. "He'll burn my house to the ground and--" She pressed her finger against the back of Oswald's head, and he fell silent, his hands pawing at his face frantically. "Mmmmmfff!" He spun around to look at her, his mouth sealed over with his own flesh.

"Stop. Complaining. Oswald," repeated Black Mask, as he stood up from his seat. He took a flick-knife from his pocket and grabbed the Penguin by the skull. "I'll give you back your mouth, but if you keep talking, it'll be with this," he pressed the knife against the Penguin's neck, "and not with her, capische?"

"MMMFFF!" Black Mask looked back up to the Flesh-Monger, and nodded strictly, and she touched the Penguin's head again, and he gasped for breath. "Goddd.... Goddddd...!"

Elsewhere:

Batwoman stepped out of the inter-dimensional doorway that lead to the New Outsider's base, and was confronted by Robin, who was leaning against the wall. "Robin? What are you doing here? How did you know I'd--"

"I can't work with 'the Dark Knight'. He's a bit nuts, Batwoman. And me finding you? I'm a detective too, didn't you know?" he said with a smile. "Do you have a lead?"

"I think I know who has Batman," she replied, taking a grapnel from her belt, "so does this mean the Batwoman/Robin team is reunited?"

"Too right," said Tim, as he followed Batwoman back into the light of the illuminated night sky.

[/b]

Kirk Langstrom was being pumped full of sedatives. The Man-Bat serum was integrating fully with his system-- it wasn't required for his transformation anymore. He needed, and he would theorise this if he was conscious, a stresser-- or a wanting enough-- to transform. And he would. Simply. Unconscious, there were no stressers. There was no wanting. There was, however, a post-hypnotic suggestion, planted into his mind weeks ago, the same one that lead him to Doctor March, to help him with his research, the same one that unlocked the full potential of the Man-Bat inside him-- and the same one that made him open his eyes then and there, 24 hours after Dick Grayson's disappearance and Kirk's own defeat, and begin to transform, with a scent in his nostrils and a wanting to kill.

Overlooking the Narrows:

Jason Todd was thinking. He was thinking about torture, about his many deaths, and he was thinking about how he was letting Batman down. The ideal of Batman. He was thinking about what if Bruce Wayne could see him now, and how angered he would be. Tim was right. He was getting off-track, distracted, letting violence and pain get in the way of his righteous fury. He was letting Dick Grayson die with his ignorance to the cause. What would Bruce do? He'd tear the city apart in the hunt for his protege. Jason was the first. Dick was the second. But Dick was... "... the best."

He turned to leap off the building, and head back to Gotham. He'd need to figure out who's head to break open for information, but he'd do it, and he'd find Dick Grayson. He was about to leap when-- he was confronted by a sight that caused him to fall to the floor. "No."

The Wrath was standing before him, breathing heavily through his mask, his red cape flapping about in the wind. He said nothing. Just as he had done for the years Jason had been his captive. His torture victim.

"Oh, no," whispered the Dark Knight, as he struggled to climb to his feet. He felt weak, and the Wrath just stood there, seemingly staring at the boy he had broken into being the man he was today. Jason finally reached his feet, and the Wrath moved his cape to the side, revealing his daggers. Jason gritted his teeth. This was the man who had raped his childhood. Broken his soul into pieces and rendered him into being the monster he was today. He howled with anger, and sprinted toward the Wrath, and collided with the villain hard, sending them both flying off the edge of the building. "You-- don't-- get-- to--"

The Wrath headbutted the Dark Knight hard, causing Jason to lose his grip, and then the Wrath started to laugh-- earthy, guttural-- before grabbing a clotheslines and swinging into a building away from the Dark Knight. Jason opened up the wings underneath his arms and glided straight toward where the Wrath hit, only to land hard and discover the man was gone-- vanished from sight as soon as he landed.

"£$%^!" screamed Jason, as he spun around, fists raised, "£$%^!!"

Then Man-Bat ploughed into him, sending him through five dry-walls, and straight through a window--

Gotham Central:

"Man-Bat's escaped!" Harvey Bullock was loading up the shotgun as he rushed down to the squad car waiting down below. Gordon was following close behind, checking his service weapon. "He just opened his eyes, and through all the drugs he was on, transformed! Mauled a nurse, and flew out of a window!"

"I'm driving," growled Commissioner Gordon, as he climbed into the car. "The tracking tag we injected into his neck still ticking away?"

"Got a signal, Commish!" said Bullock, as the car shrieked out of the parking lot, "outside the Narrows-- he ain't moving no more!"

"Call Pet-- call SWAT. Get them mobilised. Extreme prejudice, Harv. We're taking Langstrom down."

