"So it went well, then?" Nightwing called to his protege as he sidestepped a punch and drove his elbow into the chest of his assailant.

"For the most part, yeah. No one died, so that's good." Kite faced away from his mentor as he rained a flurry of blows down on the two black-and-white-clad thugs on either side of him. Hank's voice sounded slightly distant as it reverberated off the storage container in front of him and back to Dick's ears. "I know that part of the lesson was about trust, but I still wish Red Hood would have told me from the beginning that we were up against robots."

"Are you going to tell him?" Barbara's words sounded clearly in Dick's ears, but it took him a moment to understand what she said. He continued to stare at the floor of the batcave as he paced back and forth. "Dick?"

"Sorry, Babs." Dick shook his head quickly, trying to get himself to focus. "I really don't know. I remember early on I promised myself I wasn't going to keep secrets from him. I mean it never worked out well when you did that with me."

Dick glanced toward Bruce for a moment, who was sitting in front of the batcomputer in a familiar pose, with his hands clasped in front of his face.

"What are you thinking now?" Bruce asked. His expression did not reveal any emotion or intent either way, but his tone was decidedly gentle.

"It's different than I thought. I mean I'm training him. Giving him skills and tools to stop criminals from hurting people. It feels like I have a lot of responsibility for what he does. And if he learns that his parents are one: alive; and two: fugitives and basically terrorists, what is he going to do?"

"Do you trust him?" Barbara was less gentle and less masking of her feelings. This was a pointedly rhetorical question. She knew Dick trusted Hank, and was reminding him that he should trust his partner to handle traumatic news, even news like this, appropriately.

"I do. Of course I do." Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked toward Bruce again. "What are you thinking?"

"I want to respect your relationship with your partner, Dick. I wouldn't want to give unwanted advice." Bruce paused for a moment and closed his eyes. His piercing blue orbs opened and he continued, "In my own experience… You're right that when I kept secrets from you, it caused rifts in our relationship. But whenever I kept things from you, it was because I thought doing so would keep you safe. And I believe, many times, it did."

"I'd like to offer a counterpoint, if that's alright, sir." Alfred's crisp accent cut through the brief moment of silence as Dick absorbed Bruce's words. "All three of you have lost parents. Would you not want to be told if they were alive? Regardless of what they were doing?"

"Finally someone starts talking sense around here." Barbara shook her head with a small smile.

"Thank you Alfred—Thank all of you." Dick said, offering the best smile he could muster to Alfred, despite his mind still swimming with anxiety.

"Right." Dick frowned as the final thug left standing attempted to run away. A wingding streaked through the air right in front of the man's face, causing him to stop dead in his tracks.

"Listen man, you can do the whole 'run away' thing, but odds aren't really in your favor." Hank waved a blue-gloved hand toward the halted man. "We're both pretty quick, and we can also throw stuff at you. So, you know, it's easier for everyone if you just stay still and talk to us."

Despite the nagging in the back of his mind, Dick couldn't help but smile at his pupil, watching as he walked casually toward the man, who had wisely decided to turn around and face them with his hands high in the air. "What's your name, guy?"

"I'm not telling you anything. I want a lawyer." The man's voice didn't waiver—appearing to radiate confidence. But his body was stiff—very clearly not making any sudden moves. Nightwing heard his partner sigh very audibly.

"Look, brother. We're not the fuzz. No badges, no Miranda Rights—no rules in general, really." Hank placed handcuffs on the Jed's wrists and ankles. "And that guy over there—" Hank nodded toward Dick—"Was raised by Batman. You think just because he's pretty he doesn't know how to make you talk? Tell him your name, doofus."

"It—It's Jed." Now Jed spoke quickly, nervously.

"Jed, what are you and your friends doing in my city? Is Cobblepot hoping to build a vacation nest here?" Nightwing folded his arms across his chest.

Jed swallowed before answering. "We were just moving some supplies here to fence them. That's it! I swear!"

