Ever since he was small, Duke Thomas was afraid of heights.

He never liked them, a fact his parents became painfully aware of before he turned three. Whenever they would venture anywhere above two stories, Duke would become a crying mess, soaking the collar of his shirt with snot and tears. It didn't improve over the years despite his parents attempts to sooth him, and by the time Duke turned ten, they'd given up ever trying to coax the child to anything higher than a playground slide. It'd become a trait they'd accepted as a permanent fact about their son; Duke Thomas was the smartest in his class, loved Lord of the Rings and hated heights.

Duke wondered if they'd recognize him now, perched on the top of a twentieth story building. He doubted it; they didn't recognize much these days. Including each other. Including him.

It was late, late enough that most of the clubs downtown were closed. The building Duke chose was nowhere near that area, instead situated between the docks and the Narrows. It was an office building of some kind, skylights decorating the top of the structure, and Duke wondered if any of the workers there knew that vigilantees often used the building as a vantage point. He kept still for a few seconds, taking in the light breeze that came from the harbor. It smelled of dead fish.

His parents told him that the harbor used to be one of Gotham's biggest tourist attractions. Duke never quite believed them; the only tourist attractions Gotham offered these days were the locations of famous Talon murders like Tony Zucco or Cobblepot. The idea that Gotham was anything more than the Owl's nest seemed impossible.

Duke supposed that was part of the reason he was doing this. Gotham was his home. And he wanted it to do better.

He sighed, reaching into his back pocket for the grappling hook Oracle gave him almost four months ago. When he'd become an official member of the resistance instead of some kid leading an army with no direction. He could still remember what Oracle said to him in that moment, the words she uttered when the grappling hook had been placed in his shaking hands.

"You're young Duke. Very young. As young as Bluebird and Spoiler. Do you understand what that means to the Owls?"

"Nothing." It seemed the likely answer. The Talon's were ruthless. He doubted they would spare him just because of his age. So he was rather surprised when Oracle shook her head.

"No. It means they will try to convert you." She reached forward, curling Duke's fingers so they gripped the grappling hook tighter. When she looked up back at him, her glasses were perched on the edge of her nose. "They will try to warp your mind into what they believe is right. They will try to make you into a Talon. And I won't have you going out on the field without being aware of that fate. Or any of your friends."

"They won't be able to change us," Duke said, lifting his chin. Oracle just reached forward to adjust his fingers on the grappling gun. Right there on the handle, he could read the inscription. A name. When Oracle spoke next, her voice lacked her usual edge.

"That's what he said too."

Duke looked down at his grappling gun, running his finger over the old inscription. The word "Red" was faded with time, but he could still make out the shaky letters in the grip. He looked at the window behind him and tried to picture one of the Talon's he'd seen in his place, a young scared kid trying to do some good. Who had Red been? Did he hate heights too? What did they say to him to give it all up?

Duke found himself unable to picture the kid who'd once been in his place. Instead, the glass showed him nothing but his own reflection.

He shuddered, and held up the grappling gun. When he pressed the trigger, it latched onto the building across from him with ease, gripping one of the support beams tight. He wrapped the strap on the holster around his wrist, and tugged the line. It held steady.

Duke looked once more at his reflection. In the dim glow of the building's skylights, his skin looked drier, the veins in his arms seemed more noticeable, his eyes looked almost milky white. Like he was one of them.

With that thought, Duke leaped, leaving the image of a possible future behind him.

When Duke was seven, his parents found a body in a locked fridge.

He remember the incident clearly. A madman with a purple and green suit had taken over the city, ruling it like a king. His parents barricaded themselves inside their apartment building during the turmoil, keeping to rationed food while the world became a zoo outside. Duke remember the month well, the smell of fresh paper clear in his mind despite the passing years. He remembered working through puzzle after puzzle, crossword after crossword, working his pencil down to the nub before pulling out another.

What's a six letter word for hit or miss?

What has one eye but cannot see?

How do you stop a madman?

