Chpt. II: Hell is Home

Dick opened the office door and switched on the light. The light flickered, but nonetheless illuminated the room. The room he entered used to be a security guard's office before the subways were abandoned. It had a few file cabinets around the wall. There was a desk with a rusty metal chair on wheels behind it. On the desk was a computer system. It had already been smashed in. There was a blood stain on the desk. Dick didn't know whose blood it was.

This was where he lived.

Dick walked behind the desk and sat at the chair. He raised his feet up on the desk and laid back. He looked up at the clock that hung on the wall over the door. It was ten minutes before midnight. Rodrick should've dropped off the winnings from the fight already.

Dick pulled open a drawer from the desk and pulled out the bundled up cash he had been saving for the past year from the fights. He knew how much he had. He had counted the money more times than he could remember. It was probably enough. But this last fight's earnings would guarantee him a ticket out of the subways. It was the quickest way out of there.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Dick looked up to find a tall, skinny boy leaning up against the door frame. He looked a few years older than Dick. Everyone here was a boy. Some were really young, and some were older. Some seemed like they had been here all their lives, fighting, training, eating the corpses of kids who just couldn't cut the hard life.

The boy standing at the door was bald with a few tattoos down his neck and forearms. He wore a torn muscle shirt and some faded cargo jeans. He was chewing something again. He was always chewing something. Dick never had the balls to ask what the hell he found that was so damn chewy down here.

"You're late, Rodrick," Dick said.

Rodrick smirked. "I'm usually early."

Dick shrugged. "Change is unsettling."

Rodrick nodded, reaching for something behind him. "Damn straight," he said. He pulled out a wad of cash from the waistband of his shorts and tossed it at Dick. Dick caught the cash and began counting it.

"It took longer to collect the winnings," Rodrick explained. "Everyone had their money on the Arab dude, so you can imagine how many of those scumbags tried to hide and bullshit their way out of paying."

Dick nodded, still counting the money.

Rodrick crossed his arms and began tapping his fingers against his forearms. Dick could feel Rodrick's stare burning into the top of his skull. It was a lot of money Rodrick had tossed Dick.

"Guess how many people bet on you, Dick."

Dick continued counting the money.

"I'll give you a hint: you knocked out more teeth than that."

Dick nodded, still counting the money. Rodrick cleared his throat. Dick knew he was stalling. He was waiting to say something. Or do something.

"I've never seen you fight like that before," Rodrick said in a quieter voice.

Dick stopped counting the cash for a moment. He then continued counting again. "You haven't seen all of my fights."

Rodrick sat up from the door frame and walked up to the desk, arms still crossed. His tattoos flexed with his lean muscles. "Well, you haven't exactly been in enough cage matches for me to see a whole lot."

Dick laughed, still counting. "Do you think I want to be in those cages?"

"I don't know, tonight it almost seemed like you enjoyed gouging the eyes out of that son of a bitch!" Rodrick cried. He caught himself and closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. He looked straight at Dick. Dick wouldn't look up. "I don't want you to turn into a cold blooded killer like the rest of these guys."

Dick set the money down. He stood up from his chair. "Rodrick, these fights are all we have. Without them, nobody stands a chance down in these subways."

Rodrick nodded. "Yeah, I get that, but that's why we set up two fight divisions. The Amateur League was set up for the younger and smaller guys to fight and get money too!"

"Yeah, but the Pro League earnings are so much more than the Amateur League."

"Dick, they put killers in those cages. I've seen mercenaries snap people's necks. I once saw a ninja kill a guy quicker than you could say 'holy shit'." Rodrick stepped closer, speaking in a more hushed voice. "And I know you've heard about the crocodile monster that they tried to stick in the cage."

Dick shook his head and sat back down. He continued to count the money. "Like I said, I'm in it for the quick cash."

Rodrick rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. He seemed to be frustrated. "Dick, you and I both know this is more about the cash. You're looking for some sort of redemption, and you think by making yourself a legend down here you'll come to peace with yourself. But all this blood you're spilling, all this pain you put yourself through, it's not worth it. You're better than these assholes. Don't stoop to their level."

Dick stopped counting and looked up at Rodrick. "I'm sorry, 'redemption'?" Dick asked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Rodrick shrugged. "I dunno, that's the bullshit I've been hearing from people. They think it's something to do with your parents."

Dick shook his head. "Nobody down here knows a thing about me. So don't think for a moment you can rely on their lies to get through to me."

