A/N: This story is rated M for violence.

Injustice of Living
Chapter Twelve

Chapter 12: A Witness

A side effect of being lonely is being self-aware. When there's no one else to focus on, you focus on yourself. For me, that involves coming to crushing realizations about my inherent personality and general disposition, usually between the hours of 2-4AM. For a couple of years, I had no outlet, spending every single sleepless night I had with the one person I wanted to distance from: Myself.

Then, when Tim first started coming around, the floodgates opened. It was a huge relief on my psyche, finally allowing myself to switch focus and actually be productive about it. I didn't have to distract myself by talking to a headstone, or go on a string of lousy dates with guys I didn't even like. I've tried to become a better person, contribute more to society, live a happier life… But things like that are hard for me. I would try, fail, and lose interest in trying again. It was a thousand times easier to try and do that to someone else. I encourage Tim to be more fearless when it comes to people, make friends at school, take more time for himself, speak his mind more often. All advice I full-heartedly ignore. Because not only is changing someone else a thousand percent easier than changing yourself, it's also a thousand percent more rewarding.

Which is why I never really noticed changes in myself. The gradual personality changes that occur over time, be them for better or worse, happen naturally and unyieldingly. Everyone changes, some faster than others, all for different reasons. But, ultimately, they're almost undetectable when looking internally.

"You smile more now."

Tim had said that to me after I finished my first month at Wayne Enterprises. I think I had been telling a story about Kameron from the mailroom. It was a Friday, so Tim met with me when he was done school and we celebrated by ordering pizza. He stayed for a good hour or two before the Bat Signal was cast upon the clouds and he was off saving the day again.

"I'm glad you're happier. You smile more now."

And I'm sure he meant it in a very casual way, he certainly said it like that… Just an off-handed remark on his part, but a groundbreaking one on mine. I had been so caught up in my new job, I hadn't even noticed I was happy. It got me wondering if Tim noticed anything different about himself since we started meeting. Did he see that he was more confident? A stronger person, both mentally and emotionally? Sure, he had always been an amazing kid with incredible heart and talent, but did he know it? Did he realize he was happier by himself or did I tell him? Maybe both?

Because what I'm starting to realize is that changes made by another person are a lot easier to notice. The last time I had been on this side of the coin, I was still a kid. That was the last time I had someone in my life to change for, to help me grow into a better version of myself.

Then again, maybe "better" isn't the right word.

My thoughts were cut short by a static buzz in my ear, "Jayboss to Nightstalker, come in Nightstalker."

I rolled my eyes (secretly loving my self-chosen codename), clicking a small button on the wire that ran from my earpiece to the receiver clipped to my belt. "Nightstalker here, Bossman."

"It's Jayboss."

"Whatever."

"What's your location?"

"Uh," I leaned over the rooftop I was perched upon, squinting to the street sign dozens of feet below. "Right on the corner of Wall and Fifty-First Street."

"Target location?"

"He's been in this Club for, like, three hours," I sighed. "It's almost two in the morning, how late do these people stay out?"

"It's not like Drug Lords have a dayjob," he answered with slight chuckle.

"I can relate," I mumbled to myself before replying, "This is the fifth night in a row, by the way. What is he even doing in there?"

"What they all do. Getting money or getting-"

"Ooh, a black van just pulled up!" I interrupted, causing a flash of static to pop between our frequencies. "Gotta run, he might be meeting with the suppliers."

Sure enough, a hulking man dressed to the nines in a beautifully tailored suit emerged from the dark building. Flashing strobes lit up the street as the door opened. I stepped away from the building ledge, taking a second to allow blood flow to return to my legs before having a small backpack onto my shoulder.

Igor Sokolov, a rising star in Gotham's Russian mafia. An immigrant, son of a Soviet solider and cousin to the mafia boss. He was a towering six-foot-five, totally bald, wore a gold chain, and had a gnarly scar running from his right temple to the center of his chin. Everything about him screamed "criminal!"

I've been tailing him for the past week, watching from shadowy alleys and rooftops, to the point where I almost knew his schedule from heart. I noticed he stayed within the same area of the city, rarely traveling further than a block or two outside of Southwest Gotham. Apparently this was the Russian territory, giving control over the major docking harbors and a huge boost over the rival mob.

He had an active schedule, that's for sure. Which was good for me, I guess… Got my mind off of my day job. Or lack thereof.

