Once again, a threat has been issued.
The Joker has blatantly named his target on live television, and Batman has nothing. The Joker is playing a twisted game of tapped lines and hacked feeds- and all of it is untraceable. Meanwhile, Batman is running out of time.
A distraction in the form of a letter falls into his hands. The head at Arkham is getting too close to Poison Ivy; she can't risk blowing her cover. The Joker sends out an ally to deal with the meddlesome doctor, and Harley tips off the Batman in her own attempt to carry out her plans.
Bruce flicked off the computer screen where he had been looking at police reports and a map of the city. He rubbed his eyes. He'd been combing over intel on the Joker for eight hours now.
"We have nothing on him. He told us exactly where he's going to be, and we have nothing," he muttered. Bruce grabbed his comm. "Red Robin, report."
"Ditto, Batman. I've got nothing."
"Keep on it," Bruce instructed. "Are the police there yet?"
"Yeah. There's the looming feeling of an all-out war here. The police won't leave, insisting its for safety, and it looks like it could crumble into an bloodbath." Bruce could hear shouting in the background. "I'm on the rooftop across the road, and I can still hear every word they're screaming clear as day. And no sign of Nightwing."
"He was at Arkham when the transmission went out. I can only assume he stayed there." Bruce said it evenly, trying not to be frustrated.
"Well he may actually be able to get some good intel there," Red Robin tried to be helpful.
"Let's hope so. I didn't expect the Joker to move forward this quickly, and with a new Harley Quinn."
Red Robin frowned, scanning the area. "Yeah," he agreed distractedly. "That was arguably one of the most disturbing things I've ever seen…"
"Why would the Joker show us that man's murder?" Bruce mused. "The cops were bound to swarm Christopher Renner's headquarters, and if he wants to face me, they will only get in the way."
"Agreed." Red Robin muttered.
"Keep a sharp eye out," Batman instructed.
"Can do, Mr. Batman sir." Red Robin quipped cheerily and the comm fell silent. Bruce set it down on the table next to his cowl. "You're being awfully quiet," he told Damian. He didn't respond, and when Bruce looked over his shoulder, Damian hung upside down from his knees from a pull-up bar, his earbuds in his ears as he played on his iPhone. One hand hung loosely past his head, the blade of his katana swinging lazily in the air.
Bruce picked up one of Damian's Robin gloves off the table and tossed it at him. The boy quickly caught it on the end of his katana, so skillfully that the sharp blade didn't even pierce the thick fabric.
"Don't do that, Father," Damian warned, not looking away from his phone. "What do you need?"
"Just seeing if you were paying attention." Bruce smirked.
"I'm always paying attention," Damian mumbled, though he seemed distracted.
"Really?" Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow. He quickly snapped his wrist to throw the Batarang concealed in the palm of his hand. It caught Damian's dangling cape, pulling it backward, spinning him backward until his legs unhooked from the bar and he fell to the ground, landing on his stomach with an audible oof. His cape fluttered down over his head planted on the rock. "Are you sure? Because that was way too easy."
Damian flipped his cape up and glared at Bruce angrily, and then caught sight of the tear in it. He sat up quickly and poked his finger through the hole. "You tore it!" he cried, holding the cape up and shaking it at Bruce. "Are you happy with yourself?! Look what you've done!" Damian's cat rubbed against Bruce's boot, purring loudly.
"If I did, then you have seriously fallen behind in your training," Bruce said with a smile. Damian stood up, fuming, his cape clenched in his fist.
"How does that make me remiss in my training!?" he demanded.
"You should have already started your counterattack. In that position," he said, stepping closer to Damian, "I have the advantage."
"You never have the advantage." Damian spat, eyeing Bruce irritably. "If you want me to attack you, just keep destroying my things."
"I wouldn't destroy your things if your reflexes were better," he retorted.
"Don't patronize me," Damian sneered, glaring up at him.
"I'm your father; it's in the job description."
Damian's eyes narrowed, and he picked up his phone where it had fallen on the floor. He'd been texting someone. Bruce crossed his arms.
"Another part of my job is to invade your privacy. Who are you texting?"
"No one," Damian snapped, pushing past Bruce and walking away.
"Well tell No One I say hello." Bruce trailed after him.
"I'm sure Grayson will be thrilled that you're so cordial," Damian muttered, doing a one-handed cartwheel and then sitting down cross legged in Bruce's chair. His knees just touched the wide armrests on either side of him.
"Then tell Dick I say 'what's up'."
Damian looked up at him, an eyebrow raised. A smile almost graced his lips for a moment, and then it was gone. "'What's up'? You cannot be serious."