His parents worried, of course. A child with the ambition to stop a monster; it wasn't comforting. Whenever they left the house, they had his grandma watch him like a hawk, aware that while she couldn't physically stop him from leaving, he scorn was enough to hold him back. When his parents left the house to look for supplies, their departing words were always layered with two meanings. Be good while we're gone was be good if we don't come back.

It set him on edge. The times his parents were out were spent solving more puzzles than normal, his nose almost touching the paper pad as he scribbled out possible answers. The faster he solved them, the more he'd know the answer to. The more likely he'd be able to beat the king in the castle. The sooner his parents could leave the house without the fear they'd never come back.

That lasted for three weeks before his parents came home with a body.

They tried to hide it from him. When they came back empty handed but exhausted, he almost believed their lie that they'd found nothing of note out in the wild. It was only later, when they sent him to bed early to talk to his grandma alone that he'd started suspecting they were hiding something.

He'd snuck out his room to eavesdrop, pressing his head against the door to the kitchen to get better audio. His parents talked in hushed voices, the kind they only used when discussing adult things, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on the noises more.

"We thought it was a big box at first." That was his mother's voice, the same perfect articulation present even in times like this. "Something from a construction site that was swept away when it got flooded . It was only once we got closer that we realized it was far too nice to be anything they'd have out there."

"You should have seen it, Mom." There was Duke's father, his Gotham accent as thick as ever. Probably the best piece of tech I've seen outside of work in almost a decade. I thought I was hallucinating at first when the stumbled upon the thing. When I realized it was real, Jade had to hold me back from checking it out."

"Good thing I did," his mother said, irritation clear in her tone. "You clearly weren't thinking straight. Running up to touch strange technology. It's like you've learned nothing in the last month."

"Oh I've learned something; even in the most dire of situations nothing can kill my scientific curiosity."

The groans of the two Thomas women echoed from the kitchen. It was a familiar noise, something Duke hadn't heard since everything went wrong, and he found a shard of comfort in it, like a vocal safety blanket. He pressed himself closer to the door.

"Anyway." Duke's mother again, her voice serious once more. "After we checked for any traps, we decided to open it, just to see if there was anything worth using. The lock was rather rusted, and once Caleb kicked it a few times, it opened easy. When the cold air rushed out, I was sure we had stumbled on one of his traps after all."

"Was it one of his traps?" His Grandmother's voice was the softest of them all. The pause the followed her question caused Duke to go stock still.

"It was, but we weren't the ones who set it off." His father sounded tired when he spoke next, the light hearted tone from earlier gone. "There was a guy in there, young too, maybe twenty if I had to guess. Frozen solid, only in a pair of black pants. No ID or anything. Given the crystals, Jade thinks he's been in there since this fiasco began."

"Oh Jesus."

"We brought him back with us. Couldn't just leave him there for the animals; wouldn't be right. Wrapped him in a trash bag in the apartment downstairs in the meantime, at least until we find a place to bury him."

Duke stepped away from the door, clutching his chest. The room was almost colder, an uncomfortable chill creeping in his bones. There was a dead man downstairs. A dead man who'd been frozen alive by the man who called himself king.

Duke tried to imagine what it'd be like to be locked in a fridge with no means of escape and felt the sudden need to vomit.

Thankful the indoor plumbing was still working in their apartment. After emptying the contents of his stomach, Duke headed back to his room, closing the door behind him. When he sat back in his desk chair, the first thing he reached for was one of his puzzle books. The latest riddle he was working on looked sent shudders down his spine.

What bites with no teeth?

With a shaking hand, Duke wrote one word underneath the sentence.

Frost.

He was halfway to the docks when he noticed someone following him.

A little more than a year ago, back when he was still green, he would have never noticed them. In those days, he would have thought little of a flash of purple out of the corner of his eye or the hum of a taser just loud enough to hear. He would have assumed it was in his head.

That was when he was privileged enough to ignore the world around him. Before the gas that flooded the city streets and the mad cackle that still haunted his nightmares.

Duke stopped running on top of the building he was on. He thought about calling out to his pursuers but decided better of it, instead waiting for the moment the inevitably revealed themselves. He didn't have to wait long.

