What Child is This?

This was the first time Damian had even been in an establishment like this. He was told that it was called a fast food restaurant. There had been stories in his youth about them, quickly followed by being told never to set foot in one. His health was far too important to risk with grease and chemically-enhanced preservatives.

However, this was an undercover operation and so Mother's ban on them would have to be violated. It was such an establishment that Colin Wilkes had selected to go to. This one stood out due to using a symbol of golden arcs, a rooftop colored a shade of blue that was gradients away from being green, and a selection of items in which there was a noticeable lack of sesame seed buns.

There was also a combination meal for children called a Joyful Meal that came complete with a cheaply made and licensed toy. Colin was currently finishing off his third one. It had started with one, then Damian had relinquished his own Joyful Meal, then had ordered the third. For a boy that was shorter than him, the appetite was monstrous.

"The Birds of Prey are like Batman. They also fight crime, are awesome, they beat up bad guys, but unlike Batman, there are four of them. Huntress, Black Canary, Katana, and Manhunter. Huntress is the oldest one, you know, the one who's done it the longest. Tommy says that's wrong, but there was this one kid in another class whose dad was saved by her during the Great Gotham Fire. She wears purple, her mask is cool, and she knows how to use a crossbow. Just awesome. She's my favorite. Then there's Black Canary, and I think she's the only one with a superpower. She can scream and everyone goes down, but she doesn't use it a lot. I think she can really hurt someone if she's not careful so that's why she doesn't use it a lot. I heard that she really knows how to fight, I heard somewhere that she might have joined with the Justice League? I don't remember where I put that article. Anyway, next there's Katana, she uses a sword, but she has to be a swordmaster because I've never heard anything about her killing with one so she has to be that good, you know? I think she's the quiet one too, I have a feeling about that. Then there's Manhunter, she has this staff, she's good with it, and I heard somewhere it can shoot these energy beams. Have you heard anything about that? Is there a staff that can do that? Because that would be so cool to have. Anyway, Huntress' my favorite. Who's your favorite?"

Food appeared to be the way to buy Colin's trust. In fact, it had been too successful. He had been on the receiving end of…that. Just nonstop talking about the city's vigilantes, and he really liked the Birds of Prey. At the same time, salted French Fries and cheeseburgers of dubious quality were being consumed in rapid succession, talked through instead of chewed first. There were occasional sips from a cup, a choice of carbonated soda water helping to aid with swallowing.

Damian blinked, then halfheartedly answered, "...Katana. The one with the sword."

That was perhaps the only truth he had told to this orphan during the one-sided conversation. He admired the Asian vigilante's bladework; perhaps one day he could impress her with his own skills—why was he even thinking about this when his father was Batman?

"That's cool." Colin took another mouthful of hamburger, a noticeable lack of grease not dripping from it. "If Batman can't be around, then you definitely want the Birds."

That comment drew the true heir's attention. He was unable to resist the urge to ask, "What about the other group of vigilantes?"

"Other group?" A small frown temporality marred the orphan's youthful face. Then it abruptly lit up with recognition. "Oh yeah! The Batclan! That's what they call themselves! A lot of people on the internet think they're lame, but they do help! I don't think anyone's got their names so they all got nicknames."

Nicknames, huh? Do pray tell.

"But that was for the original group, and I think two of them are starting to make their own names," Colin continued. "There were two guys and one girl. Then one day the girl disappears. Then one of the guys, and then there were two more girls added. I heard somewhere that there was another guy but I couldn't find anything about him. Then the Batclan disappeared, but now they're back."

Enough of the history lesson. He already knew all of this thanks to Mother's information network.

"What are people calling them?" he pressed.

"Well, there's the leader, and she looks like she's trying to look like Batman. Some say she's Batwoman. Some say Batgirl. But she's not the original Batgirl. I saw a picture once with the first Batclan and the girl there had red hair. Like mine, but longer. This one doesn't, is just all black. No one can agree what to call her."

