Thankyou all so much, to both those who read it – I trust some of you enjoyed it, even if you didn't review – and to those who reviewed. Honestly, I am so happy (I have little to aspire to…) that some people like it. Last time around I was getting a distinct impression that people weren't… well, impressed. Although it was all the same content, I guess smaller chapters, and less of them at a time, is the key. Here I now offer you chapters 2 and 3 (originally together as chapter 2) and I hope you enjoy them.

And to show my gratitude, I am dedicating these chapters to my four reviewers. So; to Yami no Kaiba (no, I deleted the original, but this one will have all the same content); and to Phoenix Skyborne (I greatly appreciate your short-but-sweet words of approval); and to DarkMarklv (a HP fan, huh? Trust me, I can assure you that London isn't all it's cracked up to be, and that Diagon Alley and Platform 9 ¾ genuinely don't exist, as so many Japanese tourists believe…); and, lastly, to Quinn and His Quill (so now you read it, huh?…). I am truly most grateful to you especially.

Do enjoy.

Living in the Shadow of the Bat

Adrenaline surged through his body as he hit the ground once again, pain familiar, almost like an old friend, but nevertheless unwanted, and he tried to force it away and forget about it as he got to his feet. His opponent swung at him again as he straightened up, not giving him a chance to defend himself, and he was pitched onto his back for the fourth time that minute. He rolled into a cartwheel that set him back on his feet, but he was no sooner there than his opponent, who viciously backhanded him then slammed into him, dazing him. He staggered, allowing his attacker to grab him by the front of his shirt and throw him across the room. He ended up on the floor again, tried to get up but found himself too winded to even get onto his knees. He collapsed heavily, trying to get his breath back, and felt the large shadow of his opponent fall over him.

"Please… no more…" he moaned breathlessly, closing his eyes behind his mask. "I give up…"

"That was pathetic," Batman told his ex-sidekick shortly, pulling down his cowl. "I didn't even work up a sweat. This is supposed to be a training session."

"Sorry… I just…" Robin dragged himself to his knees, a manoeuvre that took what little breath he had.

"I thought you were better than that," Batman went on coolly. "You barely blocked anything and left yourself wide open. Is that how you usually fight? I have to say I'm disappointed. In two years you don't seem to have improved much. In fact, you've gotten worse."

"But you're Batman!" Robin wailed. "No-one can beat you!" He paused, reclaiming his breath again, then added bitterly; "I'm just the sidekick, remember? What were you expecting?"

"I was expecting you to last more than three minutes and six seconds!" Batman said sharply.

"But it was an unfair fight!" Robin insisted. "You're Batman!"

"That attitude will do nothing but hold you back," his ex-mentor told him icily. "Now get up and we'll try again, and we'll keep trying until you learn to block. Acrobatics won't save you forever."

Robin didn't see the point in even attempting to argue. With a sigh he hauled himself to his feet and straightened his cape, wondering vaguely why his ex-partner was being so hard on him. The Dark Knight had called Titans Tower the night before, inviting his ex-sidekick to Gotham for the day to indulge in a little sparring session in the BatCave, for "old time's sake".

More like an excuse to beat the crap out of me, Robin thought moodily as he and Batman faced off again for what seemed like the millionth time that day. First it had been a simple workout, then acrobatics, at which the apprentice had exceeded the master, then staff work and punch-bags and weights and even meditation, for Pete's sake…

Now, nearing the late evening, he was thoroughly battered and bruised and absolutely decided that he would refuse point-blank the next time his ex-partner offered him an invitation to a workout session. He wasn't sure what hurt more; his ego or his body. He figured that Batman had worked out that the Boy Wonder had done something real bad and was punishing him for it, but couldn't think what.

Unless that damn Joker had told Ol' Bats that his little protégé was no longer a virgin on the road-trip back to Arkham Asylum a few weeks ago… yeah, that would match the torture he was being subjected to right now.

"Um… Batman?" He asked timidly as the Dark Knight flicked up his cowl and closed in on him. "Whatever I did to annoy you… I'm really sorry."