"Birds on your left, Newbie!" Duke took one step to the side and watched as two blurs of color sailed past him, one purple, one blue. The swung across the roof entirely, their grappling guns hanging onto one of the buildings across from them. When they met the end of the roof, they both let go, landing on the cement below. Harper's boots met the ground first, her landing somewhat jerky as she transferred from free fall to ground. Stephanie had no such problems, turning up in a flip before she made contact with the cement.

They were an odd pair, Duke thought. Where Stephanie radiated sunshine, Harper projected snark. Where Stephanie fought with grace and style, Harper fought with fists and rage. Back when he first met them, Duke was at a loss to whatever they had in common. He'd mentioned it to Isabella once, back when he'd only known them by code names.

"You're simplifying them," she had said. "On the surface, yeah, they're different, but that's just looking on the outer layer. Buying into the stereotype of preppy girl and eggy girl. And that's cheap. If they're working together, they gotta have more in common than that. Look for it."

Duke looked ever since and while he hadn't solve the riddle that was their friendship entirely, he'd manage to discover a few clues. A shared background. A sense of humor. A love of classic cartoons. And a lot of rage.

"You've barely been at this more than I have," Duke said, looking at Harper. She was dressed in her usual patrol outfit, a long sleeved blue shirt and athletic black pants. On top of those she wore knee and elbow pads. Her mask, hand crafted by the teen herself, glowed in the darkness.

"True, but at least I have the sense to wear mask," she said, pointing at his face. "Look, you have great cheekbones, don't get me wrong, but showing them off as you glide from building to building is gonna get the wrong kind of attention."

Duke tugged on his hood, his face suddenly feeling bare. Despite hashing through this argument a dozen times, he still always felt more exposed when Harper brought it up. "Because a mask will clearly hide my vigilante involvement."

"It won't at this point, but it'll make you look like an actual vigilante," She took a step forward, holding up her hands in a box like she was a fashion designer.. "You could get a mask over your mouth like Steph. I'd hook it up with voice modifiers and everything." Her eyes lit up and a grin stretched across her face. "I could make you sound like fucking Darth Vader."

It was tempting. If Duke was a little less jaded he'd probably actually go for it. Unfortunately, reality got in the way. "If you gave me a voice modifier mask, it'd just be another thing for them to beat the shit out of me with."

"But you'd look cool while doing it!"

"While I love our snappy banter," Stephanie finally piped in. "Now isn't exactly the time." She tugged down the black face mask she had over her mouth. It was a simple piece of cloth, athletic wear like the rest of Stephanie's costume. Ideal for movement, terrible for taking hits. Like Harper, she protection was limited to knee pads and whatever durable material Oracle could snag them. The cape and hood she wore made her look more protected than she actually was. "You ready for this, Duke?"

"I think so," Duke said, shifting his weight onto his other foot. "I just got to give the gang a heads up and we'll be good." He looked towards Harper. "Is Oracle sure her server can send out the message without getting hacked before hand? Because if they get it before it's suppose to be announced-"

Harper held up a hand. "Oracle's got this. I helped her with the software and everything." She pushed her mask up so it rested on her forehead and winked at Duke. "Any Talon who tries to hack it outside the direct server is gonna get a fried hard drive and Rick Astley on permanent loop."

Duke stared at her. "You're going to Rick Roll the Court of Owls?"

Harper gestured towards Stephanie. "It was her idea. She said it'd piss them off."

Stephanie smirked at him but it didn't reach her eyes. Duke was once again reminded how much older she was to the cause than the rest of them. While only four years older than Duke, she'd been involved in Oracle's activities from as young as thirteen. What had she seen over all those years? Why did she join so young?

Who had she lost?

"Well, we gotta get going," Stephanie said. She reached forward, placing her hand on Duke's shoulder. "You're going to knock this out of the park. Just keep safe and don't do anything foolish." Her mouth curled up into an almost authentic grin. "That's Harper's job." She lifted her arm and shot her grappling gun off at a nearby building, taking off into a run. Within seconds, she was leaping off the building, her purple cape fluttering in the breeze behind her.