There was some entertainment to be found in that discourse. He was going to need to find where online it was.

"Then there's the one with this gun, not really a gun, rifle? It doesn't look like a rifle, and it's not one because it doesn't shoot bullets. It shoots electricity! Now that's wicked cool! Most people online call her Ghostbuster, so that's what most people call her." Fries were drowned in room temperature ketchup and stuffed into an awaiting mouth. "Dere's a meme, 'bout 'er crossing 'e streams." A swallow here. "But there's no other Ghostbuster so she can't do that. So there's the third one, she's got a lot of names, no one can agree on what to call her. I don't, but I'm waiting. Oh yeah, there was another one! A new one! A boy!"

Ah, now Colin was speaking of himself? What did the masses have to say about him?

"He doesn't do much. Some think he's a mascot. But why would he be there if he didn't do anything? Some have been calling him Batboy, you know, like, he gives the other three bats so they can beat up bad guys."

Damian did not know if he had ever been so insulted in his whole life. How dare—

"But where would he get the bats and why would he carry them? And where is he carrying them? Heard a story where he didn't have a bat and lost to a dentist."

That had been laughing gas everyone thought was Joker Venom, he did not lose to that weakling—

"But I don't really keep up with them. Maybe someday they'll do something awesome, right? Then everyone will know who they are," Colin finished, stopping to take a large gulp from his cup. For a moment, the orphan stared at the cup, eyes becoming glazed over. "They're doing their best, right? They try so hard. Harder than anybody. If it weren't for them…I don't know what would have happened to me."

The shift in tone caught Damian's attention. The noticeable change in mood, from loud and chatty to quiet and sullen, it was too drastic. Whatever could it mean? So far there had been nothing but vapid rambling; could there be any depth to find?

Unable to think of anything else to say, he asked, "What happened to you?"

The redhead's eyes remained lowered, not looking up. A hand rose seeking its way to the back of the orphan's head where he abruptly paused. Blue eyes looked up then looked to the left. Then Colin shifted in his seat, moving to his right.

They were in bench seating, each one occupying opposing sides. With a hand, Colin gestured for the true heir to take a seat next to him. Damian considered what was nonverbally being offered, then slid out of his seat, moving around the table and then slipping in next to his target.

Colin lowered his head, baring the back of his skull and neck. With a hand, he placed the appendage over his hair then slid it upwards. Uncovered, Damian narrowed his eyes at the sight of the implant.

Recollection of that fight in the cave returned, the very child next to him no longer small but hulking with chemically enhanced musculature. The implant was a port, one that if connected with a tube could allow a feed of Venom to enter the recipient's body. Only one other person that Damian was aware of had the same kind of implant. Up close, he noted how this one was plugged up, making it seem like there was disc burrowing into the skin.

"It was dark, and I was scared," Colin spoke softly. "The back of my head hurt. There were clowns and…him. I was alone, there was a chain on my wrist, and I couldn't run anywhere. I don't know how long I was there, but then the clowns left, he left, and… I wasn't alone when Batman showed up. He's…scarier when you see him and I was even more scared."

Damian had seen his father strike fear into the scum that populated this city, but this was the first time it was being described to him by the recipient of that fear. There was some confusion there because what reason would an innocent have to be afraid of Father? He had been there to rescue him.

He had to know more.

"What happened next?" he asked, his voice as soft as Colin's, captivated by the tale being told to him.

"I felt pressure in my head. Back here. Right here." A finger trailed along the implant. "And then it was like fire, fire that started here and then went down and everywhere. In my arms. In my legs. My chest. My heart…it was…my heart was pain. And then all I felt was…mad. I was really…mad. And I wanted to hurt. I wanted to hurt everyone, so that's what I tried to do. I tried to hurt…Batman. And Huntress was there too and I tried to hurt her. There was someone else…"

That someone else had been him.