Elsewhere:

"My friends... it's like we're stuck between a rock an' a hard place, you know what I'm saying? We got the £$%^ going down between Black Mask's False-Facers, the Jokerz, and what's-his-face, up on The Hill? Orpheus? There ain't any room for us small timers anymore, so why don't we do somethin' about that? Why don't we step up? Unionize."

Joey LaTiga was known throughout the Gotham Underground-- the criminal underworld of the city-- as a man who could get stuff done. He refused to take sides, and when wars raged, and hell came to Gotham, he knew where to lie low, and he knew when to pick himself up and get back on his feet. The bosses didn't care for him particularly, but he was the kind of guy who could get stuff done, and so they let him be that drifter. He was old-school Gotham, a hired hand on the speed dial of the the Three Families of the city. But with Thorne, Falcone and Maroni abdicating their thrones to Black Mask?

Enough was enough. He'd sent out word through his best men and women, his own network of criminals, and a large group, a few dozen, had turned up. He'd been careful to ensure no creeps playing both sides were on site, and he knew that this was what he had to do. There was a rumble of conversation echoing through the warehouse, and then someone stepped forward, and began to speak.

"If Black Mask heard what you were sayin', Joe... you'd be deader than dead within 24 hours. he rules the streets now. I ain't picking sides. Ain't my way, you all know that. But if word got out, you'd all be dead men."

Joey smiled. "Well look who it is. If you're so scared, why'd you turn up, old man?"

The man tipped his sunglasses down the tip of his nose, and smiled, striking a match and watching the fire burn at the tip. "Word of warning. Somethin' ain't right in this city no more. Getting rotten, dirtier than it has been for a damn long while. Get out whilst you can. I hear Keystone an' Central is suffering some kind of Cape void right now, why not relocate?"

"'Cause Gotham is my home, ya shmuck! I ain't abandoning a history just because the landscape's changing." Joey shook his head. "These sonsofbitches, they come and go. Black Mask'll be gone within a month, maybe two, an' someone else will come on in and try and fill his shoes. Crime-- good, ol' fashioned crime-- is getting diluted, year after year. We can reclaim some glory, you follow? Bring some of the good stuff back home."

The man took a moment to take this in. "Yeah, I follow. Good luck to you, LaTiga, you always wuz the best. Adios." The man threw the match to the ground, and walked out of the factory, leaving the gathered men and women looking to LaTiga for word of what to do next.

"Well. I guess if you're still here, we're in agreement? We need to organise."

"Oh, I agree with you, Mr LaTiga." A voice like fingers snailing down a chalkboard pierced the air, and guns were drawn within seconds. "You do need to organise. But if you think you have the ability to stand up in this new world order of Gotham, then you are so wrong, sir."

"Who the £$%^ are you?" shouted LaTiga, his revolver levelled at the black-clad man who descended from the rafters, seemingly floating on air. "And what the £$%^ do you want?"

The Prince of Lies smiled. "A few good men." His jaw began to creak, as he finished speaking. Bones seemed to grind within his face, flesh seemed to stretch, and his mouth seemed to grow-- until he opened it up, and revealed row after row of razor sharp teeth. An explosion of darkness flooded out from his throat, and shot across the room, engulfing all those near. LaTiga gagged as he caught the brunt, and doubled over as the pain became too much. Their screams joined together, a chorus of agony, and the Prince of Lies watched, and smiled, his arms rising up as the chaos he unleashed reached a hellish crescendo.

[/b]

Jason Todd must have blacked out for a moment. His thoughts wandered back through the years, and he remembered being strapped down, a drop of water crashing down onto his skull again and again and again as The Wrath watched, his mask revealing no emotion. Jason's sanity had frayed by that time. He imagined his captor laughing, smiling, sobbing, anything other than the void of expression that he was. He opened his eyes, and realised that he was flying through the air-- and that the Man-Bat was headed straight for him.

"£$%^!" He took a grapnel from his utility belt, and aimed it squarely at Langstrom, the grappling hook shooting straight for the mutated scientist's chest-- hitting hard, not piercing the flesh, but causing the monster to reel away, flapping his huge, leather wings and starting another attack run. Jason used his under-arm wings to glide against a building, turn around, and ready himself. "Come on, you bastard, come on. COME ON!"

Langstrom was flying faster than he had ever before-- something inside him raging and howling, wanting to devour every bit of blood and bone contained within the scarlet Batman-- he flapped his wings faster than the eye could follow, and was about to collide, about to rake his talons against Jason's chest, when the Dark Knight simply dropped off the ledge at the last moment, and a loud, agonizing crack filled the air as Langstrom's body hit concrete. As the animal scream pierced Jason's ears, Langstrom hitting the floor like a lump of meat and gristle, Gordon and Bullock screeched to a stop in their patrol car, rushing out of the vehicle and readying themselves.

