Young Justice: The Hunter

by NewMystery356

"The Bow and Arrow: Beautiful in its simplicity. Is it coincidence that every culture on Earth developed it independent of one another? Or is it something else? Something in our blood? Something... primal, that allowed us to manifest it? Of course, the trickiest part about hunting, is making sure you're the hunter, and not the hunted. Which are you? I know damn sure what I am."

19. Knight and Day

Bludhaven
October 2, 12:35 EST

'Okay. It's Friday afternoon, and I'm sweeping out the shop. Things are going good for me, and if everything pans out, I'll be able to have a relaxing weekend all to myself,' Virgil thought to himself as he swept the last of the dust in the front shop into a dustpan. Things between him and Athena had been steadily improving, but they were still a ways off from being able to have that talk she said they were going to have.

He also wanted to know how she knew about his mission that he'd need the OctoCloak for, but right now, the interpersonal relationship between him and her was more important.

"Hmmm… Maybe I'll jog over to Melville Park, get back in shape," he thought to himself as he collected the last of the shop's dust. Right as he deposited it in the trash, the mismatched tiles now free of dirt, Marcus got off of the phone before beckoning him over.

"Hey Virgil, did you step on someone's does or something during your last delivery?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that my boss just called you up to her office," the man answered, a chill running up the brunette's spine. "Did you, or did you not, step on someone's toes?"

'Ohhh… shit,' Virgil shuddered.

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

'Okay… I've been formally summoned by the head of the Russian Mafia… I haven't done anything to upset her, so I'm probably in the clear,' Virgil thought to himself as he made his way to Hotel Moscow's Bludhaven HQ. 'Just keep your cool, and you'll be fine.'

The moment he'd arrived at the address, just before he would've opened the doors himself, a pair of burly Russians stepped out. The two looking down at him, they flanked him from both sides before linking their arms with his, hauling him off his feet before guiding him inside, carrying him as though he was little more than a doll in the hand. The elevator ride was the most-awkward part for Virgil, as no one spoke, but the tension only continued to mount. Then came the final hallway, the brunette's heart pounding in his chest as he was forced into the boss' office. Approaching Balalaika's desk, a single chair positioned across from her, instead of moving around it, he was lightly tossed into the air and came to a stop on the padded seat, only reinforcing the sentiment that despite his own weight of around one-sixty, he was like a toy to them.

'Great Scott… This woman still scares the hell out of me,' Virgil thought as he looked up at Balalaika, the two Russians from before at his flanks with arms crossed behind their backs.

"Hello, Virgil. Glad you could come on such short notice," the woman replied taking out a cigar, followed by a cigar cutter. Once her own was lit, she extended one to the brunette in courtesy, which he politely refused. The woman shrugging her shoulders in return, she closed her eyes as she slowly took a drag, letting the smoke swirl inside her mouth before puffing it back out. "I assume you're curious as to the purpose of this meeting."

"The thought has crossed my mind, yes," Virgil replied.

"Tell me," she asked as she placed the cigar between her lips. "Do you still have that courier's uniform you first came in here with?"

"Yes… Why?" the brunette asked. In all honesty he kept it in a box under his bed in case he needed the disguise ever again; given how-trusting people were of a uniform, it was really a no-brainer as to why something like that was a perfectly viable disguise. People were simply too trusting.

"I have a business proposition for you," Balalaika stated interlacing her fingers. "Since it's obvious you've found a more-permanent line of work, I'd like to offer you an opportunity to make some additional money on the side even after you cease working for Marcus."

"More-permanent? Whatever do you mean?" Virgil nervously asked, an opened copy of Real Fashions placed in front of him, opened to where "Vincent" Valentine was modeling a trendy new suit. " . . . I deny nothing," he said after several awkward moment.

"Honest. A good policy to have in perfectly-legal business practices," the woman stated with a nod.

'No idea why she emphasized perfectly-legal, but okay…'

"Tell me, does this mean anything to you," Balalaika asked, passing a pentagonal patch over to him.