"I was just mad and then, then he was back and he had Rory and I hit him. I hit him really hard. And then it was over. The burning stopped happening but it was all over at the same time. There was no pressure, like it was leaving and then…I fell asleep." It was hard to tell, but Damian was able to note how Colin began to smile. "He stopped me. Batman. He stopped me from killing him. He stopped me from being a murderer. He saved me."

Him. The Merrymaker. Damian remembered. He remembered wanting to kill the man right there only for Huntress to intervene with the promise that his father would make the bastard's life a living hell. To think the victim would be happy that he didn't get a chance for revenge.

Red hair covered up the implant, blocking it from sight. Colin looked up at him, almost shyly. "Batman wasn't scary anymore after that. But Huntress is still my favorite. They came for me. I don't have any parents. Nobody likes me. They came to save me anyway. They try so hard. I don't think they remember me, but I hope they do. Because I want to help them too. I want to make things better. Even if it's something little. Little things can be big too."

Hmm. It sounded like a future problem. If Colin decided to try his hand at being a vigilante without the proper training, he was asking to get hurt. Unless he found one of the hidden caches of Venom that Bane had put all over the city, there was no way that this boy would reach the high echelons and stand next to his father.

Only he would, and he knew that day had not yet arrived, but it would.

Colin looked back to the remains of the third Joyful meal. The boy no longer seemed hungry—and then was scooping up fries and drowning them into the ketchup once more, cramming them into his mouth. It had been one thing to have a table between himself and the sight, but now he was right next to the gastro-carnage.

"You want any?" Colin offered, a bit of ketchup seeping out of the corner of his mouth.

Damian could only shake his head in the negative, getting a shrug in response as his dining guest finished off what remained of the fast food cuisine. Soon after, Colin was eager to leave, but he wanted to keep talking. While Damian felt he had much to consider about what he had heard, he still agreed to accompany the boy.

But not before swiping the straw that Colin had drank from. Perhaps the skills his father was teaching him about evidence was influencing him, it was the only explanation he had for the action he took. It was impulsive, but he wasn't able to change his mind just yet. If there was anything else to learn about Colin, then secrets could be uncovered through DNA, couldn't they?

The Usurper's computer ought to be up to the task.

You know, if someone was going to make a mess, the least they could do was clean up after themselves. Harper grumbled from every shirt, every pair of pants she had to pick up, and stuff back into her brother's closet.

This was Damian's literal mess. He had blatantly stolen her brother's clothes for some so-called undercover mission, and she was left with the mess. She wasn't even certain why she let him go like that. That wasn't her; she never let shit like that slide before.

Damn, she really was off her game because of that Riddler crap.

Now, she wasn't nearly as neat as Cullen was. That boy kept his room immaculate. Harper was of the "good enough" camp. As long as she could walk around and not climb over a mountain of crap, she was good. She couldn't very well do that here though, so she was making the effort to pick up every discarded shirt and put them on a hanger. She didn't bother with organization so much as she just wanted to get the clothes off of the floor.

The blue-haired girl paused for a moment. Wait, where were Damian's clothes? She didn't see them anywhere. He had been wearing something while he raided Cullen's closet, but she didn't see them hiding any place. Had he taken them with him? Did that mean he was fully intending on keeping his ill-gotten goods?

Cullen wasn't going to like that.

There was a bang at the door, which caused Harper to freeze, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up straight. What the hell was that? Who the hell was that?

Immediately, she had her taser in hand. Slowly, she edged her way to Cullen's door, peering through the doorway and towards the door to the apartment. She could hear voices, soft due to the thickness of the door. She wasn't able to make out what was being said.

It sure as hell better not be how to break her door down.

Then came a loud knock. "Harper! You in there?" That voice! That sounded like Cullen! Immediately, Harper went right up to the door and looked through the peephole. There, she found a distorted visual of her brother, who looked mildly annoyed.

