Issue 1: "The Great Unknown, Pt. 1: Breaking Down"

We’re all out of second chances
And all out of one more times
There’s not a word we haven’t said
Nothing we haven’t tried

My bones are achin’
From the weight I’m holdin’ now
I’ve took all that I’m taking
I’m breaking, breaking down

Hilary Lindsey, Troy Verges and Angelo “Three Mississippi”

"You're not concentrating, Dick!" Bruce exclaimed sharply, as the projectile passed within a fingerbreadth of the teenager's left eye. "Stop daydreaming, and pay attention!"

"Lighten up, Bruce," the youth shot back, flipping neatly out of harm's way. "I got it cov-agh!" He gasped as a second missile clipped his upper arm. Concentration rattled, Dick tumbled from his perch, fifteen feet above where his mentor stood. He spun into a double somersault, to land solidly on the exercise mat below. He met Bruce's angry glower with one of his own.

"I told you," Bruce started to say.

Dick cut him off. "You upped the danger level on me!"

"Is that what you're going to do in the field? Start whining when your enemy pulls something unexpected?"

The young man bristled under his instructor's questions. "You really have to ask that? After six years of working together, you really-you're serious. Aren't you? You don't trust me to watch your back." He shook his head in disgust. "I don't believe this."

Bruce turned away. "If you're taking reckless chances with your own neck," he said hollowly, "how can I possibly expect you to look out for mine?"

That brought him up short. He drew a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. "Because," he grinned, "you always told me to put other people's safety ahead of my own, and," he continued seriously, "I do."

Bruce started to nod, and then stopped as he witnessed an unholy gleam of mirth spark in his partner's eyes.

"I just have to remember," he added, "that not everyone can move as quickly as I can. After all, when it's been statistically proven that the human body slows down... as it gets older-HEY!"

A heavy medicine ball sailed past his head, missing him by inches. Dick caught it in midair. "You trying to kill me?"

"Me?" Bruce asked innocently. "I thought for sure you'd be able to dodge anything these tired old arms could throw at you-" he ducked to avoid the flying capoeira kick, and seized hold of Dick's ankle as it passed harmlessly into the air where his head had been an instant earlier.

Dick angled his descent, hitting the mat hands-first, while simultaneously kicking Bruce in the throat with the side of his free foot. Bruce fell back, gasping, releasing him. An instant later, Dick hurled himself at his mentor, and the two fell grappling to the ground, amid jeers and laughter.

Barbara looked up from the cave's computer. "Joker's down at the docks," she reported. "I might as well call it in."

Dick, balancing on the uneven parallel bars, glanced briefly in her direction. "May as well," he agreed. "It's not like he'd let either of us step in and help or anything."

Barbara sighed. "I don't get it. We're backup, right?" She didn't wait for a reply. "So then why doesn't he let us back him up at a time like this?" Her hand arced before her in a sweeping gesture. "First, every street punk who wants to make a name for himself by taking down Batman seems to pick THIS week to do it, then Joker breaks out... then Joker breaks a whole slew of crazies out of Arkham. And the worse things get--"

"The more he looks for excuses to keep us safe," Dick nodded. "That's Bruce. He couldn't protect one family when he was a kid, so now he's going to make darned sure he doesn't lose us... even if it kills him."

Barbara shook her head. "That makes no sense."

"No?" Dick dismounted, somersaulting into a solid landing. "Okay, let's try this one then... I've been on reserve duty for the last few months. First night out, I get three different mooks taking potshots at me, which I manage to dodge, thank-you very much. One guy manages to graze my arm," he indicated the bandage taped about his left forearm, "and he decides I'm not up to snuff and tells me to lie low."

"He told me the same thing," Barbara pointed out, "And for a lot less. But if you could perform that routine, even with that flesh wound, then..."

Dick grinned. "He'd just say that uneven parallel bars don't fight back when you jump all over them." He continued.

"You've been training for two years, and really only going out in costume for... what? A year, now? Year-and-a-half?" He shook his head. "We go out doing what we do and mean guys with guns are part and parcel of the territory. Bruce doesn't think we've got what it takes to bring Joker down, and the only way to prove that we do, is to actually bring him down. And right now, Bruce doesn't want to give us that chance. I know. It stinks." He grinned. "But, hey. You knew what Bruce was like when you signed on. I had to learn it gradually."