Nightwing's jaw set below his mask. "Alright, Jed. You'd better just wait here for the police, or you'll be easy for us to find. You look ridiculous in those cuffs."

Hank and Dick grappled up to the roof of the nearby power plant before Dick finally blurted out the words he'd been dreading all night. "We need to talk."

"Boy, that sounds dramatic." Hank's eyebrows rose just slightly above his mask. "What's up?"

"Hank, you know Aaron Silver, the man we interrogated at the casino a few nights back? The one who was found dead in his apartment after a fire?" Hank nodded his head at Dick's words. "He was murdered, Hank. The fire wasn't caused by accident."

"What? Really? Do you know who did it?"

"I do. That's what I've been working on while you've been getting your lessons from the rest of the bat-fam." Dick paused for a moment, looking away from Kite's face and out over the city skyline. "The people who set the fire… I had my suspicions at first, but figured I was just being paranoid. But the other night, I found out I was right."

"Di—Nightwing." Hank caught himself. "What's the matter? Why are you so worked up about this?"

"Your parents set the fire, Hank. They're alive. Rodger and Mary Duncan killed Aaron Silver. They've been responsible for fires all along the east coast, even the one that supposedly killed them." Dick looked back toward his young partner, his face contorted in discomfort. "I'm sorry, Hank."

Hank's expression was tough to make out behind his mask. His lips were pursed tightly, and he didn't move for a few moments. Dick would have given anything for him to say something to break the silence. He wasn't sure what to expect from his protege. He clenched and unclenched his fists in anticipation.

An eternity passed, possibly multiple eternities, before Hank pulled his phone out from a pocket of his belt. He glanced at it quickly, his expression finally changing to a small frown as he tilted his head slightly. "I gotta go. Real life stuff, not superhero stuff."

Dick watched in disbelief and confusion as his partner shot his grapple out across the rooftops and swung away into the night air.


Hank approached the burgundy door of the Carters' brownstone apartment. Liz's text said her parents were away in Metropolis visiting a property her mother was developing, but he still felt the urge to keep quiet with his knocking, as it was 1:17 in the morning.

He tapped his knuckles on the dark red wood three times, paused, and then gave a fourth knock. The door opened quickly, only a small amount, and a hand reached out to usher him inside.

Liz's hasty closing of the door wasn't exactly a slam, but it was certainly audible within the apartment walls. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not a child, Henry." Liz's tone was curt as she locked and deadbolted the door. "I'm not a damsel in distress who needs you to save her. I'm just positive that I saw someone following me on my way home, and living alone on the ground level is statistically unsafe for women."

Liz spun on her heel to face him, her jaw set and her eyes dark with intensity. Hank felt a smile crawl across his face. "Of course, Elizabeth. I had no intention of implying you were a… damsel. I should have phrased my question differently: How are you doing?"

Liz's pursed lips quirked a bit, and she stepped forward to pull him into a hug. "Thank you for coming, Hank," she said quietly. Hank pushed the thought of her blonde hair smelling like strawberries to the back of his head to join a cluster of other ideas he needed to avoid thinking about at the moment. "I'm sorry I snapped—to be honest I am a little bit freaked out."

"Hey, if I thought someone was stalking me I'd be freaked out, too. What did he look like?" Hank gripped Liz's shoulders firmly, hoping to reassure her.

"I'm not sure, exactly. I don't even know if it was a 'he'." Liz turned away and walked toward the tall grandfather clock next to the fireplace. "For the first few blocks I could see a glimpse of someone wearing a hood over my shoulder, but once I got past Fourth Street, I couldn't see anyone."

"Fourth Street…" Hank mused, pulling a curtain just slightly to peer out the nearby window. The divide between Liz's residential borough, Temper Park, and the financial district.

"I still felt something—you know, tingling on the back of my neck—like someone was following me," Liz paused, "I wonder if… My parents have been talking about burglaries happening to their friends. Someone breaking in to steal valuables, a lot of times family heirlooms, just in the last few days. They said ten or twelve of their friends had made discreet police reports."