Batman stopped in his tracks and cocked his head in puzzlement.

"Come again?"

"Well, you're beating me up pretty bad for no reason, so there must be a reason… I'm sorry. ok, for whatever I did…" He flinched as Batman came closer to him. "Can you stop throwing me around now, please?"

Batman snorted.

"You think I'm punishing you for something?" He asked incredulously. "Robin, I'm trying to help you!"

"Yeah, fat lip, black eye…" Robin's tone was sarcastic as his annoyance mounted again. "Gee, thanks. Great help."

"Don't you get sarcastic with me!" Batman snapped angrily. "My theory is that your training techniques exercised with the Titans are not nearly effective enough. That is, if you even train at all." He peered hard at his ex-ward, noticing the scowl on his rounded face. "The whole business with the Joker a few weeks ago… do you realise how many times you almost got yourself killed in that short space of time! All because of foolishness and arrogance and the irrational thought that you can do as you please. You were shot, kidnapped, knocked out, stabbed, thrown off buildings and I don't know what else. For some reason your fighting technique has dwindled instead of improving. Well, I won't have it! If you're going to stay in this business, and more to the point, stay alive, you're going back to square one; training with me."

"Can't we take a five-minute break?" Robin wheedled. "I think you've broken at least three of my ribs…"

Batman stared hard at his ex-ward for a few seconds, taking in his pleading expression, so innocent and childish, and relented.

"Oh, alright…" he sighed. "But five minutes, and no more, do you understand?"

Robin nodded vigorously, then stopped and put a hand to his pounding head.

"Gotcha," he muttered, feeling a bump on his skull beneath his gloved fingers. "Jeez, I think I'm concussed…"

Batman smiled faintly and pulled down his cowl once again, then glanced at the digital clock showing on one of the multiple screens of the BatCave's computer system. It read 9:13pm. A pang of guilt fleeted through his mind as he sneaked a look at the Boy Wonder, who was examining a large, already-dark bruise just visible beneath the edge of his left glove. Maybe he was being a little hard on the boy, but then, Batman had to admit he'd been pretty disappointed in his protégé a few weeks ago against the Joker and his groupies. Obviously it was impossible to be victorious all the time, as Batman himself well knew, but it had become evident that the Boy Wonder was slacking off in response to training. No doubt he was too busy solving feuds over pizza toppings or what movie to watch, or else obsessing about Slade. But how, the Dark Knight asked himself, did Robin ever expect to beat Slade if all he did was sit in a dark room and devise half-witted plans to unmask him? Oh, Robin was clever, Batman knew. Maybe cleverer than him. In some ways the boy was a genius, but he used his mind in the wrong way, and that was the worst of it. Sometimes Batman even thought that his ex-ward had a bit of a dual personality, not quite to the extent of Two-Face, but for this reason was easily corruptible and often stupid.

He looked at the Teen Titan again; he was stretching as though he had just got out of bed. The Dark Knight crossed to him and put his hand on his shoulder as he came back to his normal height.

"I'm sorry I'm being so hard on you," he apologised, frowning slightly at the wide-eyed expression on Robin's face. Robin shrugged.

"I've had worse," he said offhandedly. He paused. "Actually, no; I haven't," he admitted. "Even Slade hasn't beat me up this bad." He ran a hand through his dark hair and yawned.

"How about I give Alfred a ring upstairs and ask him to bring down some drinks?" Batman offered. "A bit of sugar might give you an energy boost."

Robin frowned.

"Sugar?"

Batman snorted.

"I'm hardly going to offer you a Budweiser," he said sharply. "You're underage."

"Yay. Juice." If there was any enthusiasm in Robin's voice at all, it wasn't evident.

"Do you want a drink or not?" Batman snapped, losing his patience with his ex-sidekick.

Robin yawned again.

"Yeah, ok…"

Batman turned on his heel and made for the intercom beside the computer that was connected to the main upstairs link. He was just about to press the button when the door of the BatCave banged open and Alfred came down the metal stairway as fast as he was able.

"Talk about timing, Alfred," Batman exclaimed, coming towards the manservant as he reached Robin, out of breath.