Rodrick nodded. "Dick, I care about you. I'm worried about you. This silent warrior act isn't good. It puts up a wall around yourself, leaving you without friends. And trust me, down here, you can't afford to not have friends."

"Down here, you can't afford to let these psychos too close to you," Dick shot out.

Rodrick sighed. "Dick, all you have are enemies."

Dick finally finished counting the cash. He set the money aside and looked up at Rodrick. "And?"

"You need a friend," Rodrick said. "You need me. I'm the best there is for you."

"All you are is the guy is gives me the cash from my matches," Dick responded harshly.

"I'm the guy who would warn you if these maniacs were about to riot up here to try to kill you," Rodrick shot back.

Dick raised an eyebrow. He shook his head. "Now you just sound crazy." Dick pulled open the drawer of the desk and grabbed the remaining money he had saved. He stuck that and the money he had just counted into an envelope and stuck it in the back pocket of his pants. He stood up. He saw Rodrick's eyes light up as he had pulled out the money.

"How much money was in tonight's earnings?" Rodrick asked.

Dick smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Rodrick shook his head. "No, really. How much?"

"If I told you, I'm sure you'd go nuts and try to take my money," Dick said.

From outside of the office room, Dick could hear echoes of shouts. They were getting closer.

Dick shoved past Rodrick and stuck his head through the door. He could see a large group of guys walking up the stairs of the subway lobby. They were all shouting, as if protesting.

Dick turned back to Rodrick. "What did you say about a riot?" he asked.

Rodrick put his hands up defensively. "Bro, I'm sorry, I didn't want to, but Nolan told me to keep you up here long enough so they could make their way here."

Dick eyes narrowed at Rodrick. "Really? You'd fuck me over for them? For Nolan?" Dick ran back to the desk and grabbed the nightstick he kept taped under the desk. He knew he'd use it someday.

"Nolan threatened me, man!" Rodrick cried.

Dick walked up to Rodrick and kicked his leg, dislocating his kneecap. Dick swung the nightstick over Rodrick's head and slammed on it hard. Dick looked down at Rodrick. "And to think I almost believed that bullshit about you looking out for me."

Dick kneeled down and went to the doorway. He peeked behind the door to see where the group was. At the top of the stairs he could see Nolan standing over the crowd. He wore a long dark trench coat and black fingerless gloves. His hair was jet black and combed over to one side, creating a lopsided pompadour. He was leading the riot.

Dick's hand curled into a tight fist. When he introduced himself as the leader of the men of the subways, Dick knew he was a fucked up guy. Even when he would portray himself as a genuinely nice, sincere and caring guy looking out for the group. He was the Devil, and these were his minions.

Dick took a deep breath and made his way across the lobby kneeling. He stopped at some metal benches that gave him cover. He stayed there for a moment to work out where he'd go next.

Nolan's voice was booming across the large lobby. Dick couldn't help but listen to what he had to say.

"Gentlemen, we can NOT let Dick Grayson get away with his crimes against our community! He hasn't paid our taxes, he hasn't divided up his rations evenly, and he's been fighting his cage matches unfairly!" The crowd beneath Nolan roared at each crime that Nolan listed. "Justice will be served! Dick Grayson will do his time!"

Dick rolled his eyes. All that he said wasn't true. Dick paid his taxes that Nolan and his goons collected every month to spend on the silly little black market they set up on the other side of the subways. Dick paid for his rations fair and square, which wasn't required to be divided if he had paid for it on his one. And Dick sure as hell didn't fight unfairly. He could've killed his opponents if he wanted to.

Dick gripped his nightstick tightly and continued moving. He crawled slowly down the bench. He looked across the lobby to find another set of stairs that led up to a subway tunnel. He could probably make his way there and find an exit. Dick felt the thick envelope tucked in his back pocket. He knew he had enough to go somewhere and start a new life.

Dick glanced back at Nolan and his followers. They were all focused on Nolan. Nolan's back was still turned to Dick. He might just have a chance at escaping.

Dick took 5 steps from the bench when someone shouted "HE'S GETTING AWAY!"

Dick didn't take time to think about it. He stood up and ran. He ran faster than he ever thought he could. He ran up the stairs and around the right corner, down the dark subway tunnel. He continued running, nightstick in hand. He felt the envelope in his back pocket and tried to adjust it so it wouldn't fall out. He lost focus of where he was in the dark.

Dick took one step too close to the left, tripped, then fell down onto the railings.

Dick wasn't too hurt. He felt worse pain earlier. He stood up, ignoring the pain from his ribs. They might have been broken.