"Is that not cool anymore?" Bruce asked deadpan. "What about 'fo shizzle'?" He made a ridiculous hand gesture. Damian stared at him evenly, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"Just… no."
"You know I was hip once," Bruce told him.
"No you weren't. You were just like me once. Intelligent and resourceful. You were never 'hip'." Damian watched him, spinning slightly in the chair.
"Tell that to your mother," Bruce said with a wink. Damian stared at him, eyes wide. He was shocked into not responding; his lips parted for a moment, and then he closed them.
"I'm just going to imagine that I didn't hear that, for the sake of my now bleeding ears." Damian muttered, looking down at the phone. "Richard says hello."
"That fast huh?" Bruce joked, leaning against the table.
"Yes. The wonders of texting. So much more efficient that, let's say, a glowing signal in the sky."
"It's not like I'm the one who made it," Bruce objected.
Damian ignored him, slipping gracefully out of his chair and putting his earbuds back in as he tucked the phone into a pocket on his belt. Bruce smiled to himself, turning as he heard the elevator opening. Alfred stepped into the Batcave.
"Master Wayne, Master Damian, I'm disappointed that neither of you have taken it upon yourselves to eat your dinner," Alfred commented, passing the full plates.
"I'm not hungry, Pennyworth," Damian replied, throwing punches in the air.
"That is no excuse for a boy your age."
"What is it Alfred?" Bruce asked. Alfred frowned and turned his nose up at Damian before turning toward Bruce.
"A lady stopped by with a message for you, Master Wayne." Alfred extended out a white envelope toward Bruce. He took it and read the front.
Urgent. Please open immediately.
Bruce frowned at it, tearing open the back.
"Is it Selina?" Damian yawned, punching in time with his music and dancing a bit when he thought Bruce wasn't looking. "As you know, Pennyworth, Father is very hip."
"I'm sure," Alfred said. Bruce pulled out a deep red stationery and flipped it over to the writing in black ink.
Batman,
You are needed at 156 Grant Street as soon as possible. I suggest a vantage point from the hotel.
- H.Q.
"And our message from Harley Quinn says what, Father?" Damian materialized at his side.
"That we have somewhere we need to be," Bruce responded, handing the note to Damian and reaching for his cowl. Damian glanced over it and quickly put his mask on, tugging his gloves over his small hands. Sheathing the katana on his back, he tugged his earbuds out and pressed his comm into his ear.
"No swords, Damian." Batman said seriously, rolling his shoulders. His cape fell smoothly in front of his chest.
"I won't hurt anyone, Father! Please?" Damian said, looking at Bruce hopefully. It was the first time that the boy had expressed an emotion besides irritation and anger all night.
"Fine, just tonight," Batman nodded.
"Shall I inform Master Grayson about your whereabouts?" Alfred asked, picking up the letter and tucking it back into the envelope.
"If he calls, yes. If he doesn't; let him get some rest."
"As you wish, Sir." Batman and Robin ran over to the Batmobile.
Damian slid into the passenger seat, buckling the belts over his chest. Batman did the same, starting the engine. As the Batmobile tore out of the Batcave, Alfred looked down at the cat rubbing against his leg.
"Would you like some dinner, little sir?" he asked. The cat purred and Alfred looked up again, watching the lights of the Batmobile fade down the tunnel.
"Why are we letting her summon us like dogs? And are we even sure which Harley Quinn this is? The original is locked in Arkham, after all," Damian pointed out.
"It doesn't matter where the mission comes from," Batman told him. "Besides, no matter which one wrote it, we go either way."
"What if it's a trap?"
"Then we don't get caught," he said simply.
"It's a trap," Damian decided. Batman thought about it for a second.
"We can split up when we get there," he reasoned.
Robin looked at him for a long moment and then shrugged. "You're the leader, though I do not think it is wise to split up right after I clearly said it was a trap. What if we're separated and something happens to you? I won't be there to help."
Batman glanced at his son, his small, lithe body tucked into the seat and almost completely covered by the heavy buckle on his chest. Part of the Robin R peeked out from under it. His lips were pursed seriously as he looked out the high window, only his eyes able to see out; his small hands were folded in his lap. It was easy to forget that he was only ten years old.
"I think I can take care of myself."
"You're old and slow," Damian mocked. "I worry for you." Batman smiled.
"We'll see who has to worry about whom."
"There's no need to worry about me. I can take care of myself." Robin sniffed, crossing his arms. Batman pulled the Batmobile to a stop in an alleyway.