She began undoing the locks. After Damian had left, the blue-haired girl had locked the door, you know, for security reasons. Clearly, Cullen hadn't expected the door to be locked and ran right into it. Once the locks were undone, she opened the door, Cullen still looking annoyed. "Since when have we been—"

Harper grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. "Get in," was all she said, the girl glancing down both ways into the hallway. She damn near froze when she noticed this mousy looking guy just standing there, staring at her through a pair of glasses.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

"Oh!" the man nearly yelped. "I-I-I'm no one. No one important."

"Sheesh, what's with the third degree, Sis?" Cullen piped in. "He's just our neighbor. I was hanging with him for the last hour."

Harper gave the guy a once-over. This neighbor clearly noticed this as he seemed to shrink in on himself. He had white hair, which was beginning to thin and bald if his receding hairline was any indication. Yet, she didn't notice a wrinkle on his face. Clearly he had a good skincare regimen. As for his eyes, she really couldn't see them due to the tinting of the glasses.

"Uhh, hi," she eventually greeted him.

"H-hello," he returned the greeting.

"That's it?" Cullen questioned. "C'mon, Sis, you can do better than that. At least apologize for being a weirdo."

Harper had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. She really didn't see the need to, but whatever. "Sorry," she said. "There's a bunch of weirdos on this floor, so you can never be too careful."

"And you're their queen!" her brother chirped.

"Not helping, Cullen."

"I understand," the neighbor meekly said. "I need to be leaving, so I will bid you farewell." He then turned and began walking away. Harper eyed his clothes, something seeming off about them. Those were some rather nice threads, the black slacks, the button-up white shirt. It was like he was getting prepared to go to some fancy restaurant; he just needed a dinner jacket.

Shaking her head, Harper then closed the door, turning around to see her brother giving her a look. "What?" she couldn't help but spit out.

"Okay, what's the deal?" Cullen knowingly asked. "You're acting strange, strange for you anyways."

"Just because I locked our door?" Harper countered, raising an eyebrow. "Which, by the way, we're going to be using from here on out. You never know what weirdos will come in here."

"There's already weirdos in here," Cullen quipped. "But I'm not even talking about the locks. The way you treated Arnold wasn't nice."

"I don't know Arnold. I've never seen him before in my life!" she replied. "For all I know, he's a new drug dealer and you were associating with him!" Her eyes narrowed. "He's not a drug dealer, is he?"

"Arnold? Nah, he's just a guy I ran into on the elevator and we got to talking. I got the feeling he needed someone to talk to, ya know?"

Ugh, Cullen's sensitive side was rearing its head. That wasn't a bad quality by any stretch of the imagination, but it was definitely a poor time for it. They needed to go on lockdown for the foreseeable future and Harper couldn't let her bro's better qualities get him into trouble. The local bullies used to see that as weakness and picked on him for it.

"Well, we need to talk," she told him, locking the door before heading to her own room. She was going to get out her stockpile of weapons and get them both adequately armed. They couldn't afford to take chances right now. "So get settled while I—"

"Yeah, yeah," Cullen blew her off. "I'll meet you in our living room." He turned to head to his own room.

It was at that moment that Harper felt as if she had forgotten something. It had been something kinda important, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember what it—

"What the hell happened to my room?!"

…that. That was what she had forgotten.

You could take the girl out of the office, but you couldn't take the office out of the girl.

That probably wasn't a saying, but the paraphrase fit here.

"The less I say about the Jefferson case, the better," van Dorn said as she stood next to the food truck, arms crossed over her chest. "It's becoming a headache as big as the Fairchild one, and I refuse to get sucked down that rabbit hole. Light a fire under those detectives in the GCPD to get us actual proof here. We're not going to go ahead otherwise."

It was a late lunch break, but one Kate was more than willing to participate in. The office had lost all track of time and when someone mentioned food, there had been a collective tummy rumbling. So here she was, with her boss and a couple of the other ADAs, catching the last of the food trucks in the parking lot across the street from their office.