Suddenly Dick felt a strong grip on his collar. The hand yanked Dick around to face him. It was dark, so Dick couldn't see who he was. All Dick could tell was that he was tall and large. Dick saw more people standing behind him. Some of them were up above him, and some had went down onto the railings.

Dick was blinded by a light. He squinted his eyes to try to see. Then someone lit another light. Then another. Soon there was tons of lights all shining everywhere, lighting up the tunnel. One was held by Nolan himself.

Nolan walked to the guy holding Dick. He laid a hand on his shoulder. "Alright Sebastian, well done," he said. "I'll take it from here."

The brute stood aside as Nolan stepped up to Dick. Nolan reached inside of his trench coat and pulled out a gun from a holster on his belt. He pointed it at Dick. The corner of Nolan's mouth rose to a grin.

Dick began to breath heavily. "Nolan," he started.

Nolan's grin rose even more menacingly. "Dick," he responded.

Dick shook his head. "You don't want to do this."

"No, I don't," Nolan said. He turned to his followers behind him. "But you've committed several crimes, and our people seem to find you guilty!" he shouted, raising his hands up to the audience. He quickly turned back to Dick and pointed the gun at him. "So yeah. I have to do this."

Dick tightened his grip on his nightstick. He slowly moved it behind his back, hoping no one noticed it yet. "You think you're doing a service to these kids when in reality all you are is a psychopath."

Nolan's eyebrow rose. "If I'm a psychopath, why was I chosen to be their leader?"

Dick's eyes widened. "They didn't! They were all homeless and alone down here, all scavenging for their next meal when you came around with your goons and money you stole from Cobblepot and turned this place from a refuge to something sick!"

"Someone had to take control!" Nolan roared. "If I hadn't come around and built this city up, everyone here would be starving still!"

"Most still starve," Dick said. "You didn't come here and built a city. You created a hell!"

"Hell is all we have!" Nolan cried. "Hell is all we are! Hell is home."

Dick shook his head. His voice dropped. "No it isn't," he said softly. "I'm taking my earnings and I'm going topside to start fresh. I'm tired of living like a barbaric rat under the rule of your dictatorship. I'm leaving this hellhole." Dick looked up at the crowd. "If anyone feels the same, they're welcome to come along with me!" Dick addressed the crowd.

"If anyone feels the same," Nolan started, "they're going to get a bullet in their head. They'll be guilty for rebelling and will be sentenced to death by my trigger." Nolan cocked the gun and took a step closer to Dick. "And then I'll put a bullet in you."

Dick stayed silent. He knew this part. Nolan was now in control of the situation. Nolan would win his followers over through intimidation and fear. He would taunt Dick, look as if he's ready to kill him. He would get very close to Nolan. Dick could attack then, assuming no one else had a gun pointed at Dick in the shadows.

Unless Nolan didn't want to try to kill him. Perhaps he had other plans for Dick.

Nolan took a step forward. Then another. He got close enough where the barrel of the gun was pointed against Dick's chest. His ribs still hurt. Dick tried not to flinch. He didn't want to show he was injured. Or look as if he was afraid.

Nolan kept the gun on Dick and turned back, addressing the crowd once more. "I, Nolan Drake, speak on behalf of the people of Old Gotham's underground! I stand before Dick Grayson, who the people have found guilty of tax resistance, overstocking of rations, and foul combat in the Cage of Chaos on numerous occasions!" The crowd began to get rowdy. "Dick Grayson here has earned tons of money winning fights he should have been disqualified from. His earnings are not rightfully his and must be returned to each individual who lost money to Dick Grayson."

Dick smirked. "The cash is mine, Nolan. A fight's a fight. I earned it fair and square."

Nolan turned back to Dick. "Fair and square?" he turned back to the audience, devilish grin on his face. He turned back to Dick. "Since that's how you earn cash around here, how about I fight you for it?" The crowd began to murmur. "I win, I distribute the money amongst the people."

Dick scoffed. "Right, and if I kick your ass, I'm taking my hundred grand and hauling my ass out of here."

Nolan nodded. He set his gun down onto the floor and kicked it to the side. "Since you claim to fight 'fair and square', let's treat this as a cage match and set your nightstick that you've been holding behind your back on the ground."

Dick cursed under his breath. He set the nightstick down and pushed it to his right. He stood back up and got into his fighting position.

Nolan shrugged his trench coat off and tossed it to a nearby goon. He wore a black t-shirt with a chain around his neck. It had some sort of pendant on it. Dick noticed the military combat boots Nolan was wearing. They looked brutal to be kicked with.

