Trigger 1.1
The night sky loomed above, the inky expanse of endless abyss and its sparkling stars obscured by the dense fog of clouds, through which rain fell with a vengeance. I stood on the ledge of the rooftop, binoculars raised to my eyes, taking in the building before me for the final time.
Study it. Know my role. Work with it.
A gang-banger Batman and I had caught had been 'enticed' into giving up the location of an arms deal that was supposed to go on that night. What had tipped us off as to the existence of the deal in the first place was a shipment of weapons that Nightwing had caught onto last time he visited the city. He couldn't exactly manage to do much, facing down a small army of heavily armed men, but the gang escaped with just barely half of their original cache. A small win, but a win nonetheless.
The problem was, the little the gang escaped with was still enough to cause a lot of trouble, bumping themselves up on our list of priorities.
Of course, they didn't immediately jump into action, or start looking for buyers. They were, apparently, smarter than that. They kept a low profile and hid themselves well. We couldn't track down their members to a group large enough to bust and draw down their numbers, and we didn't want to explicitly hunt them down while they were so spread out.
Not because we were afraid we wouldn't have gotten them all.
No.
The thing about humans was that we tended to revert to the primal behavior instilled in our brains when our world got turned upside-down, when our status quo got broken. Behavior hard-wired into our genes after centuries of our ancestors continuously surviving whatever messed up threat life threw at them.
They got desperate, and they got scared. They stop thinking rationally, and they begin to react accordingly. Predictably.
If we started to hunt the gang down, their status quo would've gotten broken, and they'd revert to that same instinctual behavior. But, then they'd become desperate, which was essentially the last thing we'd have wanted them to be.
Not while they still possessed all those weapons.
Pouring rain bred a cold breeze that swept across the rooftop, stirring my cape, sending it flapping in the wind. Icy, cold pellets of water stabbed against my skin. It soaked my hair. My costume.
I wiped droplets of water off the lens of my binoculars before holding them up to my eyes again.
The local gangs were getting itchy, more so, ever since word got out that the Batman was gunning for Falcone. They were looking to make a play for power and, for that, they needed resources, and they needed members, and they needed to build up a reputation for themselves.
"Gang politics", Dick had called it once. I wasn't still sure I agreed on that exact terminology.
One of the visible guards reached into his pocket and pulled out a walkie-talkie. I noted the time it took since his last sixteen check-ins, and calculated the average.
I lowered the binoculars and mentally ran over the number of guards and where they were positioned, probability of civilians getting involved in the potential crossfire, and the possible escape routes in the building for the people inside. I counted two men at the entrance of the garage, where the deal was going on, failing to casually conceal the AK-47s on their persons; the dock-workers had most likely been bribed, or threatened, so there was a slim chance of their involvement; and, there was only one way out of that warehouse, and it was the same way I was going to get in.
Lightning flashed with an intensity that purged the city of its darkness, albeit momentarily, and the rain continued to pour over the city with a roar. Unrelenting, powerful.
I disassembled the pair of binoculars, reattached the pieces to my belt, then produced my grappling gun.
My plan was simple:
Head in. Disable the weapons and, in turn, upset their status quo. Head out.
Nothing too ambitious. It was practical. I knew what my strengths were, and I cut my cloth accordingly. I wasn't a one-man army; I'd been a vigilante for little over two years, and I certainly couldn't take on a small army; especially not with the resources I had on hand.
Not that I wasn't good, but being on the Team showed me that there were plenty other people with skills more suited for a brawl than I possessed.
So, I played more to my strengths. I was a good fighter, yes, but I was an even better planner. A strategist. I could plan, disrupt, and I could manipulate. It came easy to me.
I turned, raising my arm by a fraction, and pulled the trigger on the grappling gun. A thin, pen-like metal rod shot into the ledge of the roof, burying itself in the concrete. I took a second to make sure that the thin line of wire connecting the gun to the rod was present, and then I stepped off the roof.
