Nightwing: Brutality Chapter 1: Slowly Turning Gray, a birds of prey fanfic

Chapter One: Slowly Turning Gray

Night fell upon Bludhaven. Smog twisted ethereal and silent through the dark alleyways that made up the downtown of the Blud. The skells skittered through the poison fog like nomads in a canyon-like desert. Rain began to fall softly, dampening the dregs of society and the decay of the urban jungle alike. The downpour increased, as if nature was trying to wash away the sins of man. Dark, rain, and crime; a Raymond Chandler evening.

Lucy Scrawnhart had lost her identity long ago. She gave up her name and her soul to the Blud for unanswered prayers, and dreams perverted into nightmares. Lulu, as she was known in the Blud, was a working girl by trade. She gave in to men's twisted desires nightly, barely by choice, sometimes by force. It was far from the life she wanted.

Lulu came to Bludhaven five years ago, from upstate, searching for meaning in her life, hoping to find a big start in the city, like so many other fresh-faced and bright-eyed young people before her. If you can't make it in Gotham, the Blud will have you, it was said. Bludhaven did have them. Took them, more precisely. Angels with dirty faces, they became, and the light from their eyes was stolen as well, extinguished by the black ash passing for life that Bludhaven offered.

Lulu stumbled out of Kane's Bar at about one a.m. this morning. She giggled, inebriated to sight, sound, and smell, a twelve-step program gone terribly wrong. A passerby could see from her face that she was once very beautiful; smooth skin, lines forming from premature age, rosy cheeks, now purple from a recent blow, azure eyes wide and once happy, now graying and sad. Her hair, once golden blond, flaxen in the light, was now a dingy yellow, jaundice by her environment. Her makeup was haphazard at best, done partially to attract the next trick, but mostly to hide the scars and bruises, her face a scrapbook of the past five years.

She wore a yellowed white blouse, button-up, top button missing, no doubt from the Johns who had torn her shirt open on so many occasions. She was dressed in a short red skirt, dingy as the rest of her, which came barely past her lower panty line. Fishnets clung to her legs, a second skin, armor weak and useless against the life she subjected herself to. Her stiletto heels were scuffed, worn by the punishing pavement she pounded every night, searching for that next trick, dreading that next John.

Lulu spun around in the empty street, holding high a bottle of cheap wine in her right hand, singing absent-mindedly, a drunken musical performed by streetlight. She gave a 'whoop' into the dark night, her voice echoing down the vacant alleyways. She took a heavy swig of her wine, it's ruddy liquid running down her cheeks, giving her pallid face the visage of a satiated vampire.

"Who wansta party?" Lulu asked the empty night, pumping her bottle filled hand into the air. "Who wandsdo get down with a purdy lay-dee?" she asked again, her words making no attempt to hide her degree of inebriation. The dark streets and alleys gave no answer to her query. Raindrops hit her face harder. She tipped her head back, child-like in her attempt to catch the drops in her mouth. Her makeup ran, her eyes stung and reddened. Lulu coughed hard, choking on both drink and spit. She stumbled on the slippery pavement, and crashed limply to the ground. She giggled to herself, as the rain soaked into her clothes.

"I gahiss nahbuddy," she slurred. She smiled and began to get up, steadying herself with the wine bottle and her left hand. She finally made it to her feet, and stumbled to a nearby building. She sighed, leaning against the wall for support. She took another swig of her wine, then looked down the throat of the bottle inquisitively.

"Damn it... empty!" she hiccupped, dropping her right arm to her side, and releasing her tenuous grasp on the neck of the bottle. It dropped to the sidewalk, and landed unharmed, miraculously upright. She smiled at her good fortune and gave a drunken laugh.

"Was' so funny, Lu?"

Lulu turned her head to the source of the voice, an alley across the street from her. Through her makeup stung eyes, and rain diffused vision, she could make out the forms of four men emerging from the alleyway. They were all dressed in various brands and forms of baggy jeans, low on the hip, boxer shorts visible above the beltline. Their shoes were new and expensive, sport sneakers, so white and clean the current rain was probably the first they had seen. They wore various baseball jerseys, covered only with think rain slickers, navy blue, but nearly black in the dim light offered by the streetlamps. The one that spoke came forward. The black youth was taller, and seemingly tougher than the rest. While the other three with him had eyes full of cruelty and hatred, his had something else in addition; cunning. He reached up to his cornrow hair and brushed off collection of stationery drops.

