Hello friends, this is yet another start to a story I don't know that I'll ever finish. It was just kinda writing itself over the last few days. Let me know what you think of it and if you enjoyed it. Constructive criticism is very welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything other than the clothes on my back, my OCs, and the chocolate chip cookie I took from the grocery store.

"15 men, all suspected to have connections to various crime families, were found dead this morning in the warehouse district of old Gotham," cliché anchorwoman spoke robotically, "the police thinks that this is the work of the same maniac that slaughtered the Carlisle gang last month." She looked down at her paper, as if the public didn't know she read from a teleprompter, "And although the commissioner's office refuses to give a comment, but sources in the GCPD told us that the police is nowhere near close to apprehending that maniac."

"You know Veronica, I heard something crazy earlier today," fake pause for dramatic effect from the disgustingly cliché anchorman, "Stop me if you heard this, but I heard that they found claw marks at the scene, is there any truth to that?"

"Well, you are correct Ron," she responded to the poor attempt at banter, "claw marks found at the scene of the crime were found and thanks to them the police are able to connect this slaughter to last month's"

"I'll be damned," the shiny anchorman said before plastering a huge smile on his face, "In other news, our verry own Gotham Rogues have defeated the Fawcett City tigers last Sunday to continue their historic undefeated streak. This year has truly been a great year for Gotham sports I tell you. But More on that later with Champ –"

The TV turned off as I finally found the remote. Honestly, this design flaw was getting more annoying by the day. I mean, who in their right mind would even create a TV without the very necessary button sets? Personally, I think that big TV and big Remote are together on this. Only make sense really, TVs with no buttons and extremely losable remotes equal ultimate profit. But no one believes me so far, they'll see one day but better hope it's not too late. With a shake of my head, I look at the mechanical clock on my bedside stand. 9:36 AM. Damn. I'm late... again. Rushed morning rituals and a piece of toast later, I lock my front door and dreadfully head to third period: Mr. Scarlett's Literature class.

You know, students should not be allowed to have a study hall first period. I know that we petitioned to have that empty period inserted in all our schedules but letting us the option of having it first period is a real catch-22. Hell, with the amounts of students in detention for excessive lateness every day one could think that this is a plot by the administration to weed out the unqualified and lazy students in order to create the perfect school of academics. A truly evil plan worthy of the great masterminds of this world. Headmaster Hammer would make for a terrifying villain should he want it, he even has the right name for it.

I let a small the amused snort from escaping my lips at the thought of the short rotund man duking it out with the Batman. Unfortunately, that snort attracted the attention of one Dr. Langstrom as it interrupted his oh so fascinating lecture on the pituitary gland and its many functions.

"Mr. Jackson, what pray tell is so funny about the pituitary gland's role?" he asked his eyes probably narrowed behind his pitch-black sunglasses.

"Nothing sir," I responded smoothly, "if anything, I can only wish to work half as hard as the super gland. Truly, it is a wondrous gland." There were a few snickers hidden behind suddenly raised textbooks while his brow seemed to furrow deeper, "I had just remembered a joke I read earlier, I swear."

He didn't buy it; I could see it in my reflection. Sweat started dripping from my forehead. The man was a doctor in biology with a mysteriously shady past with a weird fixation on the pituitary gland, the only explanation for him being able to speak so passionately about it for hours on end, working in a Gotham high school. If that's not prime future Arkham resident then I don't know what is; and I, for one, refuse to be the one to create a new supervillain because my brain was high on conspiracy theories. No siree, not me.

"Would you like to share this 'joke' with the class," his smooth voice intoned, "seems only fair that the whole class gets to hear and enjoy it."

Oh, that's how you want to play this doc? I got you, "But of course doctor." It took me about a second to think about one I had read a few days ago, "What did one DNA tell the other DNA?" a beat of silence permeated the room, "Do these genes make me look fat?" I finished with a wide smile on my face and a flourish of my hands, jazz hands always won at least a smile.

Nothing. The silence weighed in the classroom, even the annoying buzzing from that broken light in the back was silent. I gave a glance at my still jazzing hands, pause, and back at dr. Langstrom as if to make sure he noticed. God I must look pathetic right about now. I'd say something about a sad clown, but I've seen enough of the counselor's office to last me a lifetime.