"I guess we're about to find out." He opened the roof. "I'll go to the hotel roof; you be on lookout from a different vantage point."
Robin unbuckled his belt and slipped out the door, disappearing into the dark of the alleyway. "Test. Comms working." Robin said into the comm in Batman's ear.
"I hear you," Batman said, firing a grappling hook toward the roof. Robin slipped around to the front of the building and tried the door handle; when it was open, he slipped into the darkened lobby. He snuck past the sleeping attendant and down a hallway.
"Where exactly are we going?"
"I'll scope out the roof," Batman said as he reached the end of his rope and swung up over the railing and onto the roof. "You check the visitor's log for anything suspicious."
Robin doubled back. "On it." He slipped silently behind the desk, his hood up around his head. Stepping behind the man sleeping at the counter, Robin smirked and then blew a sleeping powder in his face to ensure that he remained unconscious. He distastefully kicked him out of his chair, and Batman heard the thump on the floor followed by a short groan. "Okay, I'm at the computer. Hacking everything now… and done."
"Anything?" Batman asked. He flicked on his night vision and glanced around the rooftop.
"None of Harley Quinn or the Joker's known aliases pop up… but your friend Dr. Charles Asbury is here. Doesn't he live in the city? Why does he have a hotel room?" Robin clicked his tongue. "Suspicious, Dr. Asbury…"
"The head of Arkham's medical staff?" Batman asked. he couldn't see anything on this roof. There were a few buildings around the hotel that were taller and would have made better vantage points if anything was going to happen. Why was the hotel roof so important? In fact, it almost seemed the low point with the taller buildings focused down on it. Batman felt exposed.
"The very same," Robin narrowed his eyes at the screen. "It says he was moved to a room on the third floor. Room 302. Neither he nor the hotel have any reason for the request of transfer. It's just in the system. What's the plan? Check it out?"
Batman frowned. "It's the only lead we have. Go ahead. I'll finish up things up here."
"Yes sir." Robin slipped out from behind the desk, skipped the elevator, and took the stairs to the third floor. He crept down the hallway toward the door. "Coming up on the room. Do I engage?" When Batman hesitated, Damian knelt by the door, examining the lock.
"Is there any reason to?" Batman asked.
"It's no coincidence that he was moved on the one night he was here, to a corner room." Robin hissed. "It sounds like a setup to me."
"Fine," Batman snapped. "Check it out."
Robin stared at the lock irritably, and then stepped back. He got a running start and kicked out, the force throwing the door open. Batman heard a scream over the comm as Robin flipped into the room, scanning the surroundings. He checked the closet and the bathroom and then touched his ear. "Clear here."
"What the hell?!" Dr. Asbury yelled, stepping out from the bedroom suite. He was tying the belt of a robe around his waist. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, spotting Robin.
Robin smirked, his words layered with sarcasm. "Don't worry, sir, I'm here for your protection. Or your interrogation, depending on which side of this you'll end up on." He straightened up from his fighting stance where he stood by the windows.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Asbury snapped.
"Charlie," a woman's voice called out from the bedroom. "Who's there?"
"It's nothing. I'll be back in a second." Asbury glared at Robin. He scowled smugly.
"Just be good and cooperate and Mrs. 'Charlie' Asbury won't have to find out." Robin pressed his comm. "Batman, we have anything?" He glanced at Asbury. "Is there any reason Harley Quinn would direct us to you tonight sir, other than your friend in the bedroom there?"
"Harley Quinn?" Asbury asked confused. "She isn't even my patient."
"Of course not." Robin rolled his eyes. "Batman, she isn't here, and this moron has nothing." He snapped, his eyes combing over the room. He glanced at the high glass windows of the suite, and took a step back. "Hold on, Batman." Robin took his hand away from his ear and whirled on Asbury.
"Why were you moved to this room? You've only paid for one night, so what did you need a suite like this for?" he demanded.
"I don't know. They just gave me this room."
"For no reason at all? Nothing wrong with your plumbing, nothing odd?"
"No." Asbury narrowed his eyes.
Robin tapped his comm again. "Batman we have to get him out of here, he's being targeted." He snapped a finger at Asbury. "You. Get your whore and let's go."
"What? No, I refuse to be pushed around. Tell me what's happening."
"Robin, how do you know?" Batman asked patiently.
"This is a perfect vantage point for an assassin. I would know because it's what I would have picked. Now let's go." He answered both of them and started toward Asbury, when a laser target appeared on his chest. Robin tackled him just as the gunshot tore through the glass and they hit the floor. The woman screamed in the bedroom. "In there, now!" Robin commanded, shoving Asbury toward the door as another bullet tore his cape. Robin stumbled, chasing Asbury into the bedroom. The woman screamed again. Touching his ear, Robin realized that his comm had fallen out when he'd tackled the doctor.