The wind rushed against my face as I fell along with the raindrops, the pavement drawing nearer with each passing second. The line connecting the gun to the roof pulled taut, and I gripped the gun tighter, allowing it grant me the lifeline I needed to swing onto the side of the building. The rubber of my soles slammed against the concrete next to a window with a near-silent thud, and I let out a tiny grunt before holding the release button. The line began to lower me to the ground at a decent pace.
I landed in a puddle, water splashing where my boot met with asphalt. Another trigger push had the line zip back into the barrel of the grappling gun, snapped off from where it was connected to the anchor, and I turned to the warehouse. The ground was slick, but I managed to maintain my firm footing as I dashed toward the warehouse, concealing myself in the shadows the nearby buildings cast.
The men hadn't noticed me, which was good. I didn't intend on making a scene until I was sure that most, if not all, of the weapons were accounted for. They were fidgety, though. Afraid of a certain vigilante's visit. Expectant of it.
I couldn't blame them.
I drew a single birdarang and threw it. Then, I darted to blend into the shadows of another building.
The sound of the bladed projectile striking a window was loud enough to draw their attention, even over the rumble of thunder. Lightning flashed again, and I held my breath. One of them signaled to someone inside the garage, just out of my line of sight, and three more armed persons walked out. Two headed over to investigate the sound, while two stalked the opposite way, toward the side of the building I had been hiding beside just seconds ago. In each set, the guard in front had a flashlight sweeping the area before of them.
That was what I had wanted to ascertain. I had suspected there were more people guarding the entrance than the two I could see. I just needed to make sure before confronting them. To have all the facts before acting.
I wasn't worried about the birdarang, much. It was designed with an acid pocket, created specifically to dissolve upon impact, rendering it nothing more than a misshapen lump of dull-red metal. Unrecognizable in the wet grime. Unassuming.
I could've just used a rock, but I hadn't been able to find one light enough to throw the distance and heavy enough to make enough of a noise to draw the guards' attention. If the ploy worked, they'd either take the deformed birdarang's appearance lightly, or may possibly not even notice it at all, or they'll expend resources trying to hunt down some 'wannabe vigilante' who they believe 'tried to get one over on them'.
Whatever the outcome, I could adapt, and I could capitalize on it.
Lightning struck, and thunder boomed, and I flinched. The flash had illuminated the area, and one of the guards had almost spotted me in the shadows.
She reached for her flashlight.
Annoyed, I pulled out the grappling gun and fired upwards. The anchor bit deep into the edge of the rooftop, and the line tightened. A split-second later, I had the line reeling in, jerking me away from the ground before the beam of light could focus on my position.
Couldn't fight just yet. Couldn't have them get desperate before I was ready.
I reached out and grabbed the ledge, bracing my foot against a windowsill. Using the momentum from the pull, a hand, and the leverage from the windowsill, I hopped onto the roof. The second my soles made contact with the rooftop, I broke into a run, pressing the trigger to release the line from the anchor, and attached the next anchor. Darting sideways, diagonally, I leaped off the building, aimed for the corner of the nearest roof, and pulled the trigger of the grappling gun.
The rain fell in crazy, chaotic drops, the gusting wind carrying them in wild vortices one moment and in diagonal sheets the next. I pulled against the line and twisted my body midair, changing the direction of my fall. Rubber soles landed on the platform of a window sill, and I kept my balance, pressing my back against the building's wall. I produced a batarang and-
Something moved in the corner of my eye. Dark. Purple.
I recognized it instantly.
No.
The sole guard at the entrance suddenly hunched over, dropping to his knees. The purple-clad figure stepped out of the shadows, aiming a crossbow at his downed form.
No, No, No.
I darted for the guard instantly, springing to the ground and transitioning into a roll, then a crouch. The second I was upright, the birdarang in my hand was hurled in their direction. The purple figure smoothly jerked to the right to dodge the projectile, barely offering me the courtesy of a glance. I jumped when I was within arm's reach of her, aiming a kick at her face. She had to tug her torso away from my swinging leg as it rushed past, just inches away from her nose, showing much less grace than she did when she dodged the birdarang. I didn't let the missed blow deter me, pulling my collapsible bō staff from its pouch, spinning back into the fray as soon as my feet hit the ground.