"I said, Lu," he continued, dropping his hands to his side with an air of impatience, "what the fuck be so funny?" Lulu's face took on a look of concern. Her mind sensed danger, but trying to get her body to move was a challenge in her alcohol induced stupor. All the drunken laughter had left her eyes.

"Nuh... nuthin' T-Cool..." she trailed off. Lulu looked at her feet, and the empty bottle standing loyally beside her. The four surrounded her, cutting off any easy exit.

"Well, shit, thas' nice t'hear," the leader, T-Cool said, a sarcastic mock-smile growing on his face. He turned to his boys and laughed, and they chuckled in response, like hyenas surrounding a fallen zebra. Suddenly, and with violent force, T-Cool spun around to Lulu, smacking her to the ground with the back of his right hand. The force of the slap rippled in slow motion across Lulu's face, bruising the flesh underneath in the process. Lulu fell heavy to the ground, the rain that had collected on there splashing up around her. She had been hit before, harder than this, but every time it hurt, and every time she would tear up. Her resolve not to cry had been worn away long ago. She moaned from the ground, sobbing in between groans. T-Cool pulled a Glock 9mm from his belt, fell to one knee, and jammed the barrel into Lulu's temple.

"Y'know what the word on the street is, Lu?" he asked, smiling sinister as before. "They say you don' be rollin' with a man no mo'. They say, you makin' yo money for yo'self?" Lulu moaned softly, and tried to shake her head 'no.' T-Cool pressed the Glock into her head harder. "Don'chu be shakin' yo ugly head at me, bitch! I ain't lookin' for you to be tellin' me I right or wrong. I jus' here to tell you I knows, and that I gonna give you a chance t'make it right. So whas' it gonna be, Lu? You throwin' in with me and mine, or am I just gonna end it here for you and let you wash away like the other fuckin' trash on dis street? Cuz' ain't no one gonna make money in dis town wit'out me and mine getting' what we goddamn deserve!"

There was a groan from behind T-Cool. He turned in time to see BigB to his left fall limply to the ground, while a shiny cylindrical object spun quietly away into the night. Before he could react, Smokes to his immediate right reached for his neck, a near invisibly thin cable was wrapped around it. Smokes tried to choke out a 'help,' but was pulled up into the dark night. T-Cool rose to his feet, and Blues, his only remaining man, pulled out his own Glock. They took steps back, and fired into the night, where they last saw Smokes disappear. Their bullets 'plinged' off of concrete facade, glass shattered and some fell, adding a diamond like sparkle to the evening downpour.

"Holee-shit! Man, T, what was dat?!" screamed Blues. T-Cool tried to answer, but his response was cut short by the brief appearance of two bat like blades, spinning silently through the air. Transfixed in wonder, paralyzed by fear, T-Cool and Blues watched, as the blades hit the streetlamps, completely shattering and snuffing one, and damaging the other to the point it could only blink in starts and fits. The irregular strobe confused the two gangbangers further, and they fired wildly into the night again.

"Oh no, hell NO!" screamed Blues. Lulu looked up through the random flashes of light of the guns, intermingled with the blink of the remaining streetlamp. From the dark, as if made of liquid night itself, a muscular figure in form-fitting dark clothing lunged out, grabbing Blues from behind. Blues tried to turn and fire on his attacker, but was met halfway by a knee to the groin, and a swift uppercut-palm to the jaw. Blues cartwheeled slowly backward, head over feet, as his attacker leapt silently over him, not a movement wasted, everything perfectly choreographed and timed.

T-Cool turned at the sound of Blues' plight, only to see him hit the ground, as his ebon-clad attacker landed two feet to T-Cools stomach, knocking the wind out of him, making him toss his gun away. T-Cool was street-fight smart however, having been raised in the punishing 'hood that was the Blud. He rolled the best he could with his attacker's blow. The man in black flipped to a gymnast-quality stop about ten feet away from T-Cool. The attacker turned slow, and met T-Cool eye to eye.