"What's up, Alfred?" Robin inquired as the elderly butler leaned on his shoulder, clutching his side.

"I came down… as fast as I could," Alfred panted. "Master Bruce… Master Dick…"

"Robin," Robin corrected immediately.

"Master Robin…" Alfred repeated obediently, still struggling to get his breath back.

"Alfred, what's the matter?" Batman asked urgently, steadying his old friend as he sagged on the teen sidekick's shoulder.

"I'm afraid… there has been a break-in… at Arkham Asylum," Alfred managed to say. Batman and Robin exchanged looks.

"A break-in, Alfred?" Batman repeated uncertainly.

"Don't you mean a break-out?" Robin added. Alfred shook his head.

"No, Master Robin," he said, his voice still unsteady. "It has just… been shown on the news. Someone has broken into… Arkham Asylum… no doubt to free one of the scoundrels kept… within it's many cells. It is in chaos, Master Bruce. Several of the more… dangerous inmates have escaped in the process and… are running amok all over the place. The Bat-signal has been lit…"

Batman nodded to Robin and together they helped Alfred over to the large leather chair beside the computer system and the elderly man sank into the seat; it was obvious he had ran from wherever he had been in the mansion right down to the BatCave, not a sensible excursion for someone of his age.

"I'll get on it immediately, Alfred," Batman vowed. "Thankyou for alerting me so quickly; the Bat-signal monitors are not turned on. I want you to stay right here and do technological back-up; the radio system in the Batmobile is already programmed to the BatCave and I'll turn my microphone on. Put on the Arkham cameras and maps and redirect me."

"Affirmative, Master Bruce," Alfred said firmly. "I live to serve."

Batman nodded his thanks and sprinted off across the BatCave towards the Batmobile vault, where he tapped in a code and a metal panel slid back, revealing the sleek black monster of a car within.

Robin leaned against the control panel, feeling very useless and out of place. Once this had been his environment, but now he was just in the way. The problem was that he would have to wait until Batman returned from Arkham to get home, as the Dark Knight had picked him up from Titans Tower that morning. It didn't seem fair to call Cyborg and pester him to come and get him in the T-car.

However, Batman's next words, aimed at him, were both unexpected and appreciated.

"What are you waiting for, Robin! An invitation! Come on, boy!"

He ignored the clipped tone and sarcastic words and practically skipped over to the Batmobile.

"You're really letting me come?" He exclaimed, clambering into the car next to Batman.

"I'm reluctant," the Dark Knight admitted, "but I could do with some help on this one. I think it's going to be a handful."

Robin nodded his agreement as he pulled across his seatbelt and settled back into the black leather upholstery.

"Good luck, sirs!" Alfred called from the computer system. Batman sombrely saluted him as he slid the translucent black glass bubble across and revved the fearsome engine. The dark beast roared and screeched out of the BatCave, through a dimly lit tunnel and out into the dank streets of Gotham.

Robin didn't get to see much scenery or refresh his memory of the better places in Gotham, as Batman was driving like a maniac, and all too soon they were screaming to a halt outside the wrought iron gates of Arkham Asylum. Police sirens wailed and searchlights shone, clustered around the gates and in the grounds were huge police blocks of cops and cars, all armed with flares, guns and batons.

Robin couldn't help whistling in surprise and awe at the lunacy of it all as he hopped out of the Batmobile and joined the Dark Knight as he swept through the grounds with the air of the malevolent bat he was.

"Stay close," Batman ordered; Robin nodded but was unsure of whether Batman had seen him. Looking up he saw the Bat-signal against the clouds, slightly distorted but nevertheless recognisable.

"Batman! Thank god you were able to get here so quickly!"

Robin recognised the voice, and turned back to see a tall, heavily built man with grey hair and a matching moustache hurriedly approaching Batman. The long tan trench-coat synched the deal and Robin recognised this man to be Police Commissioner James Gordon; they had met on a number of occasions, long before Robin had joined the Teen Titans.