Of course, van Dorn couldn't just drop business that easily. "Now, the Garcia case: where are we with that?" she asked.

"Still on the preliminary phase," Norman responded. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his charcoal suit, his red tie giving him a splash of color. "But it's looking promising. I'll keep you updated as I learn things."

"Which way are we leaning?"

"Well, it's drug possession with intent to distribute, and it's his second offense. So we're looking at ten minimum. Garcia's hired Jenkins though, so they may opt for a plea deal. I'm thinking seven."

"How long since his first charge?"

"Guy just got out after doing three…maybe five months ago?"

"Offer adjudication, one year as well. Chances are, this guy will screw up the moment he gets out, and we'll get him for twenty."

For those of you not following, Norman here was going to offer a plea deal for seven years, and van Dorn was adding a proverbial cherry with an additional year after that, which promised to remove the drug charge from Garcia's record if he went without getting in trouble. It was a common tactic to entice people with lower sentences to accept the plea, knowing they would get into trouble fairly quickly, and then they could slam them with a harsher sentence with minimal court time.

Your average drug addict usually took this kind of deal, only to mess up within the first month.

"You got it," Norman replied, turning his head as one of the food workers stuck their head and arms out of the window of the truck. Norman reached up and accepted a brown bag from them.

"Which brings us to…" van Dorn trailed off, her eyes suddenly glancing towards Kate, "White. Where are we with that?"

"It's your standard accounting scam," Kate immediately answered. "We've got two books, which we're pouring over. Embezzlement, fraud, you got it. White's lawyers are already asking for deals, your typical wrist-slapping."

"Is wrist-slapping the way we want to go, or do those books give us leverage?" her boss questioned.

Before she could answer, there was a loud BANG! Everyone's head turned in time to see a large armored truck driving by, its exhaust backfiring being the reason for the bang.

She slid back and forth across the floor, unable to keep herself still. The handcuffs made it difficult to use her hands to help steady her. Lock-Up was making too many damn sharp terns, so surely someone should have noticed his driving.

Then the truck slowed to a stop, the breaks squealing in protest. It was only like that for a moment before she heard the exhaust backfire, the truck lunging forward as it began rolling forward.

Kate stared at the armored truck, her eyes following it until it disappeared further down the street.

"Kate? Are you okay?"

Shaking herself out of the memory, she looked back at her boss, finding van Dorn gazing at her with concern. The same for Norman and Diane. "Yeah, I'm okay," she responded, raising a hand up to move a few strands of her brown hair out of her face. How they got there was anyone's guess.

"You sure?" Diane questioned. "You look like a sweaty bed sheet."

Sweaty bed sheet? She frowned at her fellow ADA before she reached into her purse and pulled out her compact. Flipping it open, she saw her reflection in the mirror and couldn't help but grimace.

She was pale, like sickly pale. She also looked as if she were breaking into a sweat. And…was she actually panting?

"Is everything alright?" van Dorn pressed, having somehow appeared right next to Kate. The brunette actually jumped, flinching away from her boss, which caused more concerned looks to appear on her co-workers' face.

"I'm fine!" she practically yelped. "I'm just…hungry is all. I think I went a little too long without eating and my…my…my blood sugar got low."

Norman turned to the food truck. "Hey, can I get a soda real fast? First thing you can grab." He was pulling out his wallet, retrieving a couple of bills.

"You really need to take care of yourself, Kate," van Dorn told her disapprovingly. "Things are stressful enough, but if you neglect yourself, you're gonna get yourself into a bad spot, which puts the rest of us in a bad spot."

By then, Norman was handing her a can of Pepsi. "Drink," he commanded her.

It shouldn't have surprised her really. Norman was a diabetic and he took blood sugars seriously. Kate must have looked as if she had a low blood sugar, so chugging a sugar-filled soda would quickly fix that. Not wanting to argue, she took the can and popped the tab, the sound of pressurized carbonation hissing out. She took a large swig of the soda, if only to make the others feel better.