And then I saw it, the crack in the stone facade. And just like water bursting from a dam, the laughter that followed was loud and sudden. The view of his uncontrollable laughter elicited a few other small reactions from the students. Some stared unbelievably, others chuckled and some just plain old did not care.

"Oh, I needed that," dr. Langstorm said once his laughter died out, "however, as funny as that was, please do try and pay more attention in class." And that was the highlight of my school day.

Say what you will about rich and preppy schools, but I'll be damned if the food didn't make the ridiculous price almost worth it. As the lunch lady gently placed a nice-looking steak on my plate, I could feel the memories of mystery meat and grey goop fade slowly. Having collected enough sustenance for the hour, I stepped away from the lunch line to find my favorite band of misfits. After a quick cursory glance around the bustling lunchroom, I found who I was looking for waving at me with a perfectly well manicured hand.

Smiling, I head towards the raised appendage and the blonde beauty to whom it belonged. There, sitting at a table on the outskirts of the room were a small but tightly knit group of people I affectionately called my friends.

"Took you long enough T", came from a tall African American teen.

"Whatever you say Luke", I nodded to his head as I sat in an open sit, "nice cut, man. Decided to stop looking like a bum?"

"ha-ha," he deadpanned, "fuck off."

A gasp came from the blonde belle next to me followed by a sharp, "language!" from the frowning girl.

I smirked, "Why yes Mr. Fox, how could you daresay such profanity in front of a lady? It is unbecoming of a gentleman of your station sir."

The glint in his eyes told me everything I needed to know, "I do so apologize for my uncouth comment my lady. How could I ever earn your forgiveness dear lady Kane? Please I implore you to absolve me of my sin."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the smile for coming to her face, nor the blush that crept up her neck to rest on her cheeks, so she tried to hide it, "whatever."

"Your British accent needs some work there fellas," snided the youngest occupant of the table. Although he was only a freshman, I found Dick to be a hilarious addition to our little group whenever he showed up. You'd think that being the adoptive son of the biggest playboy this side of the Earth and being rich as all hell would make him a snotty brat, but it was not the case. It was the opposite really. He had a good head on his shoulders, and I rarely had the urge to throttle him.

"Is this a dick I hear old chap?" I directed to Luke while gesturing as though I was trying to listen a faraway voice.

"Is this a dick I see my good man?" He put his hand above his eyes and looked around.

"I think I see it."

"And I think I hear it."

"Please don't," the younger man pleaded.

Looking each other directly in the eyes, Luke and I grinned and with a too good not to be practiced synchronization exclaimed, "Here it is, the little baby Dick!"

He sighed. Bette slapped us both upside the heads. A flash of red and blonde hair pointedly sped up as two young ladies with great legs – I'm a teenager, sue me – moved past us with their heads down.

"Hey Barb, Arty!" I was not going to let them act like they did not know us, "Over here, you missed our table." They only moved faster.

"Blue Philly! Blue Philly! Set! HUT!"

I sprung into motion. As soon as the ball moved from the center to the Luke's hands, I was there to get it. After waiting for half a second as the guard lead the way through the B gap to block an inside linebacker and the HB to get the outside, I rushed in as well making sure not to trip on the feet of the blockers. I passed the secondary and easily spun away from a safety who thought he could take me down. A moment later and I was in the end zone. Fans cheered on as the referees lifted their arms in almost slow motion. However, before I could throw the ball down and celebrate, I saw a flash of white, felt a hit, and went down in an exact recreation of a sack of potatoes.

Before I knew it, I was up on my feet with one fist clinging the white jersey while my other was pulled back to punch the guy. Around us, a sea of red, black, and white was trying to tear us apart while the referees blew their whistles and threw flags like their lives depended on it. Eventually, I let go and headed to the sidelines to let the field goal unit do their thing.

"Tyler! Get over here fool!" Shit damn it. I jogged to where my coach stood fuming in his red and black tracksuit demonstrating his school spirit.

As I arrived, the black of his hair contrasted perfectly with the red of his face. His dog-like snarl so lifelike I almost ran away from him. It was truly a work of art.