"On one side," one boy called from above the subway rails, "the leader of Old Gotham's underground, the great and fearless Nolan Drake!"

Nolan's followers began cheering and chanting his name. Nolan simply stared into Dick's soul.

"On the other side, the cowardly boy running from home, the orphaned Dick Grayson!"

The audience began booing at Dick's name once more, just like during the earlier cage fight. Dick had no idea what sort of fighter Nolan was. He didn't believe for a second it would be any more "fair" than the fights Dick had fought before.

Suddenly, Dick heard a boy yell "DING DING DING!"

Dick reacted instantly. He ran up to Nolan and swung his leg back, creating a roundhouse kick. He kicked Nolan's face, stunning Nolan momentarily. As Nolan took a few steps back to regain his stance, Dick threw punches at Nolan. Dick didn't give Nolan a chance to attack or counter.

Dick threw one last punch at Nolan's face. Nolan's reflexes were lightning fast at this moment. He caught Dick's fist with one hand. Dick countered by throwing another punch at his face with his free hand. Nolan caught that fist too. Nolan rose his leg and kicked Dick's torso, sending Dick flying back. Dick tripped and fell onto the ground next to his nightstick.

Dick turned and reached for it, but in that moment Dick heard a click.

Dick shut his eyes and silently cursed to himself. This was not the end. It couldn't be the end. Dick could make it out.

Dick slowly turned to face his opponent. Nolan stood above him from afar, gun pointed at Dick. He had on his evil grin. "So we both had the same idea," he said calmly.

Dick slowly pulled the nightstick to his body. He wasn't going to let this stop him. He had come this far.

Nolan kept the gun pointed at Dick. Clearly he was trying to create tension between him and Dick, possibly making a show for his followers. He wanted to seem more ruthless to sustain his image. Or he really wanted to kill Dick.

Suddenly a clanging sound echoed through the tunnels, as if someone had dropped a metal ball.

Dick looked back behind Nolan. Nolan turned to see what had happened.

Someone shouted "GRENADE!"

The next moment went dark for Dick.

When Dick opened his eyes, he was momentarily blind. His vision was blurry and impaired. Dick's sense of hearing had been muffled. Dick struggled to stand up. He stood up for a brief moment and crumbled back onto the ground, still weak from the blast. Dick laid there for a few moments, trying to regain his strength. For a second, he thought he felt something touch his back. He was too weak to look.

Finally, Dick felt ready to move again. Dick rose back onto his feet. He had a slight limp, but managed to stand on his two feet.

People had dispersed all around the tunnels. Some were laying injured near where the grenade went off. Those closer weren't so lucky.

Some had ran amuck through the tunnels. Dick watched as people ran lost and hopelessly. He couldn't spot where Nolan had went off to.

Dick turned and spotted not the coward leader, but the backstabbing liar. Rodrick was running down the tunnels carrying Dick's money envelope.

"Rodrick!" Dick called out in anger. He ran after Rodrick, nightstick in hand. Dick's leg still hurt like hell as he ran. He didn't focus on his pain, however. He was focused on the money.

Dick ran and followed Rodrick through a doorway that led to a flight of stairs. Rodrick was in arm's reach of Dick when Dick tripped on one step. Dick regained his footing again, but Rodrick was a few feet farther now.

Rodrick emerged onto the streets above, followed by Dick. Dick chased after Rodrick down the sidewalk. The streets were crowded at this time of night. City lights were shining bright, illuminating the thief in the night. Rodrick shoved past people. Dick had to do the same.

Rodrick ran onto the road, trying to cross the street without looking both ways. He was hit by a car before Dick managed to reach the road.

When Dick got there, he saw Rodrick laying limp on the ground in front of the car. The driver stepped out, hands on his head. The driver was panicking.

Dick acted instantly. He ran onto the street, eyes wide open. He covered his hands over his mouth, pulling off his best shocked face. "No, Rick!" he cried. He turned to the driver. "Why did you hit my brother?"

The driver began to stammer. He cried to formulate some sort of explanation. Dick wasn't paying attention. He turned back to the street goers that saw the accident. "Someone call 911!"

The driver turned and began to dial. Dick looked down at Rodrick. He saw the envelope in Rodrick's loose grip.

Dick kneeled down by Rodrick and bent down low. "Remember me," Dick whispered in his ear. "Remember the boy who escaped. Remember my name."

Dick snatched the money from Rodrick's lifeless hand and stuffed it in his back pocket. He walked right over Rodrick, disappearing into the streets of Gotham.