Hank's eyes widened as he turned back to Liz. What she described sounded awfully familiar—but twelve jobs in just a few days—how was Aubrey moving so fast?

"What do you think someone would want to steal from—" Hank frowned, a realization coming over him. "The rooftops. You didn't see her past Fourth street because she was able to travel on rooftops of Temper Park where the buildings are shorter."

"She? How do you know she's a she?" Liz questioned, her face puzzled.

"Just a hunch, I guess. Something I read online about a local cat burglar sighting," Hank muttered quickly, furrowing his brow and cursing himself for carelessly thinking out loud.

"So you did know about people getting valuables stolen?" Liz had folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. Briefly, a frightening thought passed through Hank's mind. She knows. But there was no real reason to suspect that Liz knew anything about his night job. He hadn't done anything to incriminate himself. "I guess you're already on the case, huh?"

What? "What?" Hank did a double take. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Henry. You know me. I'm going to NYU to study vigilante psychology." Liz said quietly, stepping toward him. This isn't happening.

"Look, Liz, I saw some stuff on Twitter about a Bludhaven cat burglar. I'm not investigating." Hank shook his head and laughed quietly, immediately regretting acting so condescendingly to his friend. "And I don't dress up in a costume and beat up muggers." Another pause. He hated lying. "Anyway, maybe you should call the police."

Liz frowned and grabbed her laptop from the couch, opening it swiftly and plunking at the keyboard. She looked at the screen and read aloud: "Nightwing's sidekick—" Sidekick? Ouch. "Kite—Was first sighted a month ago. Is described by witnesses as six foot, caucasian, dirty blonde hair, roughly 160 pounds." She looked back up to Hank, her narrowed blue eyes giving him a deliberately slow once once over.

Hank opened his mouth to continue to deny, deny, deny, but the sound of glass shattering in the other room interrupted him. His body's response was automatic, three quick steps toward the kitchen, his eyes spotting and processing the scene before him.

A broken window, a lithe figure clad in brown leather garb, with a hood covering their face. Her face.

She was startled by his sudden appearance. Hank sprung forward again, not thinking about if she recognized him; no playful banter rising from his throat. This was not a fun night of superheroing with Nightwing. This was his friend's—well, something like that—home.

He feinted a right cross, and Aubrey fell for it, stepping to his right and sacrificing her balance to avoid the punch. No, not Aubrey. As Hank hooked her left leg with his right, he realized this was not his old friend, though they seemed to shop at the same stores.

Her frame was similar, tall and slender like a dancer, but her body language was different. Clearly not as confident or as skilled as Aubrey. Hank suspected that loudly shattering the glass window wasn't part of the plan, nor was having to deal with a part-time vigilante.

He brought her to the ground, his body still on auto pilot, his right arm barring across her neck, his left hand pulling her arm behind her back. Is this a copycat burglar? Is that even a thing?

"What are you here for?" Hank hissed into the young woman's ear. Something platinum blonde flashed in his peripheral vision. His eyes darted upward, taking in Liz Carter standing in the kitchen doorway, bright blue eyes very wide.

Shit. That's what you get for acting and not thinking, Duncan. How do you explain this? His internal argument took just enough of his attention away for the young girl's hand to get free. Before Hank could react, an elbow hit his stomach hard, and dark smoke filled the air around him, burning his eyes.

Hank wheezed, covering his mouth and nose with his black tee shirt. He heard his name in Liz's voice, and he stumbled toward the sound.

He emerged from the smoke, and Liz started to grab for his hands, but he pulled away, coughing hard. "Sorry," He choked out. "I have to—" he was interrupted by another coughing fit.

"You have to go." The image of Liz was shimmering like a heat mirage through his bleary eyes. Something was pressed into his hands. His bag. "I'm not going to say 'be careful'."