"Charlie what's happening!?" the woman screamed, and Robin shoved Asbury into the bathroom just off of the bedroom.
"Get in there and close the door!" he shouted at the woman, and she leapt up, dragging the bedsheets with her. Robin slammed the door behind them and crept back to the bedroom door. He pulled his hood up over his head, and then glanced into the living room. He could see his communicator on the floor where it had fallen, but the sniper was no doubt still on the rooftop. Possibly trying to get a better shot to the bedroom. Taking a deep breath in, Robin dove out into the living room, scooping up his comm as he somersaulted across the floor and behind the couch as he exhaled. He steadied himself and then pressed the comm into his ear. "Batman?"
"Robin! Are you alright?" Batman demanded.
"I'm fine. You know how you told me it was too dangerous to utilize my grappling gun one handed, with my cast on?"
"Yes," Batman said, sounding out of breath as he ran along the rooftop. He was on the wrong side of the hotel. If he had been on the other side, he would have had the perfect view of the sniper. The hotel rooftop hadn't been to get a view of a target, it had been to find the vantage point of the attacker.
"I apologize in advance for disobeying, Father," Robin smirked, and then shot out from behind the couch. Another gunshot glanced past his ear and he dodged, leaping out the window and firing the grappling gun. Holding it one-handed was out of the question, the force of it catching him would have ripped it out of his hand, so he gripped the handle with both hands and cried out when it jerked painfully on his broken arm as it broke his fall. The hook bit deep into the concrete of the building that the shooter was firing from. Flicking the trigger again, the cording retracted quickly. Robin flipped up onto the roof, drawing his katana and readying for a fight. The shooter was halfway across the rooftop. "I'll never catch him!" Robin snapped, and then sheathed his katana. A grin flicked across his lips as he slowly aimed the grappling gun, and when he fired the hook, it hit it's target. The sniper screamed as the claw bit deep into his shoulder. Robin laughed and flicked the trigger again. The cording retracted, yanking the sniper off of his feet and dragging him backwards along the rooftop until Robin released the claw with the man at his feet. He cocked his head. "Hello," Robin pressed a boot onto the wounded shoulder, "Deadshot."
"Oh look, half sized Batman," Deadshot sneered. Robin's face darkened.
"Who hired you?" he asked, digging his heel into the deep gashes on Deadshot's shoulder.
"Sorry Kid," Deadshot hissed through the pain. "I'm not saying."
"Oh, you will." Robin smirked, drawing his katana. Sorry again, Father... "I don't have the patience that my mentor does. Who do you work for tonight?" he asked again, the blade glinting in the moonlight. When Deadshot didn't say a word, Robin took his boot away from the wounded shoulder, and then pressed the tip of the katana into one of the holes that the grappling hook had dug. Deadshot cried out, and Robin yawned. "I'm waiting upon an answer."
"How long until Batman comes and puts you back on your leash?" Deadshot asked.
Robin's eyes flashed furiously. "Let's find out," he snapped, raising the katana and driving it through Deadshot's shoulder, where it embedded itself an inch deep in the rooftop. The sniper screamed. Robin walked onto his chest and knelt down. "Answer me."
"Robin!" Batman called, grappling up to the rooftop. Robin ignored him, tearing Deadshot's mask off.
"Answer me!" he roared, turning the katana in his shoulder. Deadshot screamed louder, the blade tearing his flesh and threatening to snap his collarbone.
"Enough!" Batman pulled Robin off of the sniper.
"Good luck shooting with the nerves in your arm severed," Robin spat angrily as Batman dragged him a few feet away. "Get your hands off me!" he shouted, shoving Batman.
"Did he get you? Did he graze you at all?" Batman demanded.
"He tore my damn cape," Robin snapped. "I'm fine."
"Good." Batman turned to Deadshot and hauled him to his feet. "Now tell me what you know, or I will let Robin interrogate you again." Deadshot looked over Batman's shoulder, where Robin stood, glaring at him and lazily twirling his katana in his hand. "Why was Dr. Asbury your target?"
"I don't know!" He panted. "Something about him digging into information he shouldn't have. I didn't ask questions," Deadshot insisted weakly, blood running down his jacket from his shoulder.
"Who hired you?"
Deadshot paused.
"Answer me!" Batman shouted.
"The J-Joker! He didn't want it to be traced back to him!"