The Stairwell

Two-Face cornered hard, grabbing the slippery railing with one hand and using centripetal force to swing himself quickly over the landing and down to the next flight of stairs. Speed was key because it was a fairly safe bet that at least one if not both of the Bat-brats would be close behind him.

The plan had been perfect. It had taken months of careful planning from a cozy padded cell in Arkham Asylum, but it had been perfect. His grand entrance into the museum would attract the necessary attention, and while the police and the feds were busy duking it out over who had jurisdiction his hired guards would shamelessly call 911 from a cell phone. The emergency dispatcher would patch them in to whoever was pretending to be in charge out there, and the guards would claim that they had managed to waylay the villains inside the museum and—'thank God someone had listened to the FBI tip-off and decided to hire reinforcements for the evening'—because they were mounting a brave effort to keep the despicable thieves from reaching the exhibit hall while their compatriots hastened to load the priceless artifacts onto a box truck and shuttle them safely away from the museum. The guards' credentials would flawlessly pass inspection, of course, along with the 'armed, plain-clothed security personnel' hired to 'guard the truck' in the event that the villains broke through the line and made a grab for it. A delicious irony would have been if a few uniforms were persuaded to help them load the truck, which would have been checked, double-checked, and eventually cleared to transport the artifacts to the safety of a 'secure location,' under a 'highly welcomed' police escort.

Of course, the guards he bought would have ensured that the efforts met with no such resistance inside the museum, and the police would smile and wave as the priceless Egyptian treasures were hauled away by the thieves. The 'secure location' was going to be the parking lot of the Millennium Hotel ten blocks away—whose night watchmen had been paid off—where the artifacts would be transferred into the trunks of ordinary rental cars and the odd minivan so that they could be surreptitiously driven to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, which had been the pre-arranged backup display location in the event that something happened at the museum in New York before the transfer date to the Smithsonian in Washington. It would have been easy to convince the police escort to leave the artifacts in the hands of those trusted by the museum—and ergo by the Egyptian government, but any cops feeling more noble than lazy could easily take a bullet to the head and be stuffed into the trunk of their patrol car.

Out from under police scrutiny, the cars and vans would be emptied yet again and the artifacts transferred into a fleet of SUVs that were already waiting in the garage. The cars and vans would remain behind and the box truck would have been left parked in front of the hotel's delivery entrance. The SUVs would then leave quietly would make their way off of Manhattan Island hopefully without anyone being the wiser. When they finally arrived at Two-Face's hideout outside of Gotham the SUVs would be returned to the airport rental agency.

Even if Two-Face didn't escape the museum, the artifacts would be waiting for him after his next breakout.

But Two-Face never intended to be caught.

Of course, he also didn't intend for the Bat-brats to show up here—this wasn't Gotham they were way out of their territory, and nor did he intend to run into the scrawny animorph who was currently bounding down the stairs after him as a green gazelle.

"His daddy ain't gonna like this," the despot muttered emotionlessly as he reached into his pocket and removed an electronic device. His fingers danced across the small keypad and then, at the precise moment, his thumb depressed an ominous red button.


Outside the museum

Special Agent Hernandez replaced his cell phone in his pocket with a resigned sigh. The anonymous tip about the truck had been completely accurate, and four of the apprehended criminals were being carted away in the back of the police van that was now showing taillights as it drove away from the museum. The other two were still being treated, one for burns and the other for… whatever the heck some vigilante did to his knee. Unless Robin's talents include disguising his voice in particularly effeminate ways, Hernandez would place money that it was Batgirl.

For some reason that made him feel slightly better; at least two people down here appeared to know the score, which was a lot more than he could claim for Booker and his pathetic excuse for an anti-terrorist force. Cynically he guessed that a certifiable lunatic only warranted the NYPD's complete federal cooperation if they had a bomb strapped to their chest and were shouting obscenities in Arabic.

