CHAPTER 63:
"Nightwing Junior Returns"
The moment Damian ran out into the hall and through the Gallery, he bolted towards the stairway leading to the Upper Floor. Suddenly he put on the breaks, his shoes producing a slight streaking sound.
He immediately pressed his back against a wall, behind a protruding support pillar, after he saw an unusual and shocking sight. Enigma, Riddler's eccentric daughter, stood further down the hall, looking at some of the paintings.
What the devil is she doing here? Or, great! Another psycho! She and Grayson must've just missed each other.
He held his breath and then peaked out from his spot. She hadn't see him, and was currently staring at a Picasso, cocking her head to side, as if attempting to interpret the painting's meaning. Then she appeared to mimic another, by putting her hands to her cheeks with her mouth in an elongated scream, the painting was called The Scream. It was a very famous painting by Edvard Munch, a Norwegian Expressionist artist, and his father had managed to acquire it with a lot of persuasion and financial capital, buying it from an auction in New York. He had a vast array of famous works of art from Picasso to Rembrandt.
With Enigma here, I feel like I want to scream.
There was no way of getting to the stairway without her seeing him and she was getting closer. Why she was here, he didn't know— and he didn't care—but he knew if he needed to stay here, or be seen, and then all hell would break loose. He could see the gun tucked into the front of her tights, along with quite a lot of flesh showing. It bordered on Exhibitionism.
Why do villainess always have to dress half-naked? What ever happened to being more conservative? Oh yeah…tell that to Grayson, who wears tights that press against his skin and leave nothing to the imagination. What a narcissist!
He had no plan. No escape route. His only option was to fight. But was he willing to attack a woman?
"No need to hide, Damian Wayne, I can see you," came Enigma's voice. "I saw you over a minute ago. Come on out."
Damian looked out from the pillar and saw that Enigma was staring straight at him with her hands on her hips, looking provocative, and just shy of sexy. He had to admit, growing up, women were beginning to pose an interest to him on a different level. Case in point, Treasure Island was proof of that. Enigma had a fitting form, but the pigtails didn't do it for him.
He stepped out into the open. She did not pull out her gun. "Wonderful art here," she said. "I heard a rumour you like to draw. Is that true?" When he refused to answer. She then said, "Fine, be rude. By the way, you look like a baby penguin dressed like that."
"I don't need fashion advise from a woman who dresses like a trollop," he said.
Enigma's eyes widened, and then she swore, calling him several profane names. She was about to pull out her gun, when he instinctively reached for his mid-section, then remembered he wasn't wearing his utility belt being in civilian clothes. But thinking quick, he then removed his shoes, and threw them both it at her like Batarang's. The moment her gun left her tights, she swore again, as his second shoe smashed into her hand, making her dropped the weapon. His first shoe going wild.
He charged at her, then slid along the floor, grabbing the gun in his wake, rolled, and pointed it at her, all within a few seconds. She snapped around, raised her hands. He got to one knee, then both feet, with her in his crosshairs.
"Wow, quick moves, Looks like The Bat has been teaching you a lot."
She knew who his father was, so there was no need to hide things. "My father is a good man and an excellent fighter," Damian said. "Now, talk. Why is your father here, and why has he teamed-up with Jake Handles?"
"I don't know anything about that. I was just brought along mainly because my father wanted to keep an eye on me after I was released from prison. Nothing nefarious, or anything like that. But you may wish to know we have Timothy Drake and Stephane Brown, held hostage in the Batcave, and your nasty kitty cat. He tried to bite me."
They have Alfred? How did that come about? "If he had bit you, he'd die from ingesting poison. You're as venomous as women come, Enigma. Thanks for letting me know about Drake and Brown, but they can handle themselves."
She put up a finger. "Oh, let me guess, you want to know where your daddy-dearest is, don't you? Well, you're going to have to play a game with me to coax that answer out. If your answer true, then I'll give the answer to you, sweetie-poo."
Damian had wondered where his father was, he had been absent for quite some time. "Does Riddler have him somewhere?"
"Solve a riddle and maybe I'll tell you?"
"Why? The probably of Riddler and my father being together is 99.9%. However, with you being here, I would wager, something has happened, whereas my father has been rendered inert or has been captured. In that case, I can use you as a bargaining chip."