By then, the same food truck worker stuck their head out, another brown bag in hand. Diane hesitantly moved to receive it.

"Seriously, Kate," van Dorn pressed. "Are you alright? Is there anything you need to tell me?"

What? That she was having triggers from her time being kidnapped by some obsessed prison guard? Ha! She'd been through worse. The DEO had trained her for such scenarios.

So…why was she acting like this?

The light of the desk lamp shined down on the map of Gotham. In marker ink were three circles which drew the eye to three separate locations. Two were close together while a third was much further away.

"'Ere's the deal," Scarface harshly declared. "We's got ourselves a golden opportunity, and I ain't one ta squander it. Was savin' dis for further down the line, gut we can step up the timetable."

His three goons, Rhino, Mugsy, and Ratso were looking eager. Good. Ready for action they were. Time not to disappoint any of them.

"See these?" The Dummy made sure his hand gestured at the three circles. "I got it on good authority that the Calagrese are operatin' there. We're gonna hit all of them, and all of them 'ard."

Ratso began to frown. "Excuse me, Mr. Scarface? One of them's very far away. We can hit one, certainly, maybe get to the second one before anyone knows what's up, but the third?"

"That's why I'm the grains of this operation." He tapped the side of his head to emphasize this. "These two 'ere? Chump change. Gut they're gonna be real important, real soon, 'cause we're gonna make them important. I'm gonna needs you lot ta do some prep work 'fore tonight. Mugsy, Ratso, I'm trustin' you two ta get it done."

"What about me, Boss?" Rhino asked.

"Yous gonna make sure I dids my numgers right. Yer gonna be scoutin' the third location. Keep count of all who go in and out. Most importantly, don't let anygody mark ya. Keep yer head down, and don't let 'em sees ya. You get gack 'ere 'fore dark, I compare notes, and thens I unleash ya. 'Ard 'n fast is the name of the game, folks. Do dis right, nogody will see us comin'."

Rhino blinked his eyes slowly. "Am I…looking for anything special?"

Scarface stared his muscle down then threw his head back. The Dummy cried out and brought a hand to his head, rubbing at the site of impact. "The Dummy 'ere is gonna give you a list. You read it. You hold onto it. Don't lose it. Lose it, or I kills ya, capeesh?"

Rhino nodded quickly. "Yes sir, Mr. Scarface, sir!"

Good man. However, he couldn't say the same thing about the Dummy. His head spun around one hundred eighty degrees to glare at his waste of space hired help. "And what do you think yer doin', Dummy? Get Rhino the list! Now! Right now! Stop wasting time and do it!"

"Yes, Mr. Scarface!" the Dummy cried out, shrinking in on himself, the loser. "Absolutely! I'll do it—"

"I don't sees ya doin' it! Get on with it!" Scarface roared.

And like that, the Dummy scurries away. Scarface said nothing, watching after the weak-minded moron. He said nothing, even as his boys began moving around, uncomfortable. Finally, after taking his sweet time, the Dummy returns, a folded piece of paper in one hand.

"I have it right here, Mr. Scarface," the Dummy said, smiling hopefully as he placed his hands on him.

"I almost fell asleep waitin' for ya!" A hand smacked the Dummy in the face. "Well? What are ya doin'? Give it ta Rhino already! Everyone knows he needs all the help he can get."

The Dummy practically jumped to heed him, and Rhino accepted the paper. There, all was well. Now to finish this little pep talk and get things rolling.

"Tonight, we's are gonna make my mark on this 'ere town. Like that creep Shreck said, we're gonna light it up and light it up real gig. Everyone's gonna want to know what's happenin' and that's when we hit em, and hit 'em like no one ever has. Calagreses have own this town long enough. It's my time.

"Now get to it."