Hernandez shoved those thoughts aside as he glanced back over to the museum. The police line was too far away to hear anything with parabolic microphones, and even then the masonry of the museum made distinguishing sounds infuriatingly difficult. The only sound everyone was sure of was the staccato bursts of gunfire that started some time ago and didn't appear to be stopping. However, being so close to the building now, Hernandez had been able to occasionally hear the barking of machinegun fire coming from somewhere inside the museum.

"Damn kids." The agent shook his head, half in exasperation and half in resigned confusion. Even though Robin didn't look as small as in the tabloids, Hernandez would have staked a guess that the boy—yes, boy,was about the same age as his oldest son. He wondered what type of father allows his children to run around in traffic light-patterned costumes and dodge the bullets of homicidal maniacs. But then again, look at who Robin's father is

"Gordon should have arrested him for child endangerment," Hernandez muttered, still shaking his head as a police cruiser left the scene, undoubtedly transporting the injured criminals to a hospital for further treatment.

In the silence that followed Hernandez realized that he was the only one standing by the loading dock, as the uniforms he had dragged with him to investigate the truck had either departed with the arrested criminals or returned to the line for further orders. Then for some unknown reason he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Suddenly the agent realized what had suddenly become disconcerting: the silence. The drone of gunfire had finally stopped. Hernandez turned back around and spotted an open SWAT van with men inside huddled around a parabolic microphone. He had just started walking in that direction when suddenly a loud yet muffled sound rumbled all around him.

If he had been paying attention, Hernandez would have heard the sound grow into a deafening roar only to be drowned out by louder, more frantic sounds.

However, Special Agent Hernandez wasn't paying any attention to noise. He was too busy watching in horror as the SWAT van shot sky-high. It had been parked above a manhole cover, which had been blown off from the force of a high-powered explosion in the sewers below. The manhole cover—and the SWAT van, were lofted into the air and pitched aside like matchbox toys as a towering jet of flame shot out from the sewers.

Similar pillars of orange flame had erupted all along the block, knocking aside whatever had been unfortunate enough to be close by. Policemen were on the ground, writhing in agony. Some were rolling to put out the flames that had consumed their bodies.

It was a difficult sight to watch and Hernandez faltered, turning hesitantly back towards the eerily silent museum. He knew instantly that Two-Face had set off the explosions, and that now the police line had been broken.


The stairwell

Garfield watched with a gazelle's eyes as Two-Face reached the bottom floor and ran through the fire door. He was on the final landing, gearing ready to leap after the villain and transform into something heavy to tackle him with when suddenly he saw what Two-Face had pulled from his pocket. The gazelle gasped and turned into a panther—needing speed—and jumped quickly towards the closing door just as the villain pressed the button.

Instantly the entire bottom flight of stairs erupted in a fiery explosion, along with the base of every other stairwell in the museum. Two-Face had rigged them all to blow to cover his escape.

The panther felt his green hairs begin to singe, and Garfield scrunched his eyes shut and curled into a ball, transforming into a cockroach in the process as his body sailed into the flames.


Robin was halfway down the staircase when the explosion shook its frame. Quickly he dove into a corner wrapped his cape protectively about him. The initial fireball threatened to climb the height of stairwell, but the driving water prevented that from happening. The flames barely made it to Robin's landing, and the smoldering carcass of metal below him managed to escape with only blast damage, for the sprinklers had made everything too wet to catch on fire.

When Robin regained his feet he saw that Two-Face's explosion had effectively sealed off the ground floor's entrance to the stairwell. The Boy Wonder spat a Romani curse as took a running leap off the landing. He sailed forward down the stairs and into the second floor hallway, tucked into a roll to avoid injury, and then shot to his feet when he came out of it. Then he took off at a run towards the nearest window.


Batgirl had only managed to reach the first landing before the explosion shook the staircase. She was thrown back into the wall and barely managed to remain on her feet. When she recovered her balance she ran to the railing and peered down to survey the damage.

What she saw in the unsettled dust and cinder that was quickly turning to wet and sooty slime on every exposed surface was Robin's unaided flight down the stairs and through the second floor entrance. Batgirl grit her teeth and sprinted down after him.