Enigma gave a quirky smile. "I wouldn't bet on that scenario. Pops isn't my biggest fan at the moment, or at any moment. He always scolds me, and tells me to behave more cumulatively; proper. Hey, but this is the way I am, and I'm enjoying my life. Sue me!"
"Killing people makes you happy? You are one major sicko."
"I aint going anywhere unless you solve a riddle, and that's that! I am the Riddler's daughter, after all."
Damian sighed deeply. "Fine. But make it good, and make it quick, or I will shoot you! I have little patience right now."
"Oh, I think you'll like this one. And I believe it'll strike to the heart of you. Ready?"
Damian eyed her suspiciously. Her words gave him pause and he readied himself for anything. She shifted slightly to her left, whereas she showed him her profile, her head blocking her left hand, which, he last saw just vertical of her head.
She seemed to pause for a moment, then said: "What can speak without a tongue and listen without ears?"
Damian snorted angrily and blinked baffled. "Are you kidding me? That's your riddle?" He gripped the gun tightly. "I should shoot you just for being stupid. A five year old could guess that! I'm completely insulted! The answer is…"
Suddenly, she reached into her tights on her right side, plunked something out, and threw it at him with a pitcher's throw. If she was trying to hide the gun, she missed by the long shot, but she did strike at the heart of him, as her cellphone hit him dead centre in his chest. It winded him, and it gave Enigma the opportunity she needed to attack.
She ran at him and barrelled into him like a football player would a tackle dummy, taking him down. The gun flew out of his hand and Enigma pinned him to the ground. She sat on his chest and then began bouncing up and down as if to continuously take his breath away. He gasped, but she kept pouncing on his chest, and he felt like something was going to break.
He managed to free himself when she lifted herself up and managed to knock her off him, rolling away. He gasped for breath, crawling on his stomach. But then she slammed on his back and he cried out. She pinned him down again, but he managed to lift himself up and get to his hands and knees. Then she began to ride him like a horse. And he was glad no one could see him at this moment. The son of Batman being in this position was so undignified.
"Bet you didn't think the answer would hit you that heartedly, did you?"
The cellphone hitting him in the chest smart, and he knew her pre-remark had something to do with the upcoming riddle, but he never thought she would throw her phone at him. His father always said to expect the unexplained. He never expected that. But that was nothing to the pain he felt in his back at the moment. Not even when she pounced on his chest.
"Come on, horsey! Ride'm cowboy!" And she whipped his butt with a hand much like a rider would a horse. "Hee-haw!"
"Ow! Okay, that's enough!"
Damian shifted his weight, and turned. Then he brought his legs in, folded his knees, and kicked out hard, bashing his feet into her stomach, throwing her back. She flew back and landed on her back, hitting the back of her head.
She rolled, holding her head. "Ow, ow, ow! That hurt, you little…"
Damian took a moment to catch his breath. "That was so inappropriate, I don't know where to begin!"
Enigma suddenly became very angry, as she appeared to look just beyond him. He turned and looked at what she was staring at and saw her cellphone in several pieces. After it hit him and hit the floor, the backing must have come off. The battery and one other piece ejecting out. It looked metallic in nature. He didn't know much about the working of this particular cellphone, but by the look on Enigma's face, it appeared to mean a lot to her, and that the damage was severe.
"No, no, no!" She temporarily ignored him and her own injuries, ran past him, and scrambled to her phone. "It's ruined! You broke it!"
"You shouldn't have thrown it at me! All that for a riddle? Serves you right!"
She snapped a hateful look at him. She slammed the phone down, cracking the screen. If it could be fixed before, it was completely busted now without hope. "I'm going to make you pay for this! My whole life was in this phone since I got out of prison. It was the first thing I stole. I had so many pictures on it. And even though I did say I did, I didn't erase the pictures of Timothy Drake and Stephane Brown. But now they're truly gone!" She seethed angry. "Riddle me this: What does every man fear and later regrets?"
If her eyes could be compared to hot-filled smoking craters, they did so now. She was beyond angry. These days, a phone was a person's life, and if it was damaged, some considered it the end of the world. Some even went into withdrawal symptoms.
He thought he knew the answer. Instead, she shouted it out. "A woman scorned! And you'll about to feel my wrath, bird boy!"
