January 16th
"A tragedy occurred earlier today. Sixteen year old Tyler Bowen started to rob a jewelry store but then had an attack of conscience. He called his father to help him and waited for the police to arrive. Before they did, he was attacked by Nightwing, Blüdhaven's own vigilante. When Officer Dana Smith arrived on the scene, Nightwing used Tyler's own father as a decoy to facilitate his own escape. Forty two year old Frank Bowen is dead, his son is in the hospital with severe injuries. Officer Smith had this to say:"
"It was dark, I couldn't see too well. I should have made sure of my target, but there wasn't time. I saw a person on the ground, with a second person bending over them. I believed they were an assailant, and there was a third retreating. I opened fire"
"Officer Smith, who only graduated from the police academy a year ago, may have her career ended by the cruel act of the vigilante Nightwing. The question is: who will be next on his list of victims?"
"See, what did I tell you?," Cole demanded "what did I say?,"
"You and I both know Dana's been trigger-happy from day one. She should never have been given a badge and gun in the first place," Leeson disagreed "aside from which, Nightwing didn't do anything except maybe attack a kid who was going to commit a crime but then had a sudden change of heart. And the kid's gonna be okay. Wasn't his fault some trigger-happy officer mistook an innocent for an accomplice,"
"You still don't get it, do you?," Cole growled "this thing isn't going to happen all at once. This guy's gone down a deep, dark pit of the mind and, if we don't stop him, he'll drag this whole city down with him. Somebody's gotta put a stop to this,"
"Who?. You?. What are you going to do?. Put on a mask and pretend to be a bad guy until the vigilante shows up?. And then what?,"
"Whatever I have to to get this nut off the streets," Cole told him "I will not stand by while this character makes a mess of my city and then burns it down,"
"This is not good," Green Arrow commented "your sidekick's gone off the rails,"
"No," Batman said, his tone flat.
"People are starting to get hurt because of his actions," Green Arrow persisted "you and I both know the picture isn't at all what the media painted for us, but something's gone very wrong with that kid. He's lost his sense of direction,"
Batman grit his teeth, evidently biting back the reply he wanted to make. He wanted to say that it wasn't Nightwing's fault, that he'd been driven to it. But none of that mattered. How he'd gone over the edge was not the concern. The concern was what he was now capable of doing.
"Somebody's gotta go straighten him out,"
Naturally, they all looked at Batman. Batman wanted to say no, wanted to tell them that it was best if he and Nightwing never again laid eyes on one another. But he couldn't. He couldn't ask anyone to go in his place, not with Nightwing in such an unpredictable state.
"Take the Team with you," Superman suggested "they may be able to reason with him,"
Batman had not told him everything. But he'd said enough.
Batman saw the wisdom of this advice, even though he would have preferred to go alone. He knew Kid Flash was already in Blüdhaven, and had heard the news, no doubt. He'd be looking for Nightwing too. Even so, bringing the rest of the Team probably wasn't a bad idea.
Nightwing might listen to them. Maybe they could help him. Lord knows Batman wanted to, but he couldn't see how. After everything, he knew there was only one reaction Nightwing could have on seeing him.
"We'll go tomorrow night. Nightwing will be lying low with all this media attention focused on him. We'd never find him," Batman said.
He knew that they wouldn't be finding Nightwing at all. Nightwing would find them. But the first part of what he said still stood. At least, he hoped it did. If Nightwing showed himself tonight, then he was further gone than Batman even imagined.
Batman knew sleep would not be possible, and so he sat in the batcave thinking and waiting for the day to pass into night. At least, that's what he thought he was doing. In reality, he did fall asleep.
He dreamed that he had entered Blüdhaven, which for some reason was a black city of ruins hidden in the mists of time and smoke of disaster. He was alone, calling Nightwing's name, his voice echoing through the lonely streets, the cry going unheard by all save the demonic shadows slithering about through the fog, their tongues flicking in and out of twisted mouths like misshapen snakes.
Out of the dark came a shadow creature, neither man nor beast, fitting no description of anything either real or myth, appearing from the shadows like a ghost, standing before him like a stone behemoth, fire spewing from its open mouth and staring down at him with eyes of liquid fire.
He knew, in the way that you know things in dreams, that this was somehow Nightwing.
"You!," a voice boomed out, crumbling what remained of the building walls and shaking the very night to pieces "look what you've done!,"
At the monster's feet there lay an infant child. Batman looked, and saw that the baby was gray and dead, its pale eyes forever open and gazing in terror as though it had seen the face of Hell before its death, its small mouth wide in a silent scream.