Hank half-coughed and half-laughed as he stepped toward the shattered window. He should have known better than to try and keep secrets from Elizabeth Carter. The smoke had cleared, and he glimpsed the young woman's silhouette against the dim glow of the city lights.

"We can, uh… Talk about this later." He muttered as he leapt out the window. Smooth as ever, Hank.


Aubrey gazed out at the Bludhaven skyline against the background of the coast. The buildings here were vastly different from those in her hometown. Gotham had its share of neon signs and bright lights, but they were contained within Amusement Mile and the Cauldron, and generally associated with seedy, crime-infested areas.

Compared to Gotham's dreary, dark, and—well, gothic—architecture, it was like there was a carnival all throughout the city of Bludhaven. Casinos, various business districts, the neighborhoods and boroughs, the boardwalk, the ports… All of it was always infected with some amount of dim light.

Of course, she also had a love for the foreboding towers, bridges, and tunnels of Gotham. The rooftop she stood on reminded her of a similar one in Burnside. A brand new apartment complex, filled with young adults who were successful enough to afford it, or had their rent paid by their parents. A mix of the gothic-revival styles Gotham was famous for, and some new age Frank Lloyd Wright details to draw in the people full of youth and full of pocket.

Aubrey's architectural musings were interrupted by a familiar, annoying buzzing. She snatched the small burner phone from a pocket in her cloak and flipped it open. "Yes?"

"I need help!" The voice on the phone was urgent, followed by several shallow breaths. Clearly Kiera was getting a workout in.

"What's wrong?"

"I screwed up! Some guy was at my mark, and he caught me as soon as I got in. He moved so fast, and I was startled because I accidentally shattered the window—"

"Kiera. Stop. less talking, more breathing and running. He's following you, right?" Aubrey turned her back to the coast and glared southwest, across the financial district and toward the Temper Borough.

"Yeah." Kiera was still sucking in breath, but sounded calmer than before. Aubrey shook her head. she had a feeling something like this would happen. Too many moving parts tonight—too many jobs and not enough experience.

"Stay on Metro Road and keep running. You're going to cut through the Dexter Lofts building on Ninth Street—the fifth floor, third window from the left. It's open. Close it behind you and hideout until I call you. I'll take care of your tail."

"Almost there!" Upon hearing Kiera's reply, Aubrey was just able to glimpse a lithe silhouette bounding across the rooftops to the southwest. Another silhouette, slightly larger, was following, about forty yards behind.

Aubrey reached into her right boot to retrieve a hook before leaping off the apartment building's roof, catching the hook on the zipline she had set up there previously for her escape. She landed with a graceful roll on the Dexter Lofts' rooftop, then sprinted ahead.

She stopped short at the edge of the loft rooftop, a few stories higher than the roof where Kiera fire her own zipline into the window Aubrey had left open and take a running start to slide down the line.

As she disappeared from Aubrey's view, Aubrey shifted her gaze toward the shadow following her. Her eyes briefly widened in surprise, but then she shook her head. Perhaps she should have known Kiera's issues would be the fault of the masked blonde boy.

'Kite' was dressed differently tonight, not in his brown and blue kevlar uniform, but civilian clothes. A tee shirt and jeans, both blacker than Bludhaven's neon-tinted night sky. As before, he looked vaguely familiar, but his offwhite mask prevented any possibility of Aubrey recognizing him past that.

Taking three steps backward and timing herself carefully, she took a running leap through the air, colliding with the very surprised Kite before she could hit the rooftop itself and risk injuring herself.

"Oof!" The young man grunted as the pair tumbled across the concrete. They both got up quickly, and when Aubrey's eyes found his face again, there was no trace of the near-permanent half smile he wore during their previous encounter. A grimly set jaw and pursed lips moved only to bark: "So there are two of you?"

Aubrey almost felt concerned for the absence of the good-natured banter, but she had to stay focused on helping Kiera get away. "Sure, why not?" Without thinking, she had pitched her voice into the confident, airy tone she used when talking to a man with an expensive watch.