She growled and then attacked him. She lunged, and he grabbed her by her arms, rolled onto his back, and flipped her over his head. Then he pivoted on his feet and watched her land on her feet like a cat and bolt towards him again.
He backed away quickly as she ran at him. Then he clashed with her, blocking punch after repeated punch, pushing her arm away with his hand, using a defensive technique he learned when was the League of Assassins, but accentuated by his father's training. He even ducked and dodged several kicks with ease.
Where Enigma had picked up her fighting ability was beyond him, but despite her rage in implementing them, they were good. Since her introduction into the Rogues Gallery, as his father had labelled, there was very little on her profile. Now, he would have to add "impressive fighting skill" to her repertoire. He observed, ability like this only came with personal training. So, who had she been training with? He didn't recognize the style, it was eccentric without a conformity, just like her.
Eventually, her emotional state caused her to do something unexpected and shocking which Damian gave utmost pause to worry.
Enigma plunked off Munch's The Scream painting off the wall and then held it aloft, as if to hold it hostage.
Damian put his hands up. Not out of submission—knowing how expensive the painting was and if anything happened to it his father would blow a gasket—but to halt Enigma from doing anything stupid. Such as, throwing it out of anger.
"Whoa, now take it easy, Enigma; don't do anything rash. We can talk things out. I'll buy you a new phone, a better one. I'm sorry, it was my fault." Compared to the $120 million price tag of the painting, a thousand dollar phone was peanuts. He knew he needed to calm her down, and relenting slightly may prove to be the more prudent option. "Put the painting down, let's discuss this rationally."
"No!" she said loudly.
She then swung the painting with its frame through the air like a blunt blade nearly slicing his throat. He arched back to avoid the strike. But then he dropped to the floor when a sudden sharp pain struck his lower back, most likely caused from her when Enigma was bouncing on him earlier. He grabbed his back and hissed in pain.
Suddenly his eyes went wide when she raised the painting and brought it down with a sharp corner edge of the frame directly between his legs. He managed to inch back seconds before it would have hit a sensitive area. He swore, but he didn't have a moment of reprieve, when she repeated her action, and brought it down harder, cracking the frame.
Enigma then used the painting as a blunt object and kept whacking it on the floor at his feet. He continued to inch back. She was beyond psychotic right now.
He then decided it was time to end this and got to his feet. When she brought the painting up again to strike, he delivered a high kick that knocked it out of her hands. The painting went flying straight in the air.
He jumped and grabbed it, looked it over quickly, and found it was unmarked. Only the frame had been damaged. He breathed a sigh of relief.
But then, the unthinkable happened. As he held it, Enigma attacked, and he instinctively put the painting out as a shield, not even thinking. She punched out and her hand went straight through it, tearing the late seventeenth century painting mid-canvas. Her fist bashed into his face, knocking him back. He staggered back and fell on his butt, droplets of blood dripping from his nose.
The shock of the painting registered on high and for a moment he felt fear, but not from Enigma. It was from what his father would do to him when he found out about the irreplaceable painting. He knew he would get the scolding off his life. He didn't normally fear his father, but there would be questions. And he would be blamed.
Now he was mad.
He thrust the painting forward, thus pushing Enigma back. Then he lifted it up and brought it crashing down upon her head, no longer worried about damaging it. The frame was tight enough to trap her arms within it. Secure, he twirled her around like a spin top until she became dizzy and she started to act a lot like Jason Todd when he drank too much.
Enigma staggered and then toppled to the ground. But then she got up, staggered some more, but then made a run for it out of the gallery, and towards the foray.
Damian didn't give chase. He needed to do something first. In his current state, he couldn't take on Riddler or Handles. So, he ran to the Upper Floor, wiping blood from his nose, and burst into his room, to find his Nightwing Junior costume that he kept secretly here.
But the moment he entered, he found that his room had been ransacked. It reminded him of Drake's room on a normal day. After Riddler's men assaulted the Manor, no doubt they went from room to room to take what they could find. When they gassed people, he pretending to be asleep, he observed them taking people's cellphones and valuables and putting them into sacks. Apart from this being a simple robbery, he figured Riddler and Handles had a more sinister and nefarious purpose.
And it was time for him to do something about it. The issue about theft could wait.