"Diamond Dogs Delivery…" Virgil read aloud looking at the patch presented to him. The pentagonal part of it was styled like a multi-faceted diamond with a black border, and in the middle was a snarling attack dog. Beneath it were a pair of yellow banners, the first with DIAMOND DOGS and the other beneath it with the word DELIVERY on it.

"Halfway through the nineties, our organization received a fresh influx of Russian mercenaries after some… political upheaval overseas. From those that joined were members, and the sons-of-members, of an elite mercenary group that was very prominent during the Cold War. From that fresh blood, we were able to form an elite courier service that can deliver anything to anywhere in the world, be it in the next town over past street gangs, or on the other side of the planet on the other end of a war zone. As well as fight insurgents or overthrow dictators if need-be."

"And… you really think I can handle something like that?" Virgil asked looking up at the scarred woman in front of him. The patch in his hands was light, but in his hands, it felt heavy, like there was some deeper meaning behind what it represented.

"Not right away, no. However, consider your recruitment an… investment. I'm to understand you kept your cool when someone tried to rob Marcus' shop at gunpoint."

"Well, the guy had the safety on, so…"

"Although to tell the truth, the reason I'm even broaching this topic to an outsider," she said puffing from her cigar. "It's because all the other couriers are out on deliveries or at hot spots, and I don't have anyone else on the roster to make a more… local delivery."

"And you think I am qualified to do the job?"

"Lilith told me about what you did at Happy Harbor for that girl that got grabbed. That was a very brave thing you did. If anything, that means you aren't short on courage."

'To tell the truth, I was up to my eyeballs in adrenaline,' Virgil thought to himself, not wanting to interrupt his part-time employer's employer too many times.

"However, I'm more-impressed with your creativity. Posing as a courier let you walk right through the front door. Just goes to show we need to tighten security a bit."

"So… What do you want me to do then?"

"I'd like you to deliver something for me. Discretely, if possible."

"Sure, that's fine," Virgil replied, not necessarily opposed to making a little extra money on the side. "Where to?"

"Gotham," she answered.

" . . . Could you run that by me again?"

"Gotham City, to the Iceberg Lounge. The owner and proprietor is Oswald Cobblepot, otherwise known as The Penguin in his criminal heyday," she said passing a sealed manila envelope forward. "The documents in this parcel related to a business transaction between our own factions. These materials are too sensitive to pass along through the conventional postal service, so I need you to hand-deliver it to Oswald, who will be expecting your arrival tomorrow morning before the lunch rush."

"So I'm going to be your delivery boy then?" he asked looking at the patch. 'Diamond Dogs… I feel like I should know this name…'

"Essentially, yes," the woman replied. "Be sure to attach that patch to your uniform, specifically on the left shoulder. The patch itself will offer a degree of protection from any gangs that might get in your way. They'll know better than to mess with a Diamond Dog."

"Alright, you can count on me," Virgil replied with a nod, knowing he couldn't very well say "No".

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

'It was awfully nice of Balalaika to give me the rest of the day off so I can prep for my trip tomorrow,' Virgil thought as he headed back to the Red Light, Balalaika's parcel tucked under his arm inside his jacket. 'Alright, so the list of things to do before tomorrow is iron and press my uniform, sew that patch onto my left shoulder, and get bus tickets to Gotham. I'm sure Moxxi will let me borrow her sewing machine,' he added as he walked through the door to Moxxxi's Red Light.

Even though it was barely past noon, there were still a few people around, some looking happier than others. After it got out that he was living upstairs, none of the drunks thought it a good idea to mess with him. Especially since Moxxi kept a gun under the counter, and if the rumors were to be trusted, within her vast cleavage.

Virgil had thought they were joking about that, since people only kept objects betwixt their bosoms in anime, but when he saw her pulling out a full bottle of spirits out of her cleavage, he was inclined to agree with them. Sleight-of-hand did not apply when it came to boobs. It just didn't. Maybe. Probably.