"I'm not foolish!" Harper glowered at the space where Stephanie once was before shooting Duke a thumbs up. She followed after the other vigilante, pushing up her mask right before she fell into freefall. Duke watched them until he lost the pair to the shadows.

Duke wondered if he'd ever be able to watch them soar above the city without worrying if they'd fall.

When Duke was seven, he watched the dead come back to life.

It'd been a few hours after his parent's found the body in the fridge. It was late at night, the city almost silent. Duke had fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of working on his puzzles, his left cheek covered in ink from the last riddle he'd solved. He would have stayed like that the entire night if he hadn't been woken up by something downstairs.

His eyes opened at once, the fear of the last few weeks forcing him to give up the habit of slow awakenings. The noise was hard to place at first, a crinkling sound that reminded Duke of plastic wrap. He got out of his chair and laid down on the floor, pressing his ear against the wood in an attempt to hear better. When he heard nothing, he sat back up.

"I'm hearing-" he cut off his words as he heard the noise again. Duke recognized it this time; scratching. He pressed himself to the floor again, and this time, when the voice continued, he felt his stomach turn.

"No, no, no no," he whispered. There was no way someone could be downstairs. His parents were the only ones with the key; the apartment owner had given it to them when they left for the other side of town when the hurricane started. The windows were still barred down there from the storm and Duke doubted anyone would be able to get through them despite minor wear and tear. Nothing could be moving down there. The only thing occupying that apartment was a dead body. For it to be making that noise, well, it was impossible.

Yet, the scratching continued. The sound of ripping plastic began once more. Heavy breathing echoed from below.

Duke stood up. He walked towards his bed and reached underneath for the baseball bat hiding underneath. Then, after slipping on a pair of shoes, he headed for the kitchen grabbing the spare key to both his apartment and the one below. He opened the door with trembling hands, opening it only a crack to he could slip out and take his bat with him. The hallway was empty and so was the stairwell. By the time he made it to the apartment downstairs, the only thing he heard was his own footsteps.

Duke looked at the door in front of him. If his parents knew he left the apartment, they'd be furious. He'd be grounded for sure.

Duke didn't care. If something did manage to get in downstairs, Duke was sure it could be no one other than the Riddler. And unlike his parents, Duke was ready for him.

With that thought, Duke held his bat in one hand and lifted the key to the door with the other. The lock opened with a quick twist, and the door creaked open from the softest of pushes. It was dark in the apartment and Duke prodded open the door to let a little more light from the hallway in. It didn't do much, just letting in the slightest of glows, but it was enough to spot the ripped remains of a trash bag that laid on the floor.

"Hello."

Duke could have sworn he jumped almost a foot in the air. He swung towards the direction of the noise, not taking any care to really aim. It connected against something, a sharp crack echoing in the air, and Duke heard a cry of pain before there was a thud against the floor. He held up the bat again, arms still shaking, when a foot flew into his sight of vision, kicking the bat out of his hands and sending it flying across the room. Duke's hands fell down to block the hit he expected to come, his eyes shutting closed, and when it didn't he opened one eye.

The man in front of him was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties if that. He was crouched on the floor with his hands up, and Duke watched as he lowered them slow enough not to cause a panic. His hair was jet black, his shoulders were wide, and if it wasn't for his milky eyes and too pale skin, he would of been handsome. Scars littered his exposed skin, a tapestry of violence that didn't match his warm smile, and Duke was torn between staying right in place or running as fast as he could.

"You have very good aim."

It took Duke a few seconds to find his words. "Thanks. I used to play t-ball." The tremor in his voice was obvious, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

"Used to?"

Duke looked at him. The stranger seemed genuinely interested in his answer, which caught the seven year old rather off guard. Despite the alarm bells that were still ringing in his head, he spoke anyway. "Kids made fun of me cus I liked books."

The man laughed. His voice was gravelly with disuse. "My son likes to read too. There's no shame in that. Their loss." He tilted his head and it reminded Duke of one of this birds he saw in the nature documentaries they played at school. "What's your name?"

"My parents say I'm not suppose to talk to strangers." It came out automatic and a small part of Duke realized how stupid he sounded saying it after he'd carried on a minute of conversation. The man didn't call him out on it though, instead looking past Duke like he expected someone there.