Barbara laughed despite herself. "Better hit the showers, Boy Wonder. Unless," she added, wrinkling her nose, "that's a new weapon you're testing out."

"You wound me," Dick pantomimed being stabbed to the heart.

"You wound my olfactory system. Phew!"

"Okay, okay," Dick said laughing. "I'll go get cleaned up. Just for you, though. Wish you'd do the same for me," he added wistfully.

Barbara sighed. "By the time we're old enough for the age gap not to matter, we'll both be with other people."

"Keep saying it, Babs. Maybe one day, one of us will be convinced."

When Dick exited the showers, Barbara was nowhere to be found. Had she gotten bored and gone home? No. Her blue convertible was still parked where she had left it... but her bat-cycle was not. She wouldn't have... The thought froze in his mind as he noticed that her costume was missing from its locker.

Oh... crud. She’s supposed to be the one who holds me back, he thought in disbelief. Then he considered. The shootings, the rioting, Batman’s current level of fatigue… All of that combined just might have been enough for his teammate to decide to shoulder some of Bruce’s current workload, whether he wanted her to or not. But… Batgirl’s never faced Joker before…

Dick Grayson pondered the situation for about five minutes before settling on a course of action.

What was taking Batman so long? Robin wondered as he crouched in the shadows behind the warehouse that Bruce had specified. He toggled the heads-up display, and the hour and minute obediently flashed before his mask lenses. He had been waiting less than twenty minutes, but it felt like hours.

It was too quiet. His ears took in and summarily dismissed the myriad sounds of the docks by night: the water lapping gently against the dock pilings and rocky bank of the Gotham River, the occasional scuffle of work boots on cobbled stone as their owner hurried to or from some point or other. The ones to look out for are the ones that are trying to move quietly, he reminded himself. Those are the people who have something to hide. The wind shifted, bringing with it the rancid odor of fish left out too long in the late-spring humidity, and Robin nearly retched as his stomach battled to keep its contents within. He almost missed hearing the moan, so low it was scarcely more than a sigh, as it escaped from one of the windows of the adjacent warehouse. For a moment, he was sure that it was the wind again, but he realized that the sound was coming from the wrong direction.

He hesitated. Batman had ordered him to stay put. But Batman didn't know about this, he thought. The suit carries a responsibility. When I put it on, I have an obligation to help those who need it. He froze. But, Batman gave me the suit. I have a duty to follow his orders. Robin frowned. I also have a duty to evaluate each situation and react accordingly. He's got a partner, not a puppet. I can't just let someone die because he ordered me to stay put.

Robin hesitated. If he could hear what was going on inside the warehouse, there was every possibility that those inside would also hear him, should he try to signal Batman. From his utility belt, he extracted a narrow stylus and quickly rubbed the tip against the rough brick wall closest to him. To the naked eye, the surface of the wall looked the same. But, once Batman switched to full-spectrum lenses--as he would, if he did not see Robin waiting for him at the designated meeting point--the message that Dick had just scrawled for him in ultra-violet ink would be clearly discernable.

His mind made up, Dick fired off a grappling hook, which caught the edge of the roof of a nearby storage facility. As quietly as he could, he made his way to the top, and leaped lightly from building to building until he stood atop the warehouse from which he had heard the moan. He lowered himself cautiously to the window and looked inside.

Batgirl stood in the centre of the room, her hands bound above her and secured to a large hook suspended from the ceiling. Her costume was torn in several places and the exposed flesh was bruised, as though someone had attacked her with a blunt instrument. From his vantage point, Robin could see a half dozen men in the room with her. At least two of them were holding baseball bats, which certainly looked capable of inflicting that sort of damage. As he watched, one of them approached the captive vigilante with a leer.

"Peters," a voice called. "Don't hurt the bait."

Peters took Batgirl's chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger. "Don't worry, Hanrahan," he grinned. "Ain't gonna do nothing permanent." As he spoke, his other hand attached itself to the young woman's shoulder, and slowly began to roam further downward.

Batgirl struggled faintly. Robin could see that her ankles were tied together and fastened to an eye-ring bolted to the floor. That explained why she hadn't already leveled a kick at the man. The youth seethed, as Peters continued to speak softly.

"Now, Sweetheart, you heard the man. I don't want to hurt you, none. You be nice to me and I'll make this go easy for you. Whaddaya say?" He pulled her face closer to his as he leaned in to kiss her.