"I tell you, it's an absolute nightmare in there!" Commissioner Gordon said to Batman. "Half of them are out; Two-Face, the Mad Hatter, the Riddler, Killer Croc… you name it. Whoever broke in must have released them as a distraction. Tell me you can do something, Batman; for god's sake, tell me you can get them all back where they belong! We've got half the force in there already but we can't afford to send too many in; we need them out here to ensure none of them escape."

"We'll do our best, Jim," Batman promised. Commissioner Gordon frowned.

"We?"

"Robin and I," Batman explained flatly, pushing Robin out from behind him; the Boy Wonder was peeping out from his hiding place like a shy toddler holding on to his mommy's apron strings.

Commissioner Gordon blinked as he looked Robin up and down. Finally he shook his head and held out his hand.

"Nice to see you again, kid," he said politely as he shook with the Teen Titan.

"Bats; good to see you."

A clear Chicago accent cut the noisy air and Batman, Robin and Commissioner Gordon looked in the direction of the source. Another figure Robin recognised was approaching, this one shorter than Gordon and little less than rotund, dressed in a grey trench-coat and grey fedora with a black band. Spikes of dark hair poked out from underneath the brim of his hat, which cast shadow onto his clean-shaven face.

"Evening, Bullock," Batman greeted the detective coolly. Harvey Bullock grinned.

"Didn't think you were gonna show," he said, still grinning. "I'd get right to it if I were you." He took a cigarette and a silver Zippo lighter from a pocket in his coat and lit it up, inhaling it deeply as he replaced his lighter. His small eyes fell on Robin and he too blinked in surprise.

"Returned to the nest, have we?" He asked after a while, breathing out smoke as he spoke. Robin caught some of it as he breathed in and started to cough. "Or is this a new kid, Bats?"

"The same one," Batman replied icily, taking Robin by the shoulders and pulling him away from Bullock. "And I would appreciate it if you would not share your disgusting habits with him."

Bullock shrugged.

"Sorry, kid."

Batman turned back to Commissioner Gordon as Robin's coughing fit subsided.

"As I was saying, we'll do our best to restore order," he told the commissioner. Gordon nodded as Batman swept past without another word to Bullock, Robin close at his heels.

The Boy Wonder heard Bullock address Commissioner Gordon as he moved past them and realised they were discussing him;

"I tell ya, Commish," Bullock said in a voice low enough to be out of Batman's earshot but not Robin's, "I swear that kid has come back from the grave…"

"Alright, this is not going to be a walk in the park," Batman said bluntly as the police barrages allowed him and his estranged sidekick access to the entrance hall of the gothically ornate Arkham Asylum. "I'm not sure you're ready for this; I've never put you in this kind of danger before, and I doubt you've ever been in this deep with the Titans either, even concerning Slade. But I really need back-up and I trust you more than anyone else to cover my back."

They reached the front desk, which was absent of a receptionist, or indeed any sign of life at all, intelligent or otherwise. However, the entire hallway was flashing crimson and the security sirens were wailing fit to bust for attention, signifying that the system was down.

"We're going to split up," Batman continued over the sirens. "You have weapons?"

Robin nodded, indicating to his utility belt.

"As always. Staff, explosive and ice discs, smoke bombs, circuit terminator, lock-pick, grappling hook and birdarangs."

"Communicator? We'll need to be in contact."

Robin retrieved his communicator from the back of his belt and handed it to Batman, who had outstretched his gloved hand to receive it. He watched as the Dark Knight played around with the buttons for a few seconds, then tossed it back to him.

"I've temporarily reprogrammed it," Batman explained. "It's automatically dialled to mine, and the BatCave is the first button to the left. Alfred is on stand-by if you need him. We're both on the Arkham maps as named lights and he's watching us. If you get lost or need help, call him and he'll tell you where to go."

Robin nodded, a faint grin on his face.

"This sounds like one of the Game-station games Cy and B.B play on," he commented. Batman scowled deeply and seemed to increase in size.

"Robin, this is not a game," he seethed, looming over his ex-partner. "If you screw up by being stupid, so help me, I'll-"

"Hey, chill out," Robin interrupted hurriedly, putting his hands up in surrender. "I was just kidding."