"That's smart advice. May I ask where your parents are?"

Duke wasn't sure if telling him where they were was a smart idea, but it seemed better than implying he was alone if the man turned out to be actually dangerous."Upstairs. Wide awake. Cleaning." Duke thought leaving out the detail they were passed out was wise.

The man in front of him didn't seem to buy it given the amusement on his face. He stood up and took a step back, a move so he wasn't crowding Duke's personal space. "Well then. That explains how I got here."

Got here? Duke turned his head to look around the room and spotted the empty trash bag again. With that reminder in his field of vision, everything came together like one of the riddles in his puzzle books.

"You were the dead guy they found."

Duke clamped his hands out his mouth. Was it polite to call someone dead? It didn't seem so. If his mother knew that he was rude to someone, he'd be grounded from tv for a week. However, the man in front of him took it in stride, just smiling down at the boy in front of him.

"I believe so, though I'm not quite as dead as they thought. My name is Bruce."

Bruce. Duke knew that name from somewhere though he couldn't place it. He lowered his hands from his mouth. "Are you a meta-human?"

"That's a big word for a six year old."

Duke flushed, clenching his fists at his sides. "I'm seven! And that doesn't answer my question."

"Point taken." Bruce's smile fell, replaced by something more regretful than anything else. "I'm not a meta-human. I wish I was, to be honest. It'd be easier." Duke began to open his mouth to ask another question but Bruce cut him off. "Now I have a question for you. What is going on right now outside?"
Duke told him.

Bruce's expression was still for most of the explanation. There were moments when his lips twitched or his brow furrowed, but they were minor changes in his face. As Duke when through the killings and the riddles, the man kept quiet, only speaking up to ask an occasional question. It was only once Duke reached the end of his tale where he talked about his plans to take on the Riddler himself that there was any change in Bruce's expression and even then it was only in his eyes. They looked cold.

"I have to go," Bruce said after the explanation was done, heading towards the door. Duke watched as he pushed past him, heading towards the hallway.

"Are you going to stop him?"

"That's the goal." His voice came out as a growl.

The sentence Duke said next was one spoken out of childhood innocence, an aspiration to do good, a belief that he could fight a dragon and win. At the time, it meant nothing more than a wish to help, to protect the city he grew up in. It would be years before he'd look back upon it and realize the weight of what he'd offered.

"Can I help?"

The man stopped in the hallway for a second. He didn't look back at Duke. There was a moment where Duke thought he would say yes, but then Bruce cleared his throat.

"Tell your parents I'm thankful for the rescue."

He left after that. The next morning, Duke would tell his parents what transpired, watching as their gazes grew from curious to horrified. Within a day, the Riddler would be dead, his body found shred into ribbons in the Gotham's harbor. Within a week of the end of Zero Year, his parents had the apartment on the market. Within a month, they'd be living halfway across the city.

"Duke," his father would say almost a year later. "If you ever see anyone who looks like that again run and do not look back."

It was in this way, Duke was introduced to the legacy of Court of Owls.

Sometimes, when he was alone, Duke dreamt what would have happened if his life had gone differently. If the man had looked at a seven year old child and saw a soldier. If he'd been whisked away from his parents on a desire to help, if the man had lured him to a different life on the promise he could help more. If the man had been as dark as the man he'd one day become.

Those dreams usually ended with blood on his hands, and blue veins visible under his skin.

When Duke arrived at the docks, they were already waiting.

They were in a warehouse, one of the old abandoned ones from Gotham's glory days. It was a bare place, the only major piece of furniture the large crate that served as a stage in the center. His inner circle stood on the top of the structure, Riko and Isabella the most noticeable, and when Duke dropped down from the skylight to land on the crate himself, the room's frantic chatter vanished at once for mystified silence.

There were dozens of them, all dressed in red, eyes covered, ready to fight. They took up every surface of the warehouse, some standing on the floor, some seated on boxes, some perched on the steel beams that supported the ceiling. He could recognize some of them even with their disguises. They were kids in his classes. They were kids on the streets. They were kids who refused to let their city fester any longer.