The attacker was dressed in a dark black cloth, which seemed to repel the rain. His torso was emblazoned with a deep blue "V" that went from shoulder to shoulder in the shape of a bird, it's color barely-visible in the flickering light. Around his waist, he had a silver belt, a full circle broken at the front, seemingly made up of various metal compartments. They too were blue-tinted. His boots were black as the rest of him, save for a tinted-blue steel toe, scratched, scuffed, and dinged, lending credence to the attackers stature and lethal air. As he turned, T-Cool saw that the man had two cylindrical objects, about a foot or so in length, blue steel, attached to the back of his costume. It had been what T-Cool saw spinning away, back to their master, after they had so effectively rendered BigB unconscious. T-Cool once again met the stranger's eyes.

The man in black wore a mask, a black domino mask of old, like the Lone Ranger's, but with a guard, which ran sharply down the bridge of the man's nose. Instead of the rounded edges of the mask of the cowboy, this mask had sharp edges, shooting upward and downward at the same time, giving the mask the shape of a bird, or perhaps a bat. The stranger's eyes shone clearly through the eyeholes; intense blue and intelligent.

T-Cool had caught is breath, and his attacker had not yet moved. He stood there solid as the granite that made up the Blud, the personification of power and grace. Lulu moaned softly nearby, nursing her newly acquired bruises, but managing to sit upright next to her trusty wine bottle. T-Cool raised his fists expertly, ready for a fight.

"Who you s'pposed, t'be? Friggin Zorro, or some crap?"

The stranger smiled.

"Call me the neighborhood watch," said the man in black. His voice was a loud whisper, rough and ghostly.

"Well, I don' care who da' fuck you think you are," said T-Cool defiantly, dancing in the street like Muhammad Ali, pumping his fists, shadowboxing in the flickering dark. "It's all da' same in da' end, brah," T-Cool smiled, "you're fallin' down, an' den' I shootin' you in da' fuckin' skull." The stranger grinned a smile that sent shivers down T-Cool's spine.

"Excellent," he said.

T-Cool let out a mighty roar, and charged at the stranger. He swung quickly, skillfully. Left, right, left, uppercut, just like his old man taught him before that loser ran out on him and his mother years ago. The stranger dodged each, with minimal movement, with little effort. T-Cool saw an opening and kicked at the stranger's stomach. When you're taught to fight in the streets, you learn quick that anything goes, every part of your body is a weapon. T-Cool's kick was blocked by the stranger's knee, which came swiftly and fluidly up, shielding the stranger from the blow. With the knee up, T-Cool swung at the man in black's head with a quick left. The stranger's right arm flew up and knocked away the blow, his right hand meeting T-Cool's left bicep with minimal force, while the stranger's left hand found an opening in T-Cool's movement of arms, and slapped him with hard palm to the sternum, knocking T-Cool to the pavement.

T-Cool landed in a puddle, and the water splashed up around him loudly. The rain intensified, blurring T-Cool's vision. He jumped to his feet as fast as he could, but his attacker hadn't moved towards him an inch. Rage got the better of him, and all of T-Cool's street fight knowledge fell by the wayside. His next salvo of punches was weak, reckless, and ill planned. The stranger knocked, blocked, or deflected all the blows away. T-Cool threw one final hard left at the stranger's head. The stranger easily stepped aside, while delivering a firm blow to T-Cool's shoulder blade, simultaneously bringing his right leg up as pivot point. The force of the initial blow and the combined moves spun T-Cool feet over head to the pavement, where he once again landed on his back.

T-Cool winced in pain. He had landed on something hard, something alien to the topography of the pavement under him. He reached gingerly below him and found that he was lying on his Glock. The man in black had made no move for him, so T-Cool grabbed the gun, and somersaulted forward, came to his feet and spun skillfully to meet the stranger face to barrel. He pulled the trigger as fast as he could.

The bullets tore through the rain, breaking each drop they encountered on their furious journey. The stranger spun left hard and fast, while falling right slightly, muscle memory telling him exactly what to do. The bullets screamed past, but the stranger showed no concern, as a single word escaped his lips.

"Enough."

T-Cool's eyes went wide, as the stranger finished his pivot, his left hand slapping the gun from his hands, while the right followed smashing into T-Cool's face, lifting him a foot and a half off of the ground. T-Cool found solace in the cement once again, but this time, he wasn't getting up. The stranger kicked the gun far away from the still form of T-Cool. He reached down to his belt and pressed a button hidden underneath. He paused a moment, as if listening.

"Yes," he said in that half-whisper, "Gang attack. Corner of O'Neil and Wright. If you would send an ambulance as well."