"Sug'? You're back awful early," the woman said waving him over.

"Something came up at work, so I was sent home early," Virgil said taking a seat. "I'll have a root beer, please," he said slipping a couple bills into the woman's tip jar, the bar's proprietor giving him a nod as she reached into the fridge beneath the counter and fished out a frosty-cold beer and a coaster.

"Oh, that reminds me, sug'," Moxxi said as she dug something out of her cleavage a few seconds later. "A friend of got out of the slammer early for good behavior a while back, and I want to reconnect with her now that she's settled into a life outside bars. Would you mind delivering this?" she asked passing the envelope over to him.

"Sure, I don't mind. Where to?" he asked as he took the envelope. 'I'll be sure to wash my hands after this. Very. Thoroughly.'

"Gotham."

" . . . Could you run that by me again?"

"Gotham City, Sprang Boulevard, Apartment 302."

"I see…" Virgil said nodding his head slowly. "I just have one question."

"Shoot."

"Why can't you just let the mail service deliver this?"

"Because I need you to make sure she reads it."

"Why wouldn't she do that on her own?"

"We… parted ways on bad terms," Moxxi said with a sigh. "She hasn't really been amicable with me since then."

" . . . You slept with her man, didn't you?"

"Oh lord, I'm becoming predictable," Moxxi said with a good-natured sigh.

"No offense, but your reputation does precede you. No offense."

"I've heard it all before, so I'm hardly offended."

"Good to know," Virgil sighed. "Anyway, when do you want this done?"

"Tomorrow, if you're able."

"Well…" Virgil sighed as he scratched the back of his head. "I'm already heading into Gotham tomorrow, so I guess I'll drop your letter off on the way out of town."

"When you knock on the door, be sure to tell her it's a 'Moxxigram'. That way, she won't think you're Gehova's Witness or something."

" . . . Really?" the brunette asked incredulously.

"Yes, really," Moxxi answered just-as-incredulously.

" . . . Alright," Virgil sighed. "Since I'm going to Gotham, I'll have to see about getting some hollow-point rounds or something," he said as he chugged down the rest of his drink, making his way to the door to get some air. And some hollow-point rounds for his Makarov pistol.

The uniform could wait. After all, it wasn't like anyone else had errands for him to run in Gotham tomorrow.

Right?

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

Wrong.

Barely five minutes of walking towards Marcus Munitions, that familiar black dark-tinted van pulled up to him, the door opening. A quick text of Get in. from Otacon and he was on his way, making himself comfortable in the back seat. Like always, he'd tried to map out what direction they were going in so he'd have some idea of where the entrance to FoxCry's freight elevator to The Bunker was, but whoever was driving knew what they were doing, and his mental mapping shattered after enough turns.

The first time he rode a freight elevator at a 45 degree incline it felt really weird, like going up the first slope of a roller coaster only in reverse, but now, it was starting to feel strangely soothing. So much so that he almost nodded off, if it weren't for the horn blaring in his ears and scaring him out the side of the van.

Quickly scrambling through security, where Maine still scared the ever-loving shit out of him, he quickly made his way to the elevator before going down to the War Room, where all formal and informal mission briefings would take place. Strangely enough, it was also like a meeting place for the higher-ups to discuss secret stuff that couldn't be left to the rank-and-file.

After taking his seat and putting on the glasses from before, he came face-to-face with Re-l. Or rather, her hologram over AR sunglasses. "Ms. Mayer. A pleasure to see you again," he said being cordial.

"Virgil," the woman's hologram replied. "I assume you're wondering why I called you here today."

"Why else, but for another mission?" Virgil asked with a shrug of his shoulders. "I assume you need more Nanosuit data."

"You'd be correct," the hologram nodded. "Your next mission will be taking you to Gotham City, where you'll be-"

"Hold up."

"Is something the matter?"