Another stairwell

Victor's transmitter worked perfectly despite the random fluctuations he was picking up. Future analysis would reveal those blips to occur every time Gar shape-shifts, but right now the whys didn't matter. Right now all that mattered was keeping up with the erratic flight of his little green friend.

Victor had run back down the hallway towards the access stairwell. He kept track of Gar's movements and his cybernetics-enhanced legs enabled him to keep up fairly easily. He matched what turned out to be a green gazelle almost stride for stride as he ran down his own set of stairs.

Of course, having matched Gar's movements so perfectly, he was also standing on the bottommost landing when the walls exploded around him. Victor barely had time to contemplate how on earth they had missed the rigged explosives the first time they had taken this staircase when the supports gave way beneath him and sent his flesh and titanium body plummeting into the basement.


The first floor

The hummer was sitting exactly where he'd left it.

Two-Face ran through the lobby, hastily scurrying over and around the rubble that littered his path. Here sat the perfect getaway vehicle. With the cops in disarray thanks to his little surprise, it should be an easy task to break through their lines and make a break for it. The hummer was powerful enough and armored enough to at least give them a run for their money.

And what luck! It started right up!

Two-Face slammed on the brakes and shoved the hummer into reverse. The tires screeched as he stomped down on the gas. They spun in place for half a second before the hummer lurched backward. It roared in reverse back through the hole it had made in the front entryway of the museum and began a careening descent down the front stairs towards the scattered and chaotic remnants of the police line.


Still in cockroach form, Garfield crawled out from the pile of rubble he had found himself beneath when the explosion had run its course.

"Nnnnng," he winced, transforming back into human and rubbing his aching head. He was covered in char from the explosion, which was swiftly becoming streaked by water from the sprinklers and giving his green complexion a grayish, slimy hue.

Garfield was dirty, but for the most part unharmed.

"Whoa… Not cool, dude," he chastised with half-hearted venom as he surveyed the damage. There would be no getting back through that doorway to the stairwell. Gar might have been young, but he was far from stupid. He knew that Two-Face had rigged the blast to prevent anyone from following after him.

"But he didn't count on me," Gar professed as he shoved himself to standing. He was a little unsteady but soon discovered his balance. Then with a final headshake to clear what was left of the fog, Gar transformed into a cheetah and bounded after Two-Face.


The second floor

Robin really had no way of knowing where Two-Face ran to after setting off the explosion in the stairwell, but after looking out the window he had a fairly good idea.

The towering jets of flames were still burning strong, some higher than others. The NYPD looked to be in a sea of panic as their line had broken. Robin gasped and ran to a window on another wall.

The sight was the same, and Robin swore again. Apparently Two-Face had rigged an explosion in the sewers surrounding the museum, resulting in the seeming anarchy below. From this distance Robin couldn't get a feel for the extent of the casualties, but one thing was clear: the line had broken. Two-Face could easily punch through and make his escape.

Robin shoved away from the window and took off at a run back down the corridor and into another room. He ran over to the window—a window directly above the front entrance. He shoved it opened just in time to see Two-Face's humvee barrel down the entryway in reverse.

Robin aimed his grappling launch and fired out the window in the same instant that Two-Face slammed his way through the haphazard wall of overturned police cruisers and broke free of the encircling blockade.


Batgirl caught a glimpse of Robin's cape as he ran by. She ran to follow him, and had just barely entered the room in time to see the Boy Wonder swing out on a jump line.

"Robin! Wait!" she called out, running to the window, but if he heard her call he chose to ignore it.

Batgirl reached the window and leaned out in time to see Robin falling.

No, not falling. Flying!

Robin had aimed true and his grappling launch had imbedded itself in the hummer's grill plate. Robin had then been violently wrenched through the open the window, somehow maintaining his hold on the grappling launch.