Bullock levelled his weapon at the mewling Man-Bat, whilst the Dark Knight just watched. Gordon was the first to speak up. "Get out of here."

"Excuse me?"

"Y'heard!" said Gordon, cocking his shotgun, "get back to what you were doing-- and I know! But don't even try to be what you're not!"

Jason Todd stared at James Gordon for a lingering moment, and then glanced down at the twitching Man-Bat, unable to form a coherent thought through the pain wracking his broken and shattered legs. Back to the hunt then, thought the Dark Knight, as he fired a line up into the looming skyscrapers up ahead, back to the search for my replacement.

[/b]

Dick Grayson's stomach turned as he stumbled through the shadows. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know what he was doing. "Wh... what... what's going on?" The darkness clicked into focus, light dribbled through into his understanding, and he was suddenly standing before a man and a woman, and behind them, a boy. "No..."

"Here's my wallet, sir, take my wallet--" The wallet was held at arm's length, hands shaking, toward Dick.

"I wouldn't mind those pearls," snapped Dick, not understand what he was saying, "hand 'em over lady--!"

"Take your hands--!"

bang

Thomas Wayne fell to the floor, and when Martha Wayne fell toward her fallen husband--

bang

"Mom!" shouted the young Bruce Wayne, as Dick levelled the gun at the boy's temple. "Mom... dad..."

"Shut up, kid."

bang

"Gggnoooo!" Dick Grayson snapped back into reality, Brimstone looming over him, his fingers lingering just inside his skull. "You... you... you..."

"Where's your bravado now, boy? That's just one scenario I can place you inside. You don't even know it's fake, that's how my illusions work. You truly believe you are what I make you think you are. It's a wonderful torture. Well, Boy Wonder? Where's your bravado?"

"It's..." Dick grunted, spittle falling from his lips. "It's..." He grit his teeth, before his eyes locked onto Lucian's with a steely intensity. "Right up your--!"

"Enough of that. This will be the last moment of respite I provide you with. This is the end, Richard. A self perpetuating nightmare, spurned on by your own subconscious. Die a thousand deaths. Thank you."

Lucian shoved his hands, up to the wrist, inside Dick's head, and the young Batman screamed until his lungs burnt, and then reality swirled around and he was lost...

[/b]

"The computers in the Outsiders base are state-of-the-art. So state-of-the-art, that most major intelligence agencies don't even have access to them. The amount of information processed by the servers are... monumental. Without precedence. So really, if there's something worth knowing, or was once worth knowing, it would be stored away in the drives. Anyway," Batwoman was flying across the skyline, the night waning, but the moon still high in the sky, bleeding into the obsidian darkness of the night so far, "I input some sparse details collected on Dick's attacker-- and I came up with a name."

"Name being?" asked Robin, hot on her heels, feeling as if he was flying, and feeling the loss of Dick Grayson every second that he was out here.

"Nicholas Lucian."

"Who?"

Batwoman grunted as she hit a rooftop, rolled forward, and then came to a stop. "Currently both a recluse and a billionaire."

"Aren't they always?" said Robin, before smirking uncomfortably and motioning for Batwoman to continue.

"Lucian was into all kind of stuff. He was a savant, could predict stock trends like nobodies business, the youngest self-made billionaire in all of America, not just Gotham. But then came the scandals, the lawsuits, accusations that lead him into just... leaving civilisation. Dropping off the edge of the world."

"When was this?"

"Hh." Babs took a breath, her back to the Boy Wonder, "twenty five years ago."

"Twenty five? Wait... wait..." Robin began to pace, "did he have something to do with the Waynes?"

"Thomas Wayne was the one who levelled the accusations at Lucian. Paedophilia. Dirty, disgusting stuff. Old Nick was trying to set himself up, it seems, as a sort of... new age Alastair Crowley. According to interviews from back then, Wayne had been invited to a high society party organised by Lucian and then taken aside-- and shown all sorts of black magic stuff, stuff that made Wayne sick on a fundamental level. Lucian wanted Wayne to be part of it, to be part of this game he was playing. Part of some secret society he was forming, but Wayne was made of sterner stuff like that. Had Lucian torn to shreds by the courts. They couldn't make anything stick, of course--"

"Of course."

"--The evidence vanished, witnesses forgot, and Thomas and Martha Wayne were gunned down in an alleyway on the way back from the movies."

"You're not saying--!"

"No, no, I'm not saying the two are connected. There is a possibility that Lucian had a hand in the murder of Bruce Wayne's parents, but I'm not willing to say either way. Lucian went into hiding, and if the description is right, and this is that old, sick, pervert... he's aged damn well. And he has our boy."

Robin cracked his knuckles. "Then we get him back."

"Yes we do," repeated Batwoman. "The case is afoot, Robin. Let's go."