He was horrified.

The gunshot was still ringing in his ears as the blood trickled down his face. His friend's blood. Ian had been his friend for years, they met in college. And now his final thoughts were sprayed across the bar. Tom stared blankly at the smoking barrel as it swung to face him, his eyes tracked down the matte black weapon and along the arm of its wielder. The black sleeve was finely tailored, contrasting with the scarred flesh on the hand that held the gun.

Tom's eyes continued to move up the sleeve to stare at the half-scarred face that glared back at him. He heard a soft clink of metal and the whistle of air being displaced by a rapidly spinning object. The coin fell and was snatched from the air. He continued to stare into the twitching exposed eye that leered back at him. The eye glanced down for a moment before glaring back at him with a refreshed vigour, the evil intent obvious. He opened his mouth to beg, but the barrel of the gun twitched with a burst of light. He felt nothing as everything went black. His body collapsed.

Two-face sniggered before turning to the barman. 'Well two out of three ain't bad for you?' He slid onto a stool, carefully placing his coin in front of him. 'Double whisky, two of them.' The barman's eyes darted around the room, hunting for an escape route, but the bar was now filled with goons lounging at every table, an assortment of weapons deterring him from moving.

'NOW!' Two-face boomed at him. He quickly turned to face the row of liquor bottles mounted on the wall, sweat dripped down his brow as he grabbed a pair of glasses with shaking hands. He pushed each one up against the bottom of the single malt bottle watching the liquid pour, he had never seen a drink pour so slowly. Finally he turned back to face the room, the notorious mob-boss sat head down, softly running his finger over the scratched surface of the coin.

The drinks were quickly placed in front of the coin and the barman jumped back rattling the bottles as he pushed himself away from Two-face. With his unscarred hand Two-face slid the glasses either side of the coin, keeping them equidistant. A few more long moments passed before he picked up the first glass and downed the contents, he let out a pleased sigh before returning the glass to it position and took the other drink. The second drink disappear passed his rough lips before the other glass was returned to its rightful place.

Finally he turned to face his crew, they all sat upright in their seats, waiting for their leader to speak.

'Okay boys, now we wait.'

'Boss?'

Silence followed the question.

'Uh, Boss?' The man shifted uncomfortably as he waited for a reply. Still nothing.

'Boss? Two-face, he um… He's at Mickey's!'

The figure stirred in the darkness, the top of his head just visible over the top of his chair.

'When?' Came the reply, the word sounding rough and malformed from the lipless mouth.

'Maybe an hour ago?'

'Maybe?' came the hiss from the darkness.

'I dunno Sir. He took out a lot of guys on his way through, the message took some time getting back to us.'

'Deal with it.'

'Ur Yessir, Right away Boss!'

'Oh and Jones?' The voiced continued as his lackey began to turn.

'Boss?' Jones replied hesitantly

'Take the new toys.'

Jones replied with suppressed joy. 'Yeah, that'll work.'

The room echoed to the sound of plastic on wood, each strike rang out through the sparse warehouse. Each blow was attenuated by a slight grunt as a lone figure trained in the dim light, his movements smooth and precise despite the speed and force that was behind each attack. The wooden training dummy shook and groaned at the mistreatment, small chips of wood flying free with each strike.

With a final burst of energy the wooden dummy flew backwards as a vicious kick cracked it of its mounting screws and it tumbled across the hard concrete floor. Its attacker stood silently by the tattered baseplate, chest heaving in and out from the exertion. A high pitched beeping burst from the man right arm, he let it right for a couple of seconds before lifting to see the cause. He pressed a button on the silver watch, silencing the alarm noting the time. 10.00pm, time to head out.

He left the ruined dummy on the floor, calmly pacing over to a worn wooden desk, he placed the smooth black eskrima sticks down and began unfastening his watch. He gazed around the empty space, trying to see the potential but was constantly reminded that it could never be same as his old hideout. He smiled slightly at memories, and of the wonder he had felt when he had first been there.

Those day where behind him now, He had to be his own man, and that meant his own space to operate out of, though he would probably be allowed to share with Bruce if he asked, he couldn't bring himself to. Slowly he walked to the tall, black steel safe that stood by the wall. It was the only high tech addition he had currently managed to make to the warehouse. He placed his hand against the monitor and watched the dim blue light trace up and down his hand. After several passes, the light faded and a solid click came from within the container.

He took his hand from the monitor and watched as the door slid away, revealing the bright blue bird emblem hidden behind it. He took the thick Nomex suit out, feeling the Kevlar lining inside. After several minutes the suit was on, he was one of the few people who knew the difficulty of getting into an all in one, skin tight bodysuit. Stepping into the boots, he felt the soft click of the sockets connecting to those on the bodysuit, the same click came from the gauntlets as he slid those over his forearms.

Finally, he took up his mask, the flexible polymer showing the compact circuitry mounted in the back as he lifted it to his face. The mask pressed into the pre-applied gum on his face, he adjusted the position slightly before wiping away the excess gum with a rag.

His transformation was complete, he wasn't Dick Grayson anymore. He was Nightwing!