Batgirl watched, fearful and awed, as Robin sailed through the air, covering distance at the same speed, and for a moment she was convinced that the Bird had really learned to fly. Then her heart leapt as she noticed how swiftly he was plummeting towards the ground, even as his grappling launch was reeling him in closer to the escaping hummer, which was now rocketing in reverse towards the park.

Batgirl watched, helpless, as the hummer suddenly jammed its brakes and executed a perfect 180 degree turn miraculously without flipping over. This ripped the grappling launch out of Robin's hands and allowed the teenaged vigilante barely a second to brace himself for the inevitable. In that second, Robin grabbed his cape and hastily wrapped it about his upper body. Then he landed hard on his shoulders and rag dolled across the pavement, the cape thankfully protecting his exposed flesh from the friction of his tumble.

Batgirl's heart started beating again at the same moment her jaw dropped, because Robin came out of that kamikaze roll by shooting back onto his feet. The surrounding policeman watched, slack-jawed, as Robin ran a few paces forward and tipped a police motorcycle upright. The Boy Wonder keyed the ignition and slammed the bike into gear as he wrenched it around to face the park. The teenaged vigilante continued his desperate pursuit of the villain, both tires and officers screeching in protest.


The basement

Victor's titanium outfitting had probably saved his life. He had landed in the middle of the pile of rubble that had been the base of the staircase, and any ordinary human probably would have been crushed to death—which was why he (perhaps foolishly) held rather optimistic thoughts that Garfield had survived in the other stairwell.

Why fear the worst when you can hope for the best?

And, why accept defeat when there's still strength to be found in your metal body?

Victor spent a quiet moment to surge his power cells. As soon as his titanium circuitry began to glow a fierce blue he kicked his limbs out in all directions, sending the ensnaring debris flying.

"RRAUGHH!"

He tumbled down and out of the makeshift trap and found himself sprawled out on the floor, breathing the free air again.

He was so distracted that he failed to notice how every last scrap of clothing had been blasted from his person. "Well, alright!"

Victor's momentary victory was cropped short when he checked for Garfield's status. There were a few tense moments when the small flashing light remained stationary, showing that while the transmitter hadn't been destroyed, Gar was no longer moving. Victor had just barely begun to register the implications of this development when the blip flickered momentarily and then started moving again, quickly. Victor grinned wide, more than happy to forget his worry.

Reassured, Victor then took stock of his own situation. He noticed with chagrin that going back the way he came was next to impossible. The only way to go was forward, through the door into the control room. Victor practically ripped the door off its hinges as he ran through it, because he just knew that there had to be another way out of that room.

Victor found his optimism rewarded once again. Across the length of the room there was another door, which led to a long, sparsely lit corridor. Victor's optical enhancements made no trouble of the poor visibility, and he raced ahead without difficulty.

The corridor ended at another door. Victor stopped short and for a moment just stared incredulously at the offending obstacle as though his irritated stare was all it would take to defeat it.

A half-second later and the cyborg came to his senses. He yanked the door back with superhuman strength, practically ripping it off its hinges—and ripping it out of its reinforced lock. Victor didn't notice or care, however. The blinking light showed that Gar had just left the museum. Victor needed to catch up to his friend, and quickly, so he bounded up the stairs that the opened door revealed—barely taking the time to marvel at how this set had miraculously escaped destruction before he found himself standing in the middle of the loading dock.


Outside the museum

Hernandez was once again screaming into his cell phone. This time he was trying to get as many emergency crews to the museum as possible while at the same time, trying to coordinate with whatever officers weren't injured to step in as backup because as is, the police line wouldn't be stop an angry toddler from breaking through and fleeing to safety.

Another moment found his prediction to be correct, and the supposed backup painfully too late.

Two-Face's hummer barreled down the front entryway of the museum in reverse. Officers screamed and dove out of the way, some of them even managing to draw their guns in futile attempts to shoot either the tires or the driver.

The ugly vehicle that was really more tank than SUV crashed through a weak point in the line, sending officers scrambling and overturned police cruisers spinning away from the force of impact. The armored rear end of the hummer made short work of any obstacles, though a few of the more astute officers tried to pile into the few upright cruisers and give chase, but even they took a fairly lengthy pause before coming to their senses and taking action.