He reached under his mattress, which appeared untouched, and pulled out his Nightwing Junior costume and then began putting it on. His escrima sticks, locked together into one bo-staff, were stored in his clothes closest, and to any who saw them, they would more then likely look like a normal walking stick, or some random pole or item stuffed in storage for whatever reason.
He brought it out and separated them with a switch.
He began to put on his mask, pressing it to his face and over his eyes. Some people wondered how the mask stayed on, asking the question on-line. And it was quite simple: a form of sophisticated heat-bidding glue. It was then removed with an adhesive remover.
Just then, a rapping came at his bedroom window. He snapped around, and floating outside, in a tuxedo and glasses, was Jon Kent. It reminded him of the time Kent did the same thing at the condo in Bludhaven when he came to visit.
Damian opened his window with its crank all the way. The only thing separating him from Kent was a screen.
"Hi, D. Heard you were having a party, and I came to check it out…Why are you dressed in your Nightwing Junior costume?"
"Not a good time, Jon."
Jon removed the screen from the window with ease and then flew into Damian's room, landing to the floor. "You called me, Jon. You never call me that. And since you're dressed in that costume, and it's a black tie event, according to my father…something's up?"
Damian finished fitting into his costume. "Why are you here? I heard you were grounded for going to Treasure Island with Todd?"
"I was, but then the rest of my time was commuted for good behaviour. I heard about the party and wanted to come. My father said this party was originally for Dick Grayson as a welcome home celebration, then it got changed at the last second for a fundraiser event, and could not be undone. Now I see you dressing as Nightwing Junior? Has it turned into fancy dress?"
"Hostage situation, and I just took care of Enigma downstairs, Riddler's daughter. She fled. And Jake Handles is also here, back from the dead. Or, so we all thought. It was a trick." Damian then explained what had occurred between Todd and Roy Harper outside with KGBeast. "And Wally West took out Sam Scudder, Mirror Master, who then escaped back into the 'mirror-verse' through a woman's make-up compact mirror. He had taken the guests in the Ballroom hostage using Handles' photo-kinetic construct technology, without our knowledge. Apparently, he was also involved in the plot to assassinate Grayson from the very start in his own way. He was also the point man to alert Riddler's men when was the best time to storm the Manor as a guest."
Jon Kent's eyes seemed to go cross-eyed. "Wow, it's all so complicated. You have a full house here. What can I do?"
For the first time that he could recall, Damian was glad Jon Kent was here. He could use the help. And with Kent's powers, he would certainly come in handy. Their days as the 'Super Sons' felt like an annoyance, but he did consider Jon Kent a friend. Victor Freeze once remarked he and Jon looked like Superman and Batman had twins. But they looked nothing alike.
"Assist me. Did you bring—?"
Jon Kent whirled around. Seconds later, his tuxedo was discarded, replaced by his black Superboy costume with the Superman symbol across his chest and shoulders. He wore it under his clothes in luel of his other Superboy attire. Damian liked it better than the ripped-jeans-knee version. His tux and glasses tossed haphazardly on the floor.
Jon Ken shrugged, not caring, and remarked: "One less thing on the floor shouldn't matter in this case, eh? Boy, your room is worse than mine. It looks ransacked." Damian confirmed his hypothesis, but he didn't know by whom. Jon Kent cupped his hands on his hips. "Assist you? I'm not a dog, but I will help you. But things could get a little ruff!"
The right side of Damian's mouth crooked.
Kent's face brightened. "Is that a smile? Did I just make the hard-nose, son of Batman, smile? Wow!"
"Okay, I have to admit, that was one of the corniest jokes I have ever heard, but…hey, thanks."
"Because it's dog humour, right?" Jon smiled. "Where's Titus, by the way?"
"In his crate. We thought it best to keep him there during the party, so none of the guests got scared. He's a big dog. I didn't like it, but father and Alfred insisted. He's in Alfred's room right now, listening to classical music. He likes the music. Oddly enough, it helps him sleep. And I bet it's the only room that hasn't been ransacked. But I have yet to check up on him."
"I don't know how you can listen to that music with all that shouting and screaming? It hurts my ears."
"Not the time to debate music choices, Kent."
"That's better. I feel weird you calling me Jon. Let's go kick some baddie butt!"
To be continued...