"Why are you trying to steal from George and Elaine Carter?" Kite's face remained hard. Aubrey made a mental note that her previous exit strategy may not be as effective tonight.

"It's really as simple as them being wealthy and having expensive things." Apparently the young man was not aware of the real reason for Kiera's visit to the Carter residence. Kite lunged forward faster than Aubrey could anticipate, and as she attempted to sidestep him, he caught one of her shoulders and bent her right arm behind her back.

"Stay away—" THOOOOM. A booming crash of sound drowned out whatever Kite was going to say next, and Aubrey's eyes widened in fear as orange flames bloomed from the Dexter Lofts. Specifically from the fifth floor, the third window from the left.


"I'm afraid there's been a change in your plans, Cobblepot." Generally, Nightwing tried to put at least a small edge in his tone when speaking to criminals. At the moment, the edge came hard and without much effort on his part.

On top of everything else that Dick had to deal with over the past few days, the Penguin was in his city. A known criminal—and frankly, Dick's least favorite class of crook.

For years, Oswald Cobblepot conducted his illegal operations practically in the public eye of Gotham. His old money bought him many of the politicians and police officers who should have been trying to stop him from stealing from the hard working people of Gotham. Instead, he was almost a local celebrity.

In his time as Robin, Dick and Batman had thwarted many off-the-books sales of drugs, weapons, or any sort of stolen goods. However, in most cases, the Penguin was always too far removed from the incidents to pin the crimes on him. In many instances where there was enough evidence to warrant a trial, the portion of the District Attorney's office in Cobblepot's pocket let him off with warnings, fines, or minimum sentences.

"I assure you, boy, I have no idea what you're talking about, nor what you're doing here." Cobblepot's thick cockney accent had allegedly developed while he attended finishing school across the pond, but Nightwing had heard many murmurs and whispers from his thugs about the accent being a facade to seem more aristocratic.

At some point, Penguin 'went straight'. He claimed to focus purely on his Iceberg Lounge to garner money and power. Of course, the lounge attracted just as many of Gotham's corrupt elite as it did law abiding citizens.

Furthermore, Nightwing and Kite had still found a pack of his goons trying to smuggle stolen goods into Bludhaven just a few hours prior. And to top it all off, Oswald was here, on the roof of the Blud Harbor Hotel.

"For one, whatever meeting you have planned here, is canceled, and so is your 'benefit dinner'." Dick's voice was low, steady, and all business. No lighthearted Robin quips entered his mind.

"Is that so? Nightwing prefers that I cancel an event to raise money for the Cobblepot Foundation? A charity organization that provides educational scholarships to underprivileged children all over the eastern seaboard?" As per usual, Cobblepot's came in a constant sneer. Condescending, holier-than-thou, desperately trying to convince his audience that he was better than them. "What do the kids say these days? 'Not a good look' for your brand, Boy Wonder."

Dick stood up from his crouched position on the edge of the rooftop, taking a few steps toward the Penguin. As Robin, Cobblepot was the first criminal he was able to look down on. Dick was twelve when he surpassed the five-foot-two man in height. Of course, the original Robin also knew better than anyone not to underestimate someone based on their size.

"Come on, Os. You've known me a long time. Between the two of us, who does the media like more?" Nightwing allowed himself a small smirk as he spoke. Best not to go too Batman too fast. "And to think, I didn't have to spend a dime on them."

"I'm afraid even threats from the great Nightwing will not impair my passion for educating the young and needy." If nothing else came from tonight, provoking Cobblepot's angry growl and scrunched up face was one tally in the win-column for Dick. "Now if you'll excuse me, I was hoping to enjoy a peaceful evening."

"Here's the deal, Penguin. I don't know exactly what, how, or why, but someone has plans for your benefit dinner. Maybe you even know about them." Dick took another step forward toward Penguin, his face now devoid of the usual Nightwing smirk. The back of his mind displayed an image of Hank's name on the guest list. "I do know they're the kind of plans that could get people hurt. And I'm not going to let that happen. I guarantee that if something goes down at your event, it will not be a good look for the Cobblepot brand. And on top of that you'll have me to deal with."