Not a single cruiser's ignition had turned over when suddenly an oddly shaped projectile soared through the air after the hummer and imbedded itself into the front grill plate. As Two-Face continued his unhindered escape Hernandez had to blink in surprise, certain he was seeing things.

That projectile was attached to a cable, and that cable was attached to Robin.

A moment later and the logic computed. Robin was attached to the speeding hummer!

Hernandez was forced to simply watch, stricken to silence, cell phone still pressed up against his ear, as the hummer executed a chassis-rocking 180 degree turn and sped off forwards into the park. His jaw gaped in surprise as he watched the Boy Wonder sail through the air, covering lots of ground as Two-Face pulled him along but at the same time drawing nearer and nearer to the ground. The agent nearly had a heart attack when the line was yanked from Robin's hands and the teenaged vigilante went careening across the pavement, but before he had the chance to do so he saw Robin shoot to his feet again, only to commandeer a police motorcycle and go speeding off after the villain, the first of the good guys to offer pursuit.

"Uh… Ah, sorry, dispatch. Uh, we're still going to need to ambulances…" he stammered into his phone as soon as the hollow sounds by his ear registered as a rather irate police dispatcher who didn't take kindly to being ignored. A few un-pleasantries later and Hernandez hung up from dispatch and switched his call waiting over to his superior, whom he had kept on hold.

The agent was about to speak when suddenly a green cheetah came bounding down the stairs, darting over and around officers and police debris, and took off towards the park after Two-Face and Robin.

Hernandez was denied the time to contemplate the oddity, however. An odd sound made him turn around to see that Batgirl had just landed on the pavement beside the museum wall, apparently having jumped and used a decel cable to slow her descent. Hernandez's rather shell-shocked mind registered the fact that he was right about the female vigilante's presence at about the same time he saw her run past the startled and gawking officers and abscond with yet another police motorcycle. She sped off after the green cheetah.

"Your tax dollars at work…" Hernandez absently mused into his cell phone.

What the hell are you babbling about? Agent?

But Hernandez was ignoring his superior, again. What he could only describe as an animatronics prop from Terminator had just jumped out of the loading dock and streaked past him and the poor police force at superhuman speed, following Batgirl on the motorcycle.

"You don't want to know, sir," Hernandez replied. "Trust me."


Above the park

Batman was flying the batplane towards the museum. Operating in stealth mode he had managed to avoid detection by whomever and whatever was watching the airspace tonight over Manhattan. His aircraft registered simply as a slightly darker shade of the night sky, and might have even obscured a star or two if one could see them from the ground with all the lights of the city.

Batman knew that there were no certainties in this equation save of course for the fact that Two-Face had indeed attempted a heist tonight and had capped it off with the detonation of several high-powered explosives in the sewers surrounding the museum, which he learned of en route by jacking into the police frequencies. Batman had no idea what he would find when he arrived, and that fact only served to fuel his foul mood. All ironies aside, for all his seemingly unorthodox methods the Batman was not used to flying blind.

Robin and Batgirl may or may not have been at the museum tonight, which means that they may or may not have tried to engage Two-Face. Neither of them were answering his hails, which meant that they either they were either unable to respond, or were (as was most likely with Robin) flat-out ignoring him, and the Batman hates being kept in the dark, especially when it concerns his subordinates.

It all added up to the fact that Batman had no idea what to expect when he arrived, and a lack of certainty often gives rise to anxiety, an emotion usually kept in check by the presence of fact. His mind kept tormenting him with flashes of Batgirl's bloodied costume, shipped to him discreetly as though it were nothing more than a catalogue order. Batman of course knew who had sent the package—and why, but heat of his anger at the situation kept being stolen away by his memories of a young man, bleeding all over himself in a back alley in Gotham, the direct result of the arrogance that comes with certainty.