"What you have destroyed," the behemoth rumbled, flames flashing past its hideous fangs "can never be rebuilt. What you have done," it hissed, its rancid breath blowing past Batman's face "you can never undo,"
"I don't want you to forgive me for my sake," Batman told the apparition "but for yours,"
"There is no forgiveness in this heart for the likes of you," the beast snarled, snapping its jaws angrily "you have left nothing but a dead husk. It exists, but is not alive. I cannot feel what you want,"
"No. You don't have to let this be your fate. You don't have to become a monster because that's what I was," Batman shouted, but his voice sounded faint and far away.
"Better that than the alternative," the beast grumbled, lowering its voice slightly "I broke your chain. In doing so, I ended the evil that began in that fire, not so long ago,"
"But you. What about you?,"
"Consumed!," the flames burned Batman's face when the monster screamed the word.
It then flapped its great smoke wings, blowing hot air towards Batman and generating a wind so strong that it almost knocked him down.
"Yet I continue!," the creature continued, fire and smoke filling the air and crackling so loud the beast was almost drowned out "I know of no other way. Like the phoenix, I have been reborn,"
"Into what?," Batman shouted, but the wind snatched his words away.
"Reborn!," the words echoed through the air, sounding like a dirge "Reborn!. Reborn!,"
Reborn.
"Into what?!. I have to know!. Tell me!,"
Batman awoke with a jerk. He did not normally allow dreams to disturb him once he woke, but this one was far too close to reality for comfort. He realized, for the first time, that he was afraid to face Nightwing. Not because of what Nightwing might do to him, but because of what seeing him might do to Nightwing.
As darkness fell, Nightwing grew restless. It was easy to say it was time to stop being afraid, but actually doing that was another thing. Aside from that, long habit beckoned him out onto the rooftops, calling him to go and do what he did best. The thing that made him what he was.
He knew that, if he was to survive, he must act wisely. Or not act, as the case might be. The police would be looking for him tonight, more than any other night. He couldn't hide forever, of course. But it would be foolish to set out tonight, knowing the police would be out in force. Not to mention the media. Nightwing was big news now, everyone wanted a piece of him.
He paced around for awhile, and then looked out the grime-covered windows of the warehouse. It was a clear night for once. The moon and the stars shone brightly here, the docks below were too dark to blot them out. But their light brought him no warmth or good cheer.
He had lived so long as a wild animal might, with need and desire his only motives, never thinking about consequences, that he had almost forgotten what it was like to behave with restraint. It reminded him of those long hours in the room by himself. He had always resented confinement, but his loathing for it had increased a thousand fold. He was repulsed by it to the point of feeling the need to strike out at something, anything.
He hit one of the training dummies he'd set up. It made him feel a little better, so he attacked it more vigorously. Within a few minutes, he'd broken it into pieces. He'd put so much effort into destroying it that he was panting, but still the feeling of resentment remained. He scattered the pieces of the ruined dummy, then kicked them one by one into the corner to be dealt with later.
He shook himself, trying to rid himself of his restlessness. It wasn't brought on by anger, not this time. Nor was fear its cause. He didn't know what it was, except for habit. Training, experience, routine.
He decided he wouldn't think about it. He lay down and tried to sleep, but couldn't. He wasn't used to sleeping nights. Early in the morning and some in the afternoon or evening depending on the work schedule was when he slept. He didn't sleep at night, and trying proved a useless waste of time.
At midnight, he finally broke down.
He told himself he was only going to be looking down from the rooftops, that he would avoid trouble at all costs. But he knew this was a lie. If there was trouble, he would leap right into the middle of it. It was in his nature to do so. It was both his desire and his need to protect those who needed it, and to see that justice was done. Sometimes it wasn't easy, sometimes it wasn't pretty, but it had to be done and he, and those like him, were sometimes the only ones who could.
He could no more ignore what he was born to be than he could prevent the sun from rising in the morning.
Strange to think that he could so resent confinement in one context, yet contentedly and willfully resign himself to it in another. He supposed that it was the difference between what was right and what wasn't. What should be, what could be, and what must be.
January 17th, 02:30 AM
"Hey, look up there. Is that what I think it is?," Cole asked.
He was driving and had only looked up for an instant. Leeson, riding shot gun, looked up. At first, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be looking for. But then what looked like a shadow made a leap from one roof to another, revealing its true nature as being nothing other than Nightwing.