Batman grabbed him by the front of his red shirt and pulled him right off his feet.

"You listen to me," he breathed savagely, his breath warm on the Boy Wonder's face. "I don't want to send you in here, because I don't really feel I can trust you not to get yourself into some stupid situation. But I have no choice…"

He sighed heavily and released the frightened Titan, then placed his cowled head in his hands.

"Robin, please," he begged. "Please… don't be stupid. Don't get hurt. Don't get killed in here. I've already been through it with Jason, and you know what it's like to lose someone you love… I've already lost too much. I love you, Robin; I feel like you're my son. Please… I don't know what I'd do if I lost you…"

He looked up again and placed his hand on Robin's shoulder.

"Promise me you'll be careful," he pleaded hoarsely. "Promise…"

He couldn't deny Batman this, not after everything he'd ever done for him; when he answered he had never meant anything so strongly.

"I will, I promise…"

Batman smiled beneath his cowl and swept off without another word, something, Robin noticed, he was very prone to doing. Well, Robin himself was very prone to getting into trouble, but he wouldn't this time. He would keep his promise, and he would walk out of here without even a scratch.

I'm bruised enough as it is, he thought, a little bitterly.

He turned and walked off in the opposite direction to the Dark Knight, taking his staff from his belt as he went and allowing it to shoot out to full extent beneath his gloved fingers. He wandered down a maze of corridors, the sirens beginning to give him a headache and the blinding red flashes hurting his blue eyes.

He could always remember his mother, Mary Grayson, once telling him that he was lucky to have such pretty eyes, but unfortunate in the fact that blue eyes were very sensitive; he had noticed that she had worn sunglasses constantly in the summer, sometimes even when indoors. He had inherited her eye colour; his father's had been stone grey, much like Bruce's.

He found himself in another corridor, this one without the lights and sirens, the latter of which were still audible. On the other hand, this corridor had cells and something else that the previous corridors hadn't had; prisoners inhabiting them.

No-one dangerous or notorious, of course. These were regular prisoners; "small-time bums", as he had once heard Harvey Bullock call them. But then, Bullock thought just about everyone was a "bum" or a "jerk".

He kept to the middle of the corridor, trying to ignore the expletives and cat-calls that were thrown in his direction, most of them poking fun at his persona;

"Hey, look! It's the Boy Hostage!"

"Yo, Bird-Boy! Where's the Big Bad Bat?"

"Hey, little birdie! Come let me out and I'll give you some birdseed!"

He also received a few wolf-whistles that were far from flattering, along with a few offers that made him shudder, from several specimens, obviously homosexual, that were desperately deprived of sexual contact of any variety, much less a teen wearing green spandex. He found himself very glad that these inmates, while considerably less dangerous than the likes of the Joker and Killer Croc, were still behind bars, or he might find himself in the sort of situation he really felt he couldn't handle without killing someone. He was nearing the end of the corridor now, and quickened his pace slightly, clutching his staff all the more tightly in case the security here suddenly went down and he found himself in the midst of a bunch of yuppies and gays of the touchy-feely variety.

And then he heard it. That familiar, loud, brash, grating voice:-

"Hey, Bird-boy! Get your ass over here; we've got a little score to settle!"

He knew it was Johnny Rancid before he even whipped around and saw the biker leaning against the bars of his cell, his grin advertising his yellowed teeth in the worst way. He hesitated, debating whether or not to obey Johnny's command.

"You heard me!" Johnny roared as the Boy Wonder stalled. He grinned, his expression darkening. "Or are ya chicken?"

"Robin," Robin corrected icily. "The "R" kinda gives it away, or can't you even spell a five-letter word?" He turned away and was about to stalk off in the "Don't mess with me, punk" stride he had picked up from Batman.

The clucking noises coming from the direction of Johnny's cell froze him dead. Every nerve snapped and he was by Johnny's cell in an instant, his furious expression doing little to extinguish the biker's hysterical laughter.

