There's a chill in the air in Gotham tonight, the breeze harsh against my cheeks and lips as I leap from rooftop to rooftop. Lights stream down from above; helicopters circling almost constantly, watching the empty streets below. Sirens scream out, the sound fading in and out the closer and farther the police cars travel during their patrols.
Gotham City is lifeless these days, the familiar sense of wrongdoing missing from the air. But it wasn't always like this. Before the rein of the bat began, the city was rife with the sound of gunshots, tires squealing and the occasional scream from behind closed doors.
These were the sounds that I had grown accustomed to; the crimes behind them as much a part of Gotham as the architecture.
And I didn't mind.
I could walk the streets at night and feel a peculiar sense of ease. Undoubtedly because petty crimes do not scare me. How can they when I have witnessed the desperation behind every liquor store robbery? In every minor drug offence? In every rich person cornered in an alley for their pearls? In all my years living here, suffering just as they have, I've learned that the poor did things not out of spite, or intention to brutally harm, but out of fear for their own survival.
Below my feet are buildings with no tenants, the homeless merely bunkering inside to combat the cold. The jewellery stolen from the rich are sold so a single mother's children could eat. The money taken from the corner store is used to feed a drug addiction because it's easier to survive with it than without; in a city where nobody wishes to put out a helping hand.
I keep running, using my whip to pull myself safely across to the next rooftop, climbing fire escapes higher and higher under the cover of the night. Heavy clouds obscure me from the spotlights dancing above me, the fog too thick for the lights to penetrate. Not that it matters. I'm too fast for them; moving from one place to the next with the greatest of ease, scaling the walls with practiced hands. And all too soon I am standing across from the GCPD rooftop, still concealed by the shadows. And then I wait.
It would come tonight.
At midnight the bat symbol would appear amidst the clouds. Always on the dot midnight; like clockwork. Every night I would wait here and count down the seconds until it appeared. It's unusual to say the least. Until recently, there had never been such a clear pattern. More unusual, still: Batman never came.
Gotham wasn't always like this. The police didn't always scour the streets top to bottom. Not before Batman. Before him, crime was purposely overlooked; the police needing the mob to help keep money in their own pockets. It didn't matter who they hurt in the process. They had positions of power and they used them to their own advantage. Which is why I trust them less than the thugs on the streets and why I never approached one with all my curiosity. Though I'm sure with the right flirtation or enough money slipped into the right pockets, I could find out everything I wanted to know and then some. But something more held me back. Beyond the mistrust, I think I was scared of the truth. I was afraid that Batman may never return from wherever he had gone.
I only had to wait a few short moments before the floodlight was switched on and the bat appeared in the sky. Keeping my gaze fixed upon the rooftop, I observe Commissioner Gordon pace back and forth, his head down, a lit cigarette between his lips. I'd noticed he had started smoking again, a habit he maintained only in times of immense stress. It isn't a hard guess as to what's causing his concern. Each night he seemed to pace in hopes that the Batman would appear whenever his back was turned, and as he reached into his coat to light another cigarette, it became clear his hope had once again diminished.
I don't leave until the commissioner has gone back inside, the light left on for all of Gotham to see. Shining like a beacon of warning: threatening those that may dare to commit a crime. I've heard the symbol represents a beacon of hope for Gotham's law-abiding citizens. A sign that Batman is near, always fighting to keep them safe. How would they feel were they to learn they're being fed false hope? An empty promise. Because in truth, he watches over none of us. Not even those of us who know his true face. Not even me.
I feel ill at ease, made more so by Batman's failure to appear yet again. I'd assumed he and the commissioner were close (whatever that meant- it's hard to understand what he defines as friendship). At most I know Batman wouldn't leave Gordon in the dark like this for so long. It has to mean something. Something important. And I can't just sit by and wait for the truth to find its way to me.
If he refuses to show up for the police, I will just have to find him myself.
Recently, I had forgotten the thrill of the heist. It just isn't quite as fun when there isn't any risk of being caught. Something about feels hollow when there are no rules to be broken, or when there's nobody worthy enough to impress. Without being chased from the scene of the crime it tends to feel like taking candy from a baby. The rich would sleep soundly in their beds, knowing what lay outside but never believing it would make its way into their extravagant homes. I could take what I wanted knowing it barely made a dent in their wealth; it's a wonder how they even notice what's missing.
Tonight, there is no rush of adrenaline, and my actions feel unpleasantly empty. But if anything, or rather, anyone, can lure him out, it's me; and so I creep through the unlocked window of the mayor's home. Slowly, I lower myself down from the windowsill, and I find myself slightly disappointed when no alarms go off.
How boring.