"Are you, Moxxi, and Balaliaka all in on this?" Virgil asked with crossed arms. "Because this is the third errand today I've been asked to run in Gotham."

"I assure you, whatever errands you've been asked to run, them coinciding with your next mission is purely coincidental," Re-l reassured. "Back to the mission briefing," she said as a profile appeared on the screen behind her, "Floyd Lawton, also known as Deadshot, has been spotted coming into the country via shipping container after one of his contracts in Russia had been completed. Three diplomats and five secret service are dead, with over a dozen other people in critical condition. All from gunshot wounds."

"Why the fuck is he dressed like Carmen Santiago?" he asked himself as he took in the man's appearance. He was dressed in a dark red suit and matching wide-brimmed hat, his outturned collar a dark shade of pink with horizontal stripes running across it. Most of the man's face was obscured by a silver metallic mask resembling horizontally-wrapped bandages, only his left eye and nose-down visible, revealing a single brown eye, light skin, a thin moustache, and a goatee. Over his right eye was a gold-colored targeting reticle with a green scope.

Another picture was that of a spent brass bullet case with a yellow evidence tag with the number 1 plastered on it, the initials D.S. inked into the side in stylized letters.

"Deadshot's calling card is the theatrics which he places on each shot. At a fancy dinner party, he'll shoot through the neck of a champagne glass. At a wedding, he'll ricochet a shot off a chapel bell. At-"

"I was being rhetorical, I don't really care why he dresses like that," Virgil deadpanned. "Anyway, isn't Deadshot the guy who never misses a target?" he asked, wondering how well his suit's Armor Mode would protect him from sniper fire. While most would think that Cloak would allow him to close the distance, one look at the lensing effect it created and the guy'd have a bead on him in an instant.

"That used to be true, until last year when an assassination attempt against Police Commissioner James Gordan was foiled by Batman," Re-l said as she pulled up a video clip overlooking one of Gotham's highways. An identifying tag on a black patrol car surrounded by a police escort indicated the presence of James Gordon in the back passenger's seat, the trajectory of a sniper round colored red. Before it could get anywhere near Gordon's car, Batman literally swooped in and chopped it out of the air with the bladed scallops on his forearm.

" . . . Well holy shit," Virgil gawped. Chopping a sniper round out of mid-air… now that was impressive. And because it came from a non-SPB, just a purely-normal flesh-and-blood human, that made it all the more impressive.

"Holy shit, indeed," Re-l commented. "What's even more impressive, is that Deadshot made that shot from a fifty-mile-an-hour train through the gaps in a cross-linked fence. Not even the best in Foxhound could manage a feat like that."

"I hope you aren't going to ask me to try and recruit him, because I can imagine a fifty-caliber refusal would hurt like a bitch."

"No. Recruitment is not the intent behind this mission," Re-l returned. "Tomorrow evening, Deadshot's been hired to help the Two Face Gang in a bank robbery, likely in exchange for transport to his next contract. Your primary mission will be to collect Nanosuit operating data within an urban environment. Your secondary objective will be to either incapacitate or kill. If you can't accomplish either without alerting him to your presence, then pull back. It isn't yet time for word of the Nanosuit to get out. Not to the general public at least. Whichever option you take will be left to your own discretion. At this stage, secrecy for our division is paramount."

" . . . When do I roll out?" Virgil asked, his mind playing through every scenario his nanobot-laden brain could conceive. To be perfectly honest, after watching Blackwatch run through Manhattan all carte blanche, he hated guns, but that didn't mean he was against using them. Thinking back on it, he could see the appeal.

The heft… The sleekness… The cool steel… The precision… And the power.

The power to change lives. History.

The power of god.

"Recon Team is still trying to get a lead on when Deadshot will make his move. Until we've got a pin on that, you're free to run whatever errands you need to. We'll call you when the time comes. Our field agent will have your Undersheath and Nanosuit ready for your use, and Otacon will contact you with rendezvous details."