The Dark Knight's troubled musings were hastily interrupted as he entered the airspace above Central Park. Right below him a beat-up hummer was tearing across the lawn heading away from the museum.

Batman once again saw red, but for entirely different reasons.


Central Park

Two-Face managed to get the hummer to hold a steady speed of sixty miles per hour as he careened over gentle hills and sloping embankments, swerving to dodge large benches and the odd statue. The villain spared a hasty glance into his rear-view mirror and gasped at what he saw.

"Damn freak doesn't know when to quit!" the villain groused, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't seeing things. When he redirected his attention forward he shoved his foot down harder on the gas pedal, trying to widen the gap between his humvee and the green cheetah giving chase.

Then suddenly the vehicle lurched violently to the left and Two-Face had to struggle to maintain control. He was rapidly losing speed and the loud rattling sound off to his left indicated that he had somehow blown out a tire.

"Just what I don't frickin need!"

Two-Face downshifted and fought to regain control of his hummer. The green cheetah was getting awfully large in the rear view mirror and the villain lamented that somehow in the process of escaping he had dropped the gun. He was attempting to formulate a new plan when suddenly the hummer lurched again, this time to the other side.

The hummer lurched and rocked, and Two-Face yanked the wheel and fought mightily for control. He swerved violently and slammed on the breaks. The hummer skid on the grass and started to turn, angling itself awkwardly in response to Two-Face's desperate attempts to control it. He was just beginning to understand that something had taken out another tire when his front wheels finally moved into an angle that the forward motion of the hummer couldn't reconcile. The vehicle flipped on its side and rolled over onto its roof. It skid some more on the dew-wet grass until it slid down a small hill. When it hit the bottom at an unnatural angle the vehicle flipped again, landing on its other side. Here it stayed; rims and exposed, tires still spinning, and the engine still humming.


Gar watched through feline eyes as a dark shadow suddenly appeared on the horizon, just ahead of Two-Face's hummer. The villain didn't seem to notice until a pinprick of light flashed along the shadow's edge and then suddenly the left rear tire blew out. Gar's cat-eyes widened as he ducked and rolled as an armadillo to avoid the flying strips of rubber.

Gar came out of the roll just as the right rear tire blew apart. This time he didn't have to duck, and he changed back into human form as he watched the humvee catapult out of control and flip over.

"Dude…"

Gar stood staring as there appeared to be no movement from inside the hummer. Was Two-Face injured then, or worse? Gar didn't know what to make of it—or of the sudden surge of emotions those thoughts produced. Right now he had a crisis of conscience as he tried to decide what to do.

What he should have done was redirect his attention the shadow that caused this.

Suddenly that shadow belched forth another shadow, and realization dawned. The first shadow was the Batplane, which was hovering now above the lawn. Gar knew this because the second shadow was revealed to be the Batman himself, who dropped down out of the sky and landed on the up-facing fender of Two-Face's hummer.

Garfield's eyes widened in awe before he could stop them as he saw the Batman land: legs bent slightly at the knees and cape splashing down like viscous liquid around him before he straightened and stood tall. Even though he'd spent much of his life in Gotham, Gar had never seen the Batman up close before. He was tall, dark, and just as menacing as all the stories made him out to be. The cape hung from his shoulders like an unnatural shroud and the spikes on his gauntlets were the stuff of nightmares.

Gar stood enraptured, torn between wanting to stay and watch and run far away and hide, as the cold white of the Starlite lenses that hid the Batman's eyes narrowed threateningly in his direction. Gar swallowed thickly but couldn't bring himself to move.

The petit green metahuman held Batman's interest for a grand total of three seconds. Then the Dark Knight returned his attention to the despot in the overturned vehicle. Batman dropped into a crouch and landed a punch on the window, shattering the glass. Then he reached inside and hoisted Two-Face through the now glassless window by the lapels.

Two-Face was bleeding from a gash in the scar tissue on his forehead, but obviously the wound wasn't very serious because the villain came around rather quickly. He blinked several times in rapid succession, trying to clear his vision.