"What is wrong with you boy!" he yelled getting into my face and grabbing me by the facemask, "YOU. DO. NOT. RETALLIATE." Each word was punctuated by a pull of my helmet. He sighed and let go of my helmet, "look son, I understand how you're feeling now. Trust me I do."

I knew he did. Coach Stevens had once been on track to become a hall of famer. Barely a decade ago, the man in front of me had been the starting quarterback for the Rapid City Monuments. They were at the time THE team to beat for everyone. Unfortunately for them, they played the Rogues on the very same day that the Joker decided that the Eliott stadium would be the setting for his next prank. That day, a third of the people in the stadium were injured or had died. Just a little over twenty thousand people suffered that day and coach had been one of them. Suffering a career ending injury, he chose to not let himself wallow in self pity and with a donation from one of Bruce Wayne's numerous charities, he received premium health care and decided to take a job here at Gotham Academy.

"Sorry sir," I apologized, "won't happen again."

He nodded, "Good, get some rest while the defense is out there." He smiled looking at the scoreboard: Gotham Academy 27 – Gotham High 24. "Next offensive, we're starting with a wildcat option."

"Yes sir!" and with that I went further down the sideline to support my teammates and occasionally look at Bette in her tight-fitting cheerleading uniforms. Don't act like you wouldn't.

The defense came and went by quickly without letting their offense score a single point. With barely enough time for one play and 35 yards to go for a TD, we set up for the play in a classic pistol formation with one back and a tight end. I looked at the clock, 00:10. This one was for all the nuggets. The ball was snapped, and I ran faster than ever before. Luke handed me the ball and ran towards the left, where I had come from. Looking up, I saw that while the receivers were covered, Luke had gone unnoticed by the defenders and had an open field. Rearing my arm back, I hurled the pigskin as hard as I could.

This was not the welcome wagon I expected when I stepped out of the bus on my way home, but maybe I should have. Standing not five feet in front of me was a junky, that in and of itself was not the issue. My gaze lowered to the gun that he pointed at my gut. That was very much the heart of the problem.

"Fork over your cash rich boy," if I had a penny for everyone that ever told me that, I'd have exactly 3 pennies. Unlike the other ones though, this man had an actual gun on him. I stopped the sigh that threatened to come, but I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling like the stones they felt like.

Obviously, the man took an exception to that. He waved the gun around in a pitiable copy of a threatening way. But then again, when you have a gun, anything you do involving it is threatening, "And give me that blazer too."

That right there told me two things. Numero uno: this man did not own the gun in any way. Probably found it after it was discarded by some thug who'd just used it. And numero dos: this man is obviously new at this whole thing, which considering we were in the Narrows was somewhat refreshing. Stealing a Gotham Academy blazer was tantamount to asking the police to arrest you. What with the logo, rich materials and possible tracker no one in their right minds was going to take that off his hands. I had to diffuse the situation.

"Alright buddy," I started slowly as if talking to a startled horse – oh my god that school spoiled me, "Imma give you what I have, just relax alright." All I had on me was a five, hopefully that was going to be enough. I pulled out my wallet slowly to prove it wasn't a weapon. Opening it at an angle to show him the content of the wallet, I pulled out the lone bill and handed it to him. He snatched it from me, probably afraid I was going to pull it back and held it close to his chest. He eyed my blazer hungrily before deciding to quit while he was ahead and dashed out of the alley he had pulled me in. Giving him a few minutes to make sure he left, I stepped out myself.

Looking left and right, I sighed. In a completely practiced ease, I took off my blazer and stuffed it in my backpack after pulling out the red and black hoodie out. Pulling my hood up and placing one earbud in, I was ready to head down the path that led to the small place my parents left me. However, as I walked past a group of wannabe thugs, I heard the screech of tires on the asphalt. Before I could start running for cover, the barking sound of a gun echoed loudly in the street. I fell. I always thought getting shot would be extenuatingly painful, and yet at that moment I surprised myself at how calm I felt. As I laid there on the hard concrete walkway, slowly dying an unknown member of a poverty-stricken community. I blinked. I tried focusing on the only thing around me other than the depressing Gotham night sky, the music still playing in my ear.

" – will convey just what I mean

I mean it's evident that I'm irrelevant to society

That's what you're telling me, penitentiary would only hire me

Curse me 'til I'm dead

Church me – "

I smiled.

I died.