Virgil only nodded his head, knowing it wouldn't be a lazy weekend like he'd hoped.

Still, it was what he'd signed up for, and with the money he'd made last time, give him a couple years and he'd be retiring with a TV the size of a billboard.

Well, that's gonna be bad for your eyes.

'Oh good lord, I am losing my mind!' the brunette mentally cried in response to the voice inside his head. And for whatever reason it sounded like Caboose.

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

Leaving FoxCry Underground's bunker the same way he came, at his own request, he was dropped off at Marcus Munitions, from which he purchased a mag of hollow-point rounds. Even for someone as capitalistic as Marcus, the man wouldn't fork over armor-piercing rounds so easily, so the brunette would have to make do with the most stopping power he was allowed. On top of that, since he wasn't technically working at the moment, he couldn't use the employee discount, as meager as that was.

Since he didn't plan on going anywhere near the sewers he wouldn't have to worry about Killer Croc, and Venom-doping or not, hollow-point rounds were sure to hurt someone like Bane. As long as he didn't do anything to stick out like a sore thumb, none of Batman's rogue's gallery would single him out; the extra firepower was more of a precaution than anything else.

Go to Gotham, take care of Balalaika and Moxxi's favors, do what needed doing for FoxCry, and get out. That was the plan, and he was not going to stick around. Real-life zombie survivor or no, unless he had mystic martial arts or something under his belt, he was not going to be sticking around in Gotham unless absolutely necessary. Rumor mills, conspiracy theories, and cultists all believed Gotham City to be cursed, and with all that had happened in the last couple decades, he was inclined to believe them.

With all this in mind, after making his way back to Moxxi's and borrowing a sewing machine, ironing board, and iron, he went about treating his uniform for the mission at hand tomorrow. As well as his sub-mission. Even if they were boring, going on "quests" in real life was way more fun than any video game.

At the moment, he was listening to You Spin Me Round (Like a Record) by the artist Dead or Alive, which came out in 1984. As of late, he'd been downloading a lot of music into his smartphone from the eighties. It was weird, but he felt some sort of… connection to the music from that time period. His tastes in music weren't isolated to a single genre, let alone a single artist. He just listened to whatever sounded good, and cast aside the rest.

"A little more ironing, and I'm just a bus ticket away from mission time," Virgil said aloud as he worked. He also wondered why talked out loud so much. Maybe it was the nanobots swimming around in his brain. Or something. 'Might want to get that looked at later.'

As he placed the final few stitches onto his patch and admired his work, he found himself heavily fixating on it.

"Diamond… Dogs… Diamond… Dogs… Diamond… Dogs…" Virgil rolled the words off his tongue, his eyes scanning the patch to be on his left shoulder time and time again. He didn't know what it was, but there was something about that patch that really… really… He didn't even know what it did, but he felt that he somehow knew this patch, and that it had some huge significance on him. He could feel it in his gut-no… He could feel it deeper than his gut.

'Where the hell have I seen this thing before?' Virgil asked as he continued to look at the shoulder-patch. A numbing pain spiking between his temples, his vision began to swim, before everything went black.

*WHOOSH*

"AAAGH! SON OF A BIIITCH!" Virgil cried as a vision suddenly flashed before his eyes, the world around him changing completely for a brief instant.

Desert sands between his fingers…

Sandstone blocks at his feet…

Clear blue skies above…

The sun bearing down on him…

The sound of running water…

And blurry man with a gun…

'The fu… Was that a flashback?' Virgil gawped as his hands went to his face, his head throbbing as his heart beat in his ears. 'But I've never been to the desert…'

"Virgil!" *knock*knock* "Virgil, are you okay in there?" Athena's voice said from the other side of his door. "I heard a noise. Did something happen?"