"Yeah," Leeson answered reluctantly "that's Nightwing alright,"
"Fool doesn't know when to quit," Cole growled "I'm going to follow him,"
"Are you serious?," Leeson demanded "don't you think you're overreacting just a little?,"
"Hell no," Cole replied "I should have done more to run this bastard down the moment he arrived. Maybe, if I had, Tyler Bowen would still have a father to come home to,"
He told Leeson to keep an eye out for Nightwing, and let him know when and where to turn while he kept his eyes on the road. He didn't anticipate any difficulty in keeping up with the vigilante, but he was wrong. Though Nightwing was either oblivious of them or simply didn't care, he covered ground fast, often taking routes that cars were unable to. Cole thought more than once that they'd lost him, but then they'd catch sight of him again.
"Shouldn't we report the sighting?," Leeson asked after several minutes.
"I don't know what you heard at the briefing, but I don't recall anything concerning vigilante sightings. If we lose him, we'll have wasted the department's time and resources. We should figure out where he's going first," Cole reasoned.
Leeson didn't particularly agree with that logic, but knew it was futile to argue with Cole, and so he didn't. Of course, there was also the fact that he didn't really want to arrest Nightwing. He was only now beginning to have doubts about the heroic nature of Nightwing, but not enough that he wanted to run the guy in. At least, not yet.
So focused were they on following Nightwing that they failed to realize where he was taking them. Leeson was looking up, watching for the flitting of the shadow figure above, and Cole was preoccupied with what he would do once they finally caught Nightwing.
The buildings got dirtier and rougher, the street was in disrepair. Trash littered the unkempt sidewalks, and weeds had sprung up between the cracks in the concrete during the warmer months, though now they lay frozen and dead. But Cole and Leeson noticed none of this. Nor did they take note of the vagrants sitting in little alcoves and observing them pass with a mixture of curiosity and apathy. It wasn't often police came this way, especially in such small numbers.
In fact, they didn't realize until too late that they'd crossed into the territory of a gang, who had a special hatred of cops, and generally all figures of authority. The roar of a truck's engine was the only forewarning. Cole tried to brake and hit reverse before the truck came out of the alley, but to no avail.
A black pick-up with words and symbols spray-painted in red all over its hood and sides lunged out of the alleyway like a panther covered in warpaint. The front of the truck slammed into the side of the police cruiser, and the smaller car gave. Metal shrieked as the two vehicles tore into each other, groaning as the cruiser folded on itself and skidded deafeningly across the road and into an unlit lamp post.
Then, suddenly, there was silence.
Cole had hit his head against the steering wheel. Blood flowed down between his eyes. He was stunned and unable to move or even think for several seconds. When he finally could think, he realized that the driver's side door had crumpled and his left leg was now pinned. He wasn't sure if it hurt or not, he was still too much shocked to process it.
He looked over at Leeson. Leeson had struck his head against the passenger window and lay slumped in his seat, blood oozing from the side of his head. Cole looked the other way, at the black pickup, which was just now backing away.
Cole heard the ominous sounds of rattling chains and malicious laughter, but his head was swimming and it was too dark to see much. The pickup's headlights were on, but they brought blinding light only to the interior of the totaled police cruiser.
There was a 'thump', which rocked the cruiser. Cole looked up instinctively, though he couldn't see anything, of course. The roof prevented that, but he could hear someone shifting their weight on it, perhaps taking a step to one side or the other.
"Who the hell is this?," a strange voice shouted, seeming amused.
"Some kind of junkie," another guffawed.
"Hey, man, this our neighborhood, and this is our party. You... you get out," the first voice yelled.
Cole could dimly see a blurry figure moving around the side of the pickup towards the cruiser. They halted when a third voice growled. At first, there didn't seem to be words, but Cole wasn't sure because his head was spinning. It could have been anything. But he did finally make out a few words.
"This is my city now. If you know what's good for you, you'll all go home, right now," evidently this went ignored, as a second threat rang out, more clearly "do not take another step towards this vehicle!,"
"Ooh, we're scared now!," chortled one voice.
"Shaking in our boots," laughed another.
That was the last Cole heard. A new figure emerged, leaping down from above like a great black bird, standing silhouetted in the headlights. But not for long. There was a fight. It was fast, bloody, brutal, from what Cole could see. But he lost consciousness before he saw the end of it.
Having taken down the entire gang, or all that was present, Nightwing turned to the cruiser. He smashed in one of the windows and tested the radio. When it worked, he put in a call for assistance, giving the location and naming himself as a random passerby. He was gone by the time police arrived on the scene, leaving no trace that he'd ever been save for the unconscious gang members strewn haphazardly about the street.
"Last night, Nightwing reportedly assaulted two police officers. A group of teenage boys attempted to rescue the officers, and were severely beaten. Both officers are still unconscious and in the hospital, one is critically injured. As the violence done by Nightwing escalates, citizens are forced to ask 'what are the police doing about this threat?' and 'why haven't they taken it more seriously until now?',"
From hero to villain almost overnight. Very well. So be it.