Where are the motion sensors? The security cameras? Are they really so naïve as to think that their status alone will keep them safe from Gotham's forgotten children? From the very people who they let starve while their wealth overfeeds them? This adventure is quickly diverting away from the goal I sought to accomplish. Whether Bruce decides to make an appearance or not isn't so much a concern anymore. Instead, I'm overcome by a need to steal. It doesn't matter what I take, as long as it's something they'll miss. Something that'll teach them that they can't keep out those they try to overlook. I'll make sure they remember me. Hell, I may even let them see my face first. Why not make it all the more interesting?
With no current threat of detection, I realise that I'll have to try a little bit harder. Thinking fast, I figure the mayor's leading lady must have a diamond or two laying around. With no more than a lock on the front door to secure their home, I highly doubt they would keep their valuables locked away in a safe. It is laughable how they wrongly assume their good fortune protects them from the truth of this city, assures them safety from Gotham's dark reality. For them, the world has been glazed over and they see it like they're looking through a fogged window.
All of life's contradictions and inequity aren't real to them and probably never have been. It's so absurd, it can only be arrogance. Ignorance would be a far too forgiving excuse.
I make my way towards the stairs, my footsteps softened by the carpet. I flip my night vision goggles down over my eyes, lighting up my surroundings. The living room is void of personality, everything from the walls and furniture is the same shade of beige making it all blur into one another. Not so much as a family photo adorns the main wall, giving off the impression that nobody lives here. But the snores resonating from upstairs tell me otherwise and so I continue onward, taking the stairs up to the second storey. I bypass the kids' rooms, not wanting to wake and frighten the young ones, and instead move straight into the main bedroom.
I don't bother to tiptoe around the bed, moving easily over to the jewellery box on the dresser. Despite my initial disinterest in my endeavours, the sight of those jewels makes my heart flutter with intense desire. The abundance of expensive necklaces and rings practically glitter in the dark, tempting me. These would be valuable were I to sell them to the right buyer; enough to keep me settled for a long time, and so I pocket them. Allowing the sounds of my movements to fill the room, I soon sense movement behind me. As to be expected. Or really, as I had secretly hoped.
"Hey! What are you doing?!" the mayor's gruff voice yells from the bed. His wife remains speechless, but I have no doubt she's awake, most likely gripping her husband's arm in terror. I don't need to look behind me to confirm this, instead I take this as my cue to leave. I need to make my escape before the mayor has the chance to call the police. It doesn't hurt to have a head start though I often find that I don't need it.
The window slides open easily, the space only just large enough for me to slip through, and then using the roof gutter to move along the wall, I hoist myself up onto the rooftop. I allow myself a moment or two to relax, waiting until I can hear approaching sirens before moving onwards.
The jewellery feels good in my pocket: heavy and rich. It's just a shame that I don't have much time to relish in the feeling, as I hear footfalls approaching me from behind. I hesitate for a moment, actually forgetting why I set out here in the first place. I'm not making myself difficult to find but very few people can keep up. So who exactly could be behind me, very quickly catching up? More importantly, who would want to follow me?
With a grin, I speed up my run. I have to make it fun for him. I hadn't realised just how much I had missed this little game of ours. I'm sure it drove him crazy for the most part, always chasing me from some kind of crime I had committed, and inevitably he would catch me and I'd be scolded. But I think there was always a part of him that enjoyed it. Why else would he let me go in the end? It was a part of him he didn't want to admit to. Maybe a smile he kept to himself until no one was watching. At least that is what I like to imagine. The truth could very well be less that of my dreams and more like something I'd see in my worst nightmares: maybe he simply did hate it.
Even still, I don't let down my run though I have no plans to let the game go on too long tonight. There is far too much catching up to do. Throughout this whole investigation into his mysterious disappearance, I had forgotten why I had been looking for him in the first place and all that he had to answer for. I'd forgotten just how furious I was supposed to be because finally, after all this time, he was here with me and that was all that mattered. His presence had that unfortunate effect on me though I'd never admit it to him. I'd sort of hoped that the time apart would change that, but alas, I have never been so lucky. I never look for feelings, but somehow they always seem to find me. And always at the worst of times and in the most unfortunate of places.
Unable to stop smiling, I slip through a broken window into an abandoned office, allowing the darkness to envelop me and I keep my back to him, trying desperately to contain myself before I can even think of facing him.
"I knew I could lure you out. How could you resist?" I say softly, a quiet laugh escaping my lips. I grab the back of an old, dusty desk chair and I roll it back behind me. "Take a seat. We have a lot to discuss."
I hear the squeak of the chair as weight settles down onto it and I find a seat of my own, sitting down with one leg crossed over the other. "First things first, where the hell have you been?" I question and finally turn to face him. It's been so long since I last saw his face.
And just like that, I feel like a deer caught in headlights.
I'm staring into the eyes of Nightwing, and boy does he look amused.