"I'm fine, don't worry about it," Virgil said as he looked up at the door, only to realize something. 'The hell…? When did I fall on the floor?' he thought as he rolled over and got his feet under him. 'It must be the Nanobots acting up… Some kind of malfunction making me see things,' he rationalized as he crawled back onto his bed. 'I'm going to call Otacon… see what's wrong…' he said pulling out his phone, the text Encrypting… rolling across the screen as it sought a secure line.

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

Bludhaven
October 3, 07:35 EST

Dressed in his khaki courier's uniform, toting all the necessary bells and whistles, Virgil hopped onto the first bus out of town and made his way to Gotham. Had he not lived through a biological weapons outbreak, trained with the Russians, or gotten CQC training in Foxhound, he'd probably be scared shitless of going anywhere near "Batman Central". However, he did have those things, and a gun, so he wasn't all that worried in comparison to the other people riding the bus to Gotham.

The bus he rode was an older-model, so there weren't any extra bells and whistles like a bathroom or TVs. Only the view out the side window to enjoy. The bus wasn't even at half-capacity, but given they were going to Gotham, that in itself probably spoke of the unease he saw in those that were going. When you have giant man-crocodiles or real-life Saw puppet-clowns running around, the city's rep really took a nosedive.

'And I'm riding straight to it,' Virgil thought as the bus drove up onto the raised highway between Bludhaven and Gotham. Before the desertification in the region between the outskirts of Bludhaven and Gotham, there were many lakes and other natural obstacles that facilitated a raised highway between the two cities. Nothing too high above the ground, but just high enough that the Nomads living out in The Dust couldn't bother anyone in transit. It really was something else to look out at The Dust in the early morning from the safety of the highway.

If the whole place didn't look like a real-life Mad Max set, it would probably have the same kind of splendor that the Australian outback had.

*Br-r-r*Br-r-r* *Br-r-r*Br-r-r*

*Breen*

"Good morning, Athena," Virgil said into his phone.

"Good morning… Virgil," the blond on the end of the line returned awkwardly. It was still hard for them to talk to one another, but at least it was a start. "I heard from mom you're running an errand for her in the next town over."

"Yeah. And she's not the only one," the brunette sighed.

"Oh… I see… Is there anything I can help you with? You know… tactical support?"

"Well, info on any recent breakouts in the Gotham area would be nice."

"Breakouts, hm? Gimme a sec." *Clackity-clackity-clackiy-clack* *Clackity-clackity-clackity-clack* "Okay, I just checked on the worms I left in Arkham and Blackgate… As far as I can see, there haven't been any noticeable comings or goings in the past few days. Things have actually been pretty quiet since Batman came back into town from abroad."

"I see," Virgil said drumming his fingers on the armrest. "Apart from knowing who else is on the loose, I guess that's all I can hope for."

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No-Actually, wait, there is one more thing you can do for me, if it isn't too much trouble."

"What is it?"

"Could you give me some directions to the Iceberg Lounge from where the seven-thirty bus to Gotham lets off? After that, some directions from there to Sprang Boulevard Apartment three-oh-two would be nice."

"Alright, I'll cue up some directions and have them both mailed to your phone by the time you get there. And Virgil?"

"Yes?"

"Be… Be careful. I really would like to talk to you when you get back. I… I miss you."

"I… I miss you too…" Virgil breathed out, having never had a girl talk to him that way before, with such emotion. "I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah… I'd like that."

With that, the line cut off, the brunette sighing as he felt a great weight being lifted from his shoulders, and he slumped down in his seat.

'Alright… Things are starting to get better for me…' Virgil thought to himself. 'Even though it's far from a normal life, it's still my life… And I can't afford to get careless with it. I owe my family that much.'

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

Gotham
08:25 EST

The cross-county bus between Bludhaven and Gotham only took a little over a half-hour to run, and that was mainly because it took the slow lane. Because there weren't any TVs and the radio played nothing but Spanish, the fact that he could actually understand it notwithstanding, Virgil occupied himself by looking out the window and watching the landscape go by until the desert landscape gave way to trees. Looking out the front of the bus, he saw the Welcome to Gotham sign. However, seeing the bullet holes, the rust, and even a touch of graffiti, was a reminder of just what he was getting himself into.