Jason had me file my two-weeks notice at Wayne Enterprises the day after we got back from Metropolis. It was the first step in him taking me seriously as a potential partner and a non-negotiable term of my advanced training. Bye-bye full time benefits, hello sleep deprivation and conditioning exercise.

My boss wasn't even upset. Hell, if anything, he looked relieved. A few people in the office asked me about it, but no one really seemed to care. They said good luck and moved along with their day.

The only person who asked why I was leaving was Bruce, of all people. We haven't spoken since the brief inquisition about the mask he found after his run-in with Hush, and every time I had seen him in the building, I ducked into the nearest office or elevator to avoid him. Lying was something I had never been good at, and the fact that I managed to deter the World's Greatest Detective was nothing short of a miracle. I wasn't going to risk throwing those dice again. So instead of trying to speak to me directly, he sent me an email. I replied with a three-page long essay, thanking him for the opportunity he had given me, but I that I was planning to enroll in college and couldn't juggle a full-time job and classes. He responded with an offer to give me some financial aid, but I never answered that one.

Sokolov's van pulled around the corner. Traffic was clear in the late night, but I managed to keep up well enough. They were heading south, probably to the docks. I used a number of clever shortcuts, but they were still there long before I was.

"They're at Dixon Docks," I reported. "Sokolov has two of his personal bodyguards, plus a few more. The driver looks familiar, but the rest are just thugs."

Jason's answer came after a few minutes, "I need an accurate number, Nightstalker. You can't just say 'a few.'"

"Well, sor-ry," I huffed, "Five newcomers. Total eight including Sokolov and his henchmen."

"You're my eyes, kid."

"Roger that, Bossman."

Poor guy had been stuck at HQ all day resting up his leg. I could tell he was getting restless. His calls were becoming more frequent, he was being more rigid about using radio jargon. His patience for my "unprofessionalism" was starting to run a bit thin. I toed the line, of course, just bothering him enough to be mildly annoying at worst and cooperative at best. Hell, with all the grief he's put me through, he deserves it. And the longer he stayed off that leg, the longer I could get away with it.

The quiet rumble of a car engine cut through the sounds of waves and wind. Two headlights reflected along a stack of colorful freights, temporarily illuminating color in the grim scene.

"Here we go," I smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. Finally, some action! I pulled out a pair of binoculars from my backpack. "Nightstalker to Jayboy," I whispered into the mic, "Got a van coming from the east."

"Awesome," he replied with exhausted enthusiasm. "Snap some pictures, definitely try to get the cargo if you can."

"You got it. Van's pulling up… Black, older model. Looks like, I dunno, maybe four guys?"

The van parked a ways away from the other car, turning off its lights. To my surprise, no one immediately emerged. I glanced quickly back to the Russian's, only to see them eyeing the car with casual disdain.

"Maddy, did you say a black van?"

I pushed down my speaker button with one hand, awkwardly unzipping my bag with the other. I pulled out a pair of military binoculars, replying, "Yeah, black van, older model, kind of beat up. No one's gotten out yet." Shoot, did I forget the camera?

Brrtz.

A spark of resistance static came through the line, so I let go of my transmitter.

"Maddy, you need to get out of there."

Nope, I put it in the outside pocket! "What? Why? Shit's just starting to go down-"

Brzzt!

"The cartel uses white vans with a dry cleaning logo on the side. They're not meeting for a deal tonight. I don't know who they're meeting, we need more intel-"

I rolled my eyes, clicking my end of the transmitter twice to get him to let up. "Jaybird, none of them know they're being watched. I'll just sit back and watch; why wait to 'gather intel' when I'm already here? Isn't that why you sent me out to the field to begin with?"

Before Jason could reply, the doors of the black van burst open with a bang that echoed through the docks like a clap of thunder. The sound hadn't even dissipated when it was replaced by a barrage of bullets.

Half a dozen men had come flying out of the vehicle, each decked in black, faces covered with ski masks and goggles. Five, no six- three with machine guns, three with pistols.

The Russian's hadn't even had time to react… One had tried to run, another crouched behind the trunk of the car. They were all dead, now.

At first I couldn't tell which body was Sokolov's… Until I noticed a glint of gold around the neck of a shredded body. I could barely tell they had been people…

The gunshots had deafened me… Or it could be the shock. Deftly, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, I watched as the strangers in black slinked towards the corpses, their shoes splashing in the forming puddles of blood. The side of the Russian's van was specked with holes, two of the tires completely blown out. Even the driver, who I knew had only acted as a chauffeur to the gang, was slumped and slain over the steering wheel. He hadn't even gotten out of the car.