It was painfully obvious, particularly by the dozen or so times he had come into contact with Johnny Rancid, that the biker was in no way afraid of him and took him anything but seriously. So, Robin realised, the only way to get back at him was to be sharp and sarcastic rather than trying to scare him the way Batman did. Unlike Batman, he just wasn't scary, and that was all there was to it.

"Some score you're gonna settle, locked up in there," Robin said smoothly, folding his arms. To his satisfaction, Johnny's laughter died.

"You just shut up!" The biker spat. "You're just nothing, just some dumbass little kid with equally dumbass friends!"

Robin shrugged.

"Maybe," he agreed nonchalantly. "But you're in there, and I'm not, so, um… looks like I'm the one calling the shots, hmm?"

The surrounding cells were completely silent as every prisoner listened to the argument between the Teen Titan and the hefty biker with undivided attention.

Probably the only entertainment they get, Robin mused grimly.

"You wait 'til I get outta here, Bird-boy!" Johnny snarled, pressing his face right against the bars of his cell. "Then there'll be hell to pay, and you'll be first on my hit-list!"

"Flattered," Robin murmured, raising his eyebrows.

Johnny's scream of angst and rage echoed off the bare walls of his cell.

"Shut up!" He screeched. "Shut up, Bird-boy! I'm gonna kill you; I swear I'm gonna kill you. I'm gonna strangle you with your own damn grappling hook, I'm gonna tear out your guts with your own little boomerang-thing!"

There were a few delighted hisses from the other prisoners as the argument began to intensify.

"You tell him, Johnny!" One yelled to the biker.

"But don't play too rough with him!" Another warned. "I got plans for him when the security outage gets to here."

"Yeah, so have I!"

Robin turned sharply, his scowl back in place and his temper close to boiling point.

"None of you are touching me, you freaks!" He snapped, trying to force back the desire to shudder. There were a few moans, some disappointed, some near desperate.

"Ah, c'mon Bird-boy! Loosen up a little!"

"Yeah… yeah, we got money! We'll pay you…"

He instinctively backed up against the wall, as far away from these deprived weirdos as possible. At least, he thought it was the wall; too late he realised he'd actually backed against the bars of Johnny's cell. This much was obvious when the biker grabbed him by the back of his cape and slammed his back against the metal, then snaked his arm through and started to strangle him against the bars. Robin desperately clawed at Johnny's strong arm as it cut off his air supply, dropping his staff in the process, but couldn't get free as he was trapped between the biker's arm and the bars of the cell.

Literally five minutes after I promised Batman I wouldn't get into trouble…

He could hear the shrieks and cheers of some prisoners, and the moans of others.

"Get him, Johnny! Get him!"

"Oh, man… he's gonna kill him…"

He couldn't kick him as the bars of the cell were in the way, couldn't punch him for the same reason… and then a fleeting idea came into his head. He desperately went for his belt and found what he was looking for; smoke bombs. Using what little strength he had he tossed them hard towards the floor and heard them explode. A cloud of smoke erupted out of nothing, engulfing both Johnny and the Boy Wonder himself. He heard Johnny choking and felt his arm loosen; Robin was coughing himself but found the strength to pull away from the bars and the smoke and fall to his knees, recovering. Some of the prisoners were cheering and whooping as though at a baseball game.

"Nice save, Bat-boy!"

"This is way better than wrestling!"

"You rotten little coward, Bird-boy!" Johnny shrieked between coughing. Robin got to his feet and brushed himself down, his recovery much quicker than the biker's, and moved away from the spreading cloud of smoke by Johnny's cell. He saw his chance to leave, but a distinct scraping of metal made him stop and turn back. Through the thinning smoke he saw, to his horror, that Johnny had reached through the bars of his cell and grabbed the staff lying discarded on the floor. The biker was now twirling it idly on the other side of the cell.

He couldn't walk away without it; he needed it; he relied on it, and more to the point he didn't have another one. He waved the smoke away as he stormed back over to the cell.

"Give that back!" He ordered furiously, already knowing what the reaction would be.

"Yeah, right," Johnny said with a grin, examining the staff closely.