I extended the staff, pushing it against The Huntress' throat just as she held the tip of her crossbow against my forehead.
Cold wind howled past, and the Huntress' cape flapped carelessly in the direction it blew. Thunder rumbled again, drowning out the ravaging sound of rain hitting the street, roofs, cars. I inhaled slowly, clenching my bō staff tightly, fighting off the cold.
I was drenched, shivering subtly. I was agitated, I was tired, and I didn't need to have to deal with the resulting drama from whenever Helena visited.
Ally, or not.
"Arrow versus stick. There's no contest here, Robin," she said.
I pulled the staff an inch away from her throat, and twisted the stem. Immediately, electricity began to crackle at the tip.
The Huntress flinched.
"Touché," she said.
Stupid, stupid move, Helena, I thought. Stupid and impulsive. I had this raid planned out to avoid confrontation. Do you even know what's happening in there? Why are you even here?
She aimed her weapon to the ground, holding it to the side- away from me, but I kept mine trained on her.
She gave me a condescending look.
As far as wildcards went, Helena ranked pretty high on the list, and it was a pretty lengthy list. Frankly put, Helena and Bruce weren't on good terms- which affected our relationship by proxy, and I didn't trust her enough to proceed without knowing exactly why she was there. I wasn't in the mood to have to constantly have my eyes on her, trying to anticipate what stunt she was going to pull, while having to deal with the arms deal in the warehouse.
Speaking of which…
"He hasn't moved," I said, referring to the man she had shot. "And, I don't see the rest."
The Huntress looked past me at the unconscious man. She said nothing, gave none of her usual tells. Not that her tells have ever been reliable.
Tranquilizer bolts, then, I thought. Playing by the rules this time, are we, Helena?
I lowered the staff.
"I really missed you," Huntress said, dryly.
Of course you did, I thought. Nobody humors you like I do.
"I don't exactly feel the same way about you, but since you're here..." I said, raising my gauntlet. I traced a finger along its surface, and the interface registered the motion. The holographic-user-display popped up, and I was quick to pull up a file I had on standby, in case I'd have needed to fill someone else in on what I was doing on the fly.
I'd anticipated that 'someone' to be the Commissioner, or Batgirl.
I flipped the file page to face the Huntress, so that I saw it in reverse. "We have approximately fifty more seconds before the guy you took out has to confirm his status, and then they'll send out a squad to gun us down, and-"
"No."
I stopped, abruptly.
"No?" I said. "There's really no time for this."
She shook her head, "I mean, you're wrong. About what's going on. Not that that's a surprise."
"What are you talking abou-?"
"Forty-three seconds left, Robin," Huntress said, turning to the entrance. She stepped over the body of the man she had knocked out and replaced the bolt on her crossbow. "You want the whole story? Follow me."
"Trying your hand in illegal weapons trade, Huntress?" I asked.
"Funny."
Wasn't too far off the truth, anyway.
"Put yourself in my shoes," I said. "Would you trust yourself?"
"If you're not going to listen," she said, "then, don't get in my way."
"I'm not going to let you go in there without telling me what's going on."
I saw her pause.
Thunder cracked across the sky.
"What do you know about the buyers in there?" she said.
The buyers, I thought.
She did her homework, this time.
"Absolutely nothing," I said. "Which was exactly why I didn't want to go in there, guns blazing. Thanks for effectively limiting my options, by the way."
"Not my problem if you're not flexible," she said, "If it makes you feel any better, Robin, I was expecting Nightwing to be here tonight. Not you."
"Thanks," I said, voice devoid of humor. "Spill."
"Let's just say that weapons aren't the only things being sold in there."
"... what?"
"Twenty seconds," she said.
I frowned.
"Now or never, Robin."
The Huntress turned at once, and vanished into the darkness of the warehouse.
Using the time constraint I set to force me into making a decision.
Taking charge of the situation. Stealing the command from right under my nose.
I'd have been impressed, if I wasn't already annoyed by her presence alone.
With a birdarang in hand, the sky roaring above me, I went in after her.