When he succeeded he suddenly wished that he hadn't. The sight that greeted him was Batman's face barely a foot from his own and leveling a scowl that would have made the most hardened of criminals lose control of their bowels.

Harvey Dent merely winced in whiny dejection. "Why me…"

Batman's answer was a fierce uppercut that caught Two-Face under the chin. The impact sent the villain flying because in that instant Batman had also let go of Two-Face's jacket. Two-Face's body arced up into the air before it went crashing down to the grass below. The villain rolled once and then lay still.


As soon as Batman's attention shifted Garfield transformed. He turned into a hawk and flew swiftly into the branches of the nearest tree. From this vantage point—off to the left and nearly twenty feet away, he watched a profile view of Batman splaying Two-Face flat in one punch. Then he saw Batman stand up straight again and stare down at the unconscious villain in what could only have been described as contempt.

Then Garfield's attention was drawn to the ground right below his perch. A black iris suddenly opened up in the grass and an obsidian form emerged from the hole that shouldn't have been there. The form solidified and took shape, but nothing could have prepared him for what materialized right before his eyes.

Raven!

The hawk barely managed to vocalize a startled cry before a pale hand shot forth and clamped his beak shut.

"Be silent!" Raven hissed. The explosions and rapidly shifting emotions made tracking his animalistic thoughts that much more difficult through the astral plane, and she had arrived later than she'd planned after using up a lot more psychic energy than she'd wanted. On top of that that, the storm of emotion that was contained within the Batman's psychic signature was strong enough to give even the most powerful mystic pause.

"Wait," she then directed in a tone that left no room for arguments. She felt Victor approaching, and when he arrived she would port them all to safety and be done with the entire emotional mess.


Robin's bike came screeching to a stop the moment he saw the Batplane.

"No…"

He'd come so far—been so close!

"NO!" He screamed, gunning the engine and closing the gap that separated him from the now wildly swerving—now flipping humvee.

When Robin got close enough he saw that Garfield Logan had transformed back into a human. His friend didn't seem to hear the bike's approach however; obviously he was too focused on the scene before him, but who wouldn't be? The Batman sure knew how to make an entrance.

Robin scowled.

Suddenly Garfield turned into a hawk and flew over to a nearby tree, most likely to try and watch wile making Batman think that he had flown the coop. At any other moment Robin might have pitied his friend. The poor metahuman didn't realize that Batman would have expected such a move and even though his attention was directed back at the hummer, he never lost sight of the shape-shifting teenager.

Robin rolled the bike to a stop and cut the engine just shy of where Garfield had been standing. Two-Face's rag-dolling body rolled to a stop within arms reach of his front tire.

Robin sat on the bike seemingly impassive, his face set into a mask of unreadable stoicism as his eyes remained hidden behind the cold, passionless white of Starlite lenses. It was the first time that Robin had seen Batman since that dreadful autumn night, over a year ago. Ice blue eyes gazed out passed those lenses, past the prone body of the Gothamite villain, over to the wrecked hummer and up to the figure that was still standing on its fender. They watched as the Batman's gaze shifted almost imperceptibly, up from the body of the unconscious Two-Face, past the parked NYPD motorcycle, to the young man seated atop it.

Both knew though that it was not the first time Batman had seen Robin. The Bird had paid his mentor a visit once, at his suit in the Pennsylvania Hotel.

Starlite met Starlite as hidden blue met hidden blue, and each felt rather than saw the others' eyes lock with his own. For a moment that stretched out into eternity the former partners simply stared at each other, and both vigilantes would come to realize much later that in that moment they had learned what it was like to become a prisoner of the mask.


Raven suddenly released Gar's beak.

"Nnnngh," she winced, squinting her eyes shut and putting a hand to her temple.

Hawk-Gar fluttered off of his perch and transformed back into a human that stood close at Raven's side. Tentatively he reached a hand out and gently rested it on the goth girl's shoulder.

"…Raven?"