The stranger pressed the same button again, and then turned his attention to Lulu.

Lulu sat in the same place, still moaning, but less so, hugging the empty wine bottle to her chest, like a child with a teddy bear. The man in black crouched down in front of her. A warm smile shone on the strangers face now, all intensity and violence had left. He reached out a hand. Lulu sobbed in fear. The stranger's hand caressed her chin.

"Shhh," he whispered. "I won't hurt you. I promise."

Lulu wasn't convinced. Half a decade of men beating and taking what they wish from you wasn't about to let her believe a man in a mask was going to help her.

"Please don't kill me..." Lulu said in a small voice. Tears ran down her cheeks and intermingled with the raindrops and blood from her new bruise. Worry crossed the stranger's face now.

"Lucy. Lucy, I promise I will not."

Lulu's eyes went wide. The stranger knew her name. Someone knew who she once was. A small part of her believed someone cared. But it was only a very small part. Nevertheless, a weak smile escaped her lips, despite her trepidation. The stranger held out his hand again, and stood up. Lulu's brows knitted in worry, but she meekly raised her hand up to his. His grasp was tight, but not crushing. Even his touch communicated caring and warmth. She staggered, and leaned against him, still weak from drink and the beating. His chest was solid, his breathing even and healthy. Incredible, she thought, for a man who just accomplished what he had.

"The EMTs will be here soon," he said quietly. "They will take care of you. You'll be okay."

Lulu smiled again, her tears now tears of happiness.

"I... I want to repay you," she smiled, stroking his chest. The man gently took her hand away from his pectorals.

"No. Not like that. Not like you'd use to. We begin something new, right?"

Lulu was shocked at the refusal. Was she ugly to him? Or did this man truly wish to help her? No one had ever offered her such kindness and care. Her lips parted slightly in surprise.

"But I want to thank you some how," she said aghast. The stranger looked at her, thoughtful for a moment. He reached into his belt and pulled out a laminated business card.

"You want to thank me, go to this man," he handed her the card, "and tell him all you know about the gangs and how they're run down here." Lulu shook her head.

"I can't do that. T-Cool has friend's in high places. If I talk to the police, they hear, and they kill me for sure." She frowned, as another bout of crying tried to fight it's way to the surface.

"No. Don't worry. This is a good guy," the stranger stated, "He's not police. Not anymore. He's a private detective," he spoke, pointing at the card. Lulu looked down at the card; Dick Grayson Private Investigations. She looked back up to the stranger.

"I trust him. You can too," he said.

Lulu bit her bottom lip and smiled. The stranger smiled warmly again. Sirens sounded nearby, the distinct wail of an ambulance mixing with howl of a squad car. The stranger looked towards the source of the sirens, then looked back down to Lulu.

"You'll be safe tonight. Get checked up by the EMTs, and tell the police enough to get these four behind bars tonight, but not enough that you think there will be immediate retribution. Then," he said, pointing at the card again, "tomorrow, get to this guy's office. Okay?"

Lulu nodded.

"You take care of yourself, Lucy," the stranger said, backing away, while taking a small device from his belt. He pointed it towards the top of a nearby building. He pressed a button, and an invisibly thin line shot from it. He gave a slight pull to check for sturdiness, and gave a nod to Lulu.

"Thank you," Lulu mouthed, too in shock over all that had just happened to make any more words emanate past the confines of her mind. The stranger nodded, and gave a friendly smile. He pressed another button on the device in his hand, and was pulled into the rain-filled night sky.

On a rooftop not to far away, the stranger stopped and crouched on the edge of a cornice. He watched the police take away the gang bangers, all of them barely conscious, and watched as T-Cool was loaded into an ambulance. The stranger smiled grimly at that. He continued to watch as Lulu was tenderly placed on a stretcher and loaded into an other waiting ambulance. After a few minutes, only one squad car remained, watching over the scene, waiting for CSU. The stranger stood upright, and pressed a button underneath his belt.

"Nightwing to Nightbird," he spoke, "come to poppa."

In the alleyways nearby, an engine roared.

Nightwing smiled to himself.

Tomorrow, it begins, he thought smiling.

The rain began to clear. The clouds began to break, giving way to sunlight, and a brand new day over Bludhaven.

The black-clad form of Nightwing disappeared into the maze of alleyways below.