Robin felt his temper flare up again, annoyed with himself for letting it out of his reach, and frustrated that it was so close and yet unobtainable. He went to his belt and took out his lock-pick.

"You've got 'til the count of three to give it to me or I'm going to come in and get it," he told the biker sharply, trying to sound as threatening as Batman and not succeeding; Johnny merely burst out laughing.

"Ok, here you go, Bird-boy…" the biker gasped; he pushed the staff back through the bars horizontally, waited for the Boy Wonder to reach out to take it, then suddenly rammed the end of it into Robin's stomach, winding him. Robin clutched at his stomach and fell to his knees as Johnny pulled the staff back through into the cell. Cheers and catcalls accompanied this small victory as Robin staggered to his feet and straightened up, his breathing uneven.

"Give me that…" His anger was lost in his breathlessness as he demanded his staff back. Johnny retreated out of Robin's reach and shook his black-maned head.

"Nah, don't think so," he reasoned. He cocked his head thoughtfully, the tiny metal object in Robin's hand catching his eye.

"I'll trade you, though," he offered, nodding at the lock-pick. "You can have it back for that lock-pick."

Robin snorted.

"Sure," he said sarcastically, moving to the lock himself. "Forget it. I'll get it myself…"

He inserted the oddly-shaped piece of metal into the lock, realising how stupid he was being by opening the cell but disregarding it completely. He worked at it, listening over the distant sirens and the calls of "Me next!" for the click.

And then the entire corridor was plunged into complete darkness as the system for that wing went down. The sirens went off, loud and patronising, and the red lights made their appearance, picking out the ecstatic faces of the prisoners as the doors to their cells swung open. There was an impression of strobe lighting, as if the scene around him was animated scene by scene, movement by movement.

And every movement was towards him.

The thought that they were more occupied with him than trying to escape was far from flattering, and it seemed that Johnny was loathe to the idea too.

"Back off, you jerks!" The biker warned threateningly. "Bird-boy's mine…"

He turned, the staff in his large hand, ready to beat Robin's brains out, and was sent to the floor by a single powerful kick to the gut. Robin snatched his staff back and didn't wait around for Johnny to get up, much less for the other prisoners to reach him. He pulled from his belt two ice discs and let them find their own mark as he turned on his heel and fled.

Coward? Maybe. Homophobic coward? Plausible. Sensible homophobic coward? Affirmative.

He kept running until he had put at least six or seven corridors between him and the prisoners, then slowed to a walk that was nevertheless quick and purposeful. He hated to think of himself as a coward; after all, very little really scared him. But somehow, when he had seen those guys approaching him, and had realised their intentions, panic had simply invaded his mind and his only thought had been to put as much distance between himself and them as possible.

But was that a normal reaction? He tried to imagine Beast Boy or Cyborg or even Batman in the situation. Cyborg… well, he was a cyborg, wasn't he? He'd have just got out his proton cannon and blown them all away. And they wouldn't have even come near Batman. It was little comfort to think that Beast Boy would probably have done the same thing as him; up and run, only probably in the form of a cheetah.

So I've got a bit of an issue with the whole gay thing…

It hit him pretty hard; he had never realised it before. Heck, he had never even thought about it before.

He was prevented from dwelling on it any further as another figure entered the corridor, looking behind them to see if they were being followed; in the dull light of the silent corridor (the security outage had yet to reach here, Robin realised) Robin recognised the person before him as they turned towards him. A tall man, dressed in a pale grey sweatshirt and dark blue sweatpants, the uniform of Arkham residents, something small and silver clutched tightly in his hand. His face was the most striking thing about him; half of it was normal, devastatingly handsome, but the other half, the left side, was mutilated and warped into that of a monster, the half of the mouth on its pitch burned into a permanent snarl and the hair on his head singed, tangled and chalk white.

Of all people;

Two-Face.

Like? I know it's an abrupt ending, but that's because this and chapter 3, Phobophobia, were originally one whole chapter. Next chapter is up too, if you would care to read on… And sorry that it seems to be completely irrelevant to the first chapter; it isn't…