A shaft of light fell across the face of Tutankhamun. It was just a plaster replica, but the old guard liked to believe it was the real deal. He had always loved museums and old things, even before he was an old thing himself. It was a comforting place, where nothing ever changed and nothing exciting ever happened.

His flashlight shifted to rows of dimly lit cabinets as he continued his round. Pottery pieces, jewelry, a couple of ancient urns. The guard froze in his tracks. Wasn't there supposed to be three ancient urns? He shuffled closer, holding his breath. The back of the cabinet was ever so slightly askew, as if someone had closed it in a hurry.

He fumbled for his radio. "There's been a break-in, Dale! Call it in! Right away!" He whipped around, searching the rest of the room with his flashlight. "Dale?" He was answered with an unsettling silence.

Just then a figure darted out from behind Tutankhamun. "Stop right there!" the guard shouted. He pulled his gun and fired a warning shot. Plaster from the ceiling crumbled over his head. The thief disappeared into a corridor beyond the entrance of the exhibit.

Bravery flickered in the old guard's heart. He gave chase, holding his flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. "Give yourself up!" he demanded, pausing in the threshold to discern which way the perp had gone.

There was dull thud as someone struck him from behind. He slumped to the cold, tiled floor. Arthur stood behind him, drawing his arm back. "What happened?" came Legrand's crackly voice through his walkie talkie.

"There was a guard. But it's under control now."

"Good. I'm on my way. I assume you have the urn?"

"You mean you didn't take it?"

"What? Why would I? Where the hell is it?"

Just as Arthur was articulating a retort, the corridor's skylight shattered. An intimidating figure landed amidst the broken shards, each one reflecting silken moonlight. Arthur swallowed fearfully. After what happened to Jeffords, he would've much rather run into Batman.

He tried to run away, but Nightwing was upon him in an instant. Arthur lashed at the masked face, landing a couple of lucky blows. But he was punished harshly for them with a beating to remember.

Suddenly the sound of a gunshot startled both men. Arthur opened his eyes tentatively. Nightwing was doubled over, holding his side in pain. No blood appeared between his fingers, though. That formidable suit of his must have managed to stop the bullet.

"Your turn, Arthur," Legrand's wickedly smug voice cut through the darkness.

Arthur kicked Nightwing square in the jaw. He sailed to the ground. Arthur followed, whaling on his opponent in ruthless vengeance. Again and again his fist bloodied the hero's face. At long last he stepped back, giving them both a chance to breathe.

A metallic click drew Nightwing's attention upwards. Legrand stood before him, pistol cocked and ready. "I don't believe we've met," he said, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "And I don't care to ever again."

Nightwing slid a batarang into the palm of his hand, preparing to throw it at the gun. But before he could, something small and dark hurled itself at Legrand's knees.

Legrand tumbled to the ground clumsily, flailing out at his attacker. He grasped a handful of black folds and was answered with a vicious snarl. He was holding onto a small, black slip of a figure. The urn peeked out from a bag slung over their back.

Nightwing recovered from the surprise of the interruption before Arthur did. He swept his opponent to the ground and started an assault that flashed his mind back to an icy alleyway. He could see Jefford's face below him, eyes flooded with helpless fear. Something reached him through the rage.

Nightwing paused, fist hovering in the air. Slowly, he backed away and allowed Arthur to scurry to safety.

"Give it to me!" Legrand roared, still scuffling with the thief. But they broke free from his clutch and darted behind Nightwing. The hero stood protectively between the two, bloody fists hanging from his sides as he glowered.

Legrand's eyes flicked to the prone, unconscious guard. He covered the distance with two long strides, scooping up his gun on the way. One hand grabbed the guard's collar and the other shoved his pistol against the unconscious man's temple.

"The urn," he demanded. "The urn, or him." His tongue flicked over his lips as he waited for an answer.

Without removing his eyes from Legrand, Nightwing held out a hand at his side. The bag was placed silently in his palm.

Legrand stepped away from the guard. "I expect someone of your reputation to honor a deal."

Nightwing nodded. He set the bag down and slid it across the floor.

Legrand's chest heaved with relief as he touched the urn at last. "Thank-you, hero," he said. Then he raised the gun again.

A bullet exploded from its barrel. Nightwing reeled backwards. His suit didn't stop it this time.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Arthur cried. "That was a cheap shot! We're burglars, not murderers!"

Legrand holstered his gun and turned to leave. "Speak for yourself."

Arthur glanced back at the sprawled, motionless Nightwing with something akin to remorse. The smaller figure was staring at him silently. Though he could not make out a face, he could feel something heavy in the air between them.

"I'm sorry," he offered, cringing at how futile an apology was at the moment. Then he turned on his heel and fled.

Nightwing groaned. The stun was wearing off. "Hey, are you alright?" a voice asked him. It was a youthful voice, with an airy, feminine timbre, and belonged to the stranger crouched beside him.

Her features were obscured by a large black hood and a purple balaclava. Slowly, he reached up his hand and pulled off the hood. A cascade of honey-colored hair tumbled over her shoulders. He tugged gently on the balaclava next. She did not resist; it was almost as if she were expecting him to recognize her.

"Geez, you're just a kid!" he exclaimed.

She grimaced. "Ugh. I hate it when people call me that."

Nightwing couldn't help but be humored at her gall. "Well then what should I call you?"

"The Spoiler," she said, squaring her shoulders with an air of pride.

"Spoiler, huh? You shouldn't be out here alone like this."

"I'm not alone; I'm with you, you big oaf."

Nightwing narrowed his eyes. "This isn't a game. Gotham is a dangerous place at night."

"Yeah well, I did better than you." She glanced at the shallow bullet wound on his side. "Should I call Batman or something? Where is he anyways?"

"I'm fine, alright? I had everything under control. Now what did they steal?"

"Some stupid urn," Spoiler replied.

"Why?"

"Hell if I know."

"Watch your language!" His reprimand was automatic, a reaction to being in the presence of a child. She rolled her eyes. Nightwing didn't find her gall so amusing anymore. "And leave crime fighting to the adults, okay? I better not see you out here again."

"Or what?" she taunted.

"I mean it." He looked at her with a sternness that annoyed the girl. She pulled up her balaclava and hood with a loud scoff.

"Look, I've got other things to do tonight. So until next time-"

"No, no next time! Didn't you hear me-hey!" Nightwing snatched the air behind her as she dashed away, heedless of his rebukes. "Spoiler!"

But she had already disappeared into the darkness without a sound.