This wasn't even close to the Penguin's first rodeo—he wouldn't be intimidated as easily as his hired help, Jed, was earlier that night. The HUD of Dick's mask showed no change in his heartbeat. "As much as you might wish otherwise, boy, I'm here in Bludhaven on business. Legal business. As in not breaking any laws. And my benefit dinner will be equally legal."

"For someone doing 'legal' business, you have a lot of pictures of stolen valuables on your hard drive," Nightwing shot back.

"Once again, I've no idea what you mean. And even if I did have such pictures, obtaining them without a warrant would absolutely not hold up in a court of law." Cobblepot removed his monocle momentarily to clean it with his pocket handkerchief, and turned his back to Dick.

Dick clenched his teeth and began to step toward Penguin's line of sight, but before he opened his mouth to speak, he heard a muffled crunch of gravel behind him. Nightwing turned his shoulders as he vaulted forward, gracefully springing off the cement with his hands and landing facing his assailant.

A tall, lean figure loomed behind him wearing brown leather armor and a gray hooded cloak. A very similar uniform to the thief Nightwing caught a glimpse of in the Silver Lining Casino, but the person before him had the body of a full grown man, not a young woman as Hank had described.

Nightwing's eyes narrowed behind the whiteout lens of his domino mask as he caught sight of a small dagger in the left hand of the hooded man. The stolen valuables on Penguin's computer and this thief's appearance couldn't be a coincidence.

"Who are you?" Dick barked the question out of habit, and received no answer. Not one of the more eccentric villains with a pathological need for their name to rise to infamy.

Instead, the man shot forward, swiping the dagger at Dick without warning. Nightwing leaned back to avoid the blade, dropping his weight and twisting while extending his leg to trip the man.

Nightwing's attacker was ready, rolling gracefully over his back and slashing across his ribs, the blade cutting through a chink in the former Boy Wonder's black and blue armor. Dick winced in pain and surprise at the man's expertise, as his attacker came out of the roll behind him and attempted to stab forward with the dagger. Nightwing deflected with the staves on his gauntlet, knocking the dagger from the man's hand.

Dick took advantage of the man's surprise with two quick jabs to his torso. The blows glanced off the leather armor, but they served their purpose to hold the man's attention as Nightwing whirled into a roundhouse kick.

As Nightwing's heel connected with the hooded man's right shoulder, his hood was knocked off, revealing short, jet black hair and hard blue eyes. The lower half of the man's face was covered by a mask, but from what Dick could see, his face was reminiscent of paintings of European royalty.

The man stood up straight once again after recovering from the kick, and raised a hand into the air. Suddenly, half a dozen cloaked figures appeared in a half circle around Nightwing, swinging in on grapples, sliding down ziplines, or climbing up from the edge of the roof.

"You're outnumbered, but we don't need to hurt you. Leave us to speak with Mr. Cobblepot." The dark-haired man's voice was icy as he pulled his hood back over his head.

"Are you kidding? You attacked me, Lord of the Rings." Dick spat as he felt the sliced skin around his ribs throb. He glanced over to Penguin, who stood with his arms folded, watching with pursed lips. Nightwing glowered as he briefly assessed the situation.

The figures around him were all smaller than the taller leader. Were they children? Maybe Hank's age? Even injured as he was, he'd faced worse odds than this, but this renaissance-fair-gang was probably better trained than the mooks who acted as muscle for Penguin or Two-Face.

A loud, shrill beeping burst out from Nightwing's wrist. "Ah shit." He muttered aloud as he gave his gauntlet two swift taps. "Oh no."

Dick didn't have time to look back, tapping his gauntlet again to signal his motorcycle as he sprinted to the edge of the roof and leapt into the night air. All the while, a message flashed in bright red on his mask's HUD.

'KITE: VITALS CRITICAL'.