"Birds!" Duke said, holding his hand up in the air. His voice rang throughout the space and Duke was thankful he'd taken public speaking class when he got the chance. "Before we were born, Gotham has been at war."

He took a deep breath, standing up straight. The silence in the room send shivers down his spine. "You all know it. Our parents know it. Any person who has lived in Gotham in the last century knows it. Sure, we try to ignore it, try to pretend that is isn't happening, but that doesn't make it any less true. For decades, the Court of Owl has sat on it's perch. And we have been the mice who feed their Talons day after day."

There was a murmur of agreement throughout the room. Duke shot a look at Riko and when she gave him a thumbs up, he continued. "We've all lost someone to them one way or another. Mothers. Fathers. Siblings. Folks who made bad choices to try to stay afloat in this hellhole and got killed for it. Folks who decided to pry too deep into the Court's life and got slaughtered. Folks who dared to try to influence change to make their activities harder and were found dead in their offices after hours. And that's only the tip of what the Talons have taken from us."

Duke closed his eyes. Behind them he could see his parents smiling back at him, so proud, so loving. He held onto the image before he opened his eyes. "Last year, a madman took to our streets. He flooded our world with gas, drove citizens mad. If you were to ask the Court, they would declare that they saved us. That by killing the man, they solved the problem. And they are wrong."

Duke pointed at the crowd. "Tell me Birds, how many of you knew people who were killed as the Talons slaughtered their way to their target." A few hands rose. "How many of you knew people killed by Talons themselves because they were poisoned with gas at the time and decided to attack?" A quarter of the room raised their hands. "And tell me-" Duke's voice trembled. "How many of you know people lost to Gotham's slums and streets, lungs still saturated with fear gas because the talons killed the only man who knew the cure."

All the hands in the room lifted and with them, so did Duke's.

"Listen to me!" Duke lowered his hand, stepping forward on the crate. He gestured around to the room in front of him. "We deserve to live a life without fear. We deserve to live a life where we get a fair trial. And we deserve a life that isn't controlled by the Courts strings. So tell me, Birds." There was a pause. "If I were to tell you we could put an end to the Court, would you stand with me?"

The silence in the room was almost deafening.

"It's coming. I've seen it," Duke said. " I can't give you details because of the Court's eyes, but it is happening. Soon." Another round of whispering began in the room. "And when it does, you will know. I'm not asking for you to fight in it; I know the fear the Talon's bring. All I ask is you do what you've been doing for months. Help our people. Help Gotham." He took another breath. "Who's with me."

There was a pause before the clapping started. It began with Riko, then began to spread through the crowd like a ripple in the water. Soon everyone was applauding, the sound filling the entire room. Perched on one of the steel beams, a small girl with black hair sitting next to a white hair girl with dark skin began to chant.

"Smash the perch! Smash the perch! Smash the perch!"

The warehouse was rather soundproof, but the faint sound of applause and chanting drifted out eventually onto the docks. The area was quiet outside of the room, the silence of the city thick despite the commotion inside. Most of the lampposts were out, flooding the area in darkness. In the end only three things provided illumination to the space; two street lights and the glow of a Talon's goggles on top of an adjacent building.

Tim Drake stood still, reaching up to zoom his goggles in further. He could see into the warehouse rather well from this angle, a perfect view of Duke visible through a small in the roof. He watched as the teen cheered on the crowd, a hint of hope on his face and took in his uniform, The jeans. The grappling gun.

Tim reached for his belt, pulling up his com. It was a small device, easily portable and when he flipped it on, the crackle of static was almost impossible to hear. "Talon 4 reporting. Birds meeting. Oracle is planning something but her agent has not given specifies. Should I engage?"

"Do not engage. Report back." Tim sighed at the order. He stood up and un-zoomed his goggles so they were back in normal view. Before jumping off his own building, he took one last look at the crowd gathered. At their leader.

"Too bad," Tim said, his eyes drifting to the Oracle provided tools on Duke's belt. "I wanted my old grappling gun back."

Within a flash, he was gone.