"Maddy? Maddy, come in. Do you read?"

Five more bullets popped as one of the gun men checked the bodies. Each shot produced a white flash that glittered over the carnage. Absolute overkill.

"Maddy…? Where's you're location?"

My binoculars had fallen near my feet, practically forgotten. Quickly, I scrambled to pick them up, ducking down as if they could sense my fear. My knees quaked against my chest, and no matter how hard I tried to steady my breathing, I couldn't. In a disorganized panic, I finally dug out the camera from my bag, blindly snapping pictures with one hand, trying to watch the scene with my other.

The six gunmen quietly jogged back to their van. Police sirens began to wail in the distance. I knew it was only a matter of time before Dixon Docks was swarming with GCPD.

'Maddy, answer me!'

It wasn't his words that snapped me out of my shock… it was how angry he sounded.

"I-I'm here… I'm alright." I tucked the binoculars under my right arm, solely relying on the camera zoom to watch the hooded assassins. "Th-they just came out and started shooting… th-they're- ...oh, god. They're all dead!"

My hands shook so fiercely that I knew the pictures I was taking were going to be useless.

"Who? Who shot first? The Russians?"

"No! These- these guys! The suppliers? Italians? They just came out of nowhere and opened fire! The Russians, Sokolov, all of them…! They don't even look like people anymore…"

A long pause. The van was disappearing from my view, slowly rolling out of the docks just the same as it had arrived. Calm, inconspicuous, and casual. I was acutely aware I that I was now totally alone.

"Sokolov's dead? Are you sure?"

"H-his head's busted open… god, Jason, there's so much blood…"

Brrtz!

"How far are you from the bodies?"

The black van was gone now, but part of me was almost certain it was going to turn around. They would get me, too.

"Fifty feet? I don't know, the cops are coming-"

Brrtz, "Get Sokolov's phone. Any info you can recover: phones, notes, beepers, receipts. Empty their pockets if you have to. Quickly."

I blinked twice. Did he not hear me? "Sokolov's dead why do we-"

Brrtz! "Do what I say. I need you out of there before the GCPD starts moving in. Gordon's in over his head with this, they'll call Batman before the scenes even taped off. You need to get the evidence now."

His tone shook me to my core, stunning me into a hypnotic state. I didn't want to listen, but fear of his reaction compelled me to. Obediently, as if in a trance, I shoved my equipment into my bag and made a few calculated jumps before landing on the dock floor. The smell of purified sea water and gasoline coated my lungs, sticking bitterly to my dry mouth. I was shaking, nearly stumbling as I approached the gore that had been dancing in a nightclub less than an hour ago. As much as I desperately wanted to, I just couldn't look away.

As well as I had known myself, I had never thought of myself as squeamish. Blood never bothered me. When I was a kid, I fell off of my fire escape and suffered a compound fracture to my right radius. I can't remember the pain, I can only remember how cool it was that I could see my bone. There was still a pinkish-brown scar in the shape of an arrow near my elbow.

Their blood had seeped into the damp boards below, leaving a sticky coating on the soles of my shoes. Copper joined the strange list of unpleasant tastes on my tongue.

Torn skin and clothing were the only ways to tell the bodies apart. Slowly, agonizingly, with tears streaming down my face, I knelt my Sokolov's gold chain. I saw glimpses of bone and hair amidst the bright red tissue. I had to invision his signature face scar. As I looked down at the corpse, a horde of emotions spun in my chest. The most clear one was shame… Shame that I had stood by and allowed this to happen. Shame that these men had been brutally slain tonight, but all I could think about was how that affected me. This was awful, I couldn't even grieve for them… Instead, I did what I was told and began to empty their pockets.

Two cell phones, a pocket planner, and a small handful of business cards became unwanted souvenirs from this awful night. I thought about rummaging through the car as well, but what small bit of logic that was left in my head reminded me of fingerprints. The same logic compelled me to remove my shoes once I stepped out of the blood. Any stray piece of evidence could very well mean death for me… this feeling of dread was grotesquely familiar. The small shadow of accomplishment I got when I slipped past the dock's entrance was not.

"... I'm on my way back, Jayboss…" I whispered into my mic piece.

The only response I got was the crescendo of a police car.