Batgirl suddenly jerked her head back and out of his surprised grip. Before he could recover, she spat full in his face. Peters colored as his cohorts bellowed with laughter.

"That's showing him, Girlie!" One guffawed.

Peters backhanded her across the face. She swallowed a cry, and a trickle of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. He pulled back to hit her again when one of the others frowned.

"Hold it!" The new man shouted. "There's someone at the window."

Robin froze. How... His shadow...on the floor. Of all the stupid... careless...He tried to duck out of sight, but the damage was done.

The second man pulled out a pistol and held it to Batgirl's head. "You may as well come in," he called. "Unless you want me to hit the girl with something a little more serious than a Louisville Slugger."

He only hesitated a moment before pushing the window the rest of the way open and dropping lightly to the floor. Immediately, two burly men rushed forward. Each gripped one of his arms with both hands, while a third relieved him of his utility belt.

"Fine," Robin said irritably. "You got me. I surrender. Now let her go." He didn't seriously expect them to obey, but he had to make the offer.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, from an adjacent room that Robin had not seen earlier, came a sound that made the Boy Wonder's blood run cold.

"HAHAHAHahahahaha!" No. Not him… The Joker pushed the door open wider and strode fully into view.

Where was Robin? The Caped Crusader took stock of the alleyway angrily. He had told the boy to wait for him. With the carnage raging in the city, it had taken nearly forty-five minutes for him to traverse the four miles that had separated him from the rendezvous point. Along the way, he had encountered the scions of Gotham’s most infamous organized crime families, street punks, junkies, riffraff, and somewhat worryingly, normally law-abiding citizens who were taking advantage of the prevailing air of lawlessness and vandalizing and looting at will.

Batman hadn’t slept in over fifty hours. He had been relying mostly on bottled water and trail mix for sustenance. He’d told himself that it was all worthwhile so long as his partners were safely out of harm’s way. Instead, their actions had landed them directly in the thick of things.

He glanced about him and spotted ghostly writing glowing on a nearby wall. He read it and was unable to suppress an oath. Joker…

Robin was going to die. He knew it. He was trying to roll with the punches, doing his best to dodge repeated blows from ‘Krusty-with-the-crowbar’, but his injuries were beginning to tell on him. Even if he somehow managed to escape, they were only going to start in on Batgirl again. He had to stall as long as he could, stay alive, give his audience a good show and hope Batman turned up soon. And what if, when he does, he’s in worse shape than you are? You know how hard he’s been working lately. That was a moot point, right now. The only thing that mattered was staying alive--and keeping Batgirl alive--as long as he could. Which, judging by the blows now raining down faster and harder than before, wasn’t going to be very much longer at all.

And then, Batman was there. Robin sensed, rather than saw or heard him. He was barely conscious, but he could hear the screams and the whimpers, and they weren’t flying from his lips anymore. Batman was there. That was his last coherent thought, before his world went dark.

Two days later, Dick ventured into Bruce’s study. The shades were drawn, the lights dimmed. Bruce sat at his writing desk, elbows on the blotter, hands steepled beneath his chin. “I’m sorry,” he ventured.

Bruce shook his head. “You can’t blame yourself. Thanks to Joker, over a hundred people died that night. Julie happened to be one of them. I suppose,” he said tonelessly. “I needed to be reminded of the oath that I took that night, to make Gotham a place where people could walk its streets in perfect safety again. I was prepared to betray that purpose for… purely selfish reasons.”

Dick frowned. “Hold on, Bruce. I know you’re hurting right now, but you can’t just--”

“Joker brutalized you and Batgirl in order to get to me. He shot scores of people for the same reason. And had he known that one of his victims was someone important to me… Dick, I don’t want to think what he might have done. I can’t…” He broke off, and then steadied his voice.

“If there’s one thing that’s been made very clear to me, it’s that anybody connected with me is a potential target. I can’t protect the city knowing that I’m endangering those closest to me. I can’t afford any… new attachments. As to those that already exist, I’ve already told this to Barbara. Now I’m telling you. Effective immediately, Robin and Batgirl have flown their last. My decision is final.”

Dick stared at his mentor in angry disbelief. “You can’t do that. You haven’t the right…”

“I have the responsibility. And I’m taking it. As of this moment, there is no more Robin.”