Batgirl hadn't been much behind Robin, but when she finally caught up to him she gasped and stopped her bike short. Robin still sat on his bike, maybe twenty feet ahead of her. He was having some sort of dispassionate staring contest with Batman, who stood on the fender of Two-Face's overturned hummer. The Batplane hovered above them and the villain was sprawled out unconscious on the grass.

Hesitantly Batgirl killed her bike's engine and slowly approached her teammates. Never before had she felt like such an unwelcome intruder as when she finally came to stand next to Robin, and neither vigilante acknowledged her presence.


Victor Stone had followed the flashing dot that was Garfield's signal. He knew he was also following Batgirl, Robin, and Two-Face—his enhanced vision enabling him to sometimes catch glimpses of them across the flatter stretches of park terrain.

What he didn't know, was when and how Raven had arrived.

As if the site of Batman, Batgirl, and Robin all gathered around the unconscious Two-Face wasn't jarring enough, seeing Garfield suddenly put a hand on a stricken Raven's shoulder was. Victor skidded to a stop and then quickly altered course, headed for the tree.

"Dude!" Garfield greeted in cheerful surprise. He still had a hand supportively on Raven's shoulder as the sorceress winced, trembling slightly all over.

"Nnnngh," Raven groaned. Then suddenly she tensed and began to softly chant. "Azarath…"

"Hey man," Victor's expressed relief at Garfield's apparent good health was tainted by the intrusion of his sudden concern for Raven.

"Metrion…"

"What the—"

"XINTHOS!"

Raven's eyes flew open, strobing molten pewter. The cry of a bird resounded throughout the astral plane as an obsidian void in the shape of a Raven broke free into reality. It spread its giant wings and wrapped them around the stunned Victor Stone and prat-falling Garfield Logan. Another high-pitched cry and Raven folded her friends into her soul self. She slunk with them down through the black iris that opened up beneath their feet and disappeared.


Batman stood staring at Robin and then Batgirl from atop the humvee. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw a black void ripple beneath a nearby tree and the three metahuman teenagers that had been standing beneath it disappeared in a paranormal poof. Batman's eyes narrowed as he processed this information, but it was swiftly shoved to the back burner of his mind.

Batgirl and Robin were right in front of him.

Bruce Wayne's tired blue eyes blinked slowly from the hidden safety behind his cowl. The Batman's children were okay. Whatever had been raging within his soul these two long, lonely hours since his conversation with Commissioner Gordon sated itself on the site of those two tired and bruised—but relatively unharmed children. He wouldn't have to find a way to break the news to James… or to Alfred.

For the most fleeting of moments, nothing else mattered.

Then reality set back in.

Batman's eyes narrowed again, the only indication that his thought pattern changed. Robin was still disobeying orders, and his actions had placed a largely untrained (despite highly gifted) Batgirl in the line of fire. The first transgression was merely unacceptable. The second—

"Report."

The Batman's voice was low and dangerous. It cut through the silence like a vengeful dagger and suddenly the air felt a lot colder than it had a moment ago.

Batgirl opened her mouth to respond, but she knew that the question wasn't directed at her. She might as well have been invisible, for all she mattered in that moment. Without turning her head she shifted her gaze from Batman to Robin, waiting for his answer.

Robin still sat on his pilfered bike, the engine still idling. His ice blue eyes were frozen in their stare. Cold. Hard. Unblinking.

Report.

The word cracked like a whip across the space between them and Robin embraced the chill in the air. His cape blew slightly in the seemingly unnatural breeze, and ever so slowly, his eyes narrowed in his mask. Did Batman truly expect him to answer, months after he freed Robin from burden of following orders? Did Bruce truly expect him to show respect, months after he so casually cast Dick aside only to quietly replace him?

Robin blinked, once, but the Batman couldn't see it. Then he revved the motorcycle's engine and kicked off, pulled a fast turn and sped away, momentarily obscuring Batgirl with the cloud of dust he left behind.

Batman simply stood there, silently staring past Two-Face… past Batgirl… at the mocking red glow of a motorcycle taillight.