Balalaika told him that no-one would mess with a Diamond Dog, but he still preferred the reassuring weight of the Makarov pistol tucked away in his bag. The knife he had in his pocket was also a reassuring, and he was sure he could handle any second-rate punks who'd want to try anything with him regardless of affiliation.

And even if those weren't enough to give him peace of mind, part of the protection that working for Re-l offered was that of the legal variety. Hence, if he ever found himself in trouble for killing anyone in self-defense, at the least he had the assurance he'd be protected, due to being a high-value resource. He wondered why he was even being given the freedom to live his own life instead of being part of the project 24/7, and the only answer he got was that the "human element" in relation to the Nanosuit was also being studied, prior to mass-production and distribution.

That was really fucking cryptic, and he had no earthly idea what that even meant. He could only guess, that it was referring to some kind of social experiment, like maybe that of a Nanosuit pilot and how the sudden cession of great power into their possession would influence them in a psychological level. The only example he could even remotely akin his own situation to, was that of Steve Rogers. Steve had initially been an incredibly scrawny man who was initially denied the chance to fight in World War II because of his many medical conditions and physical shortcomings. However, when he and much bulkier candidates had been selected for screening for the Captain America program, only he was made into Captain America due to how he had selflessly thrown himself atop a grenade, later revealed to be fake, whilst all others ran for cover to save themselves.

At least if the stories were anything to go by. What he'd learned could very well be merely another propaganda story endlessly regurgitated throughout the years after the war to promote moral excellence in the future generations. Unless he actually dug into it, he'd never know, though it wasn't like there was any reason to. Steve Rogers died at the end of World War II fighting the Red Skull, so for the time being, he was fine with knowing the same stories as everyone else.

As long as they didn't try and put a control chip in his brain, he was fine with playing errand boy and gun-for-hire, as well as whatever other experiments they wanted him to participate in. And if he ever needed to get a retinal prosthetic, he was hoping they could give him some form of X-Ray vision. You know, to know what was on the other side of closed doors before breaching it so he wouldn't run face-first into a room full of guns pointed right at hi.

And nothing else.

Anyway… True to form, Athena had emailed directions to his phone for both the Iceberg Lounge and Sprang Boulevard Apartment 302. This meant, instead of wandering around aimlessly, he'd be able to go from Point A to Point B, and then Point B to Point C with the minimum amount of exposure to his surroundings. After that he would receive rendezvous coordinates from Otacon, and the final errand would be out of the way.

Of course, there was still his episode that he had to worry about. There wasn't anything that could be done over the phone, and for security reasons he couldn't go to The Bunker twice in the same day, so he'd have to wait until the next time he was in the Nanosuit before any diagnoses could be done. After the mission against Deadshot was done, assuming he even found the guy, he'd hop into the Cradle and see if there was anything wrong with the Primer in his system.

'I just have to keep my wits about me,' Virgil thought as the bus finally pulled into the station. He had directions to both destinations, and even though it was the middle of the day, simply being there made his skin crawl. As such, he opted to hop onto the safety of another bus and take public transportation as close as he could to his first stop, the Iceberg Lounge.

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

Apparently this Iceberg Lounge is a real popular joint, because the bus pulls up only a couple meters away from the front entrance. The front of the building is lined with alternating blue and black panels with silver accents, the words ICEBERG LOUNGE in big bold blue letters above the entrance, a -you guessed it- iceberg set behind it. The place is practically screaming for attention, especially since it looks much cleaner than the surrounding buildings. And it's in the good part of town.

Getting out of the bus and adjusting his bag over his shoulder, Virgil casually strolled up to the door. It was early in the morning, so there wasn't a line or anything for what was apparently one of the more popular joints for the rich and wealthy, but there were people working to get in. There were a pair of bouncers in front of the door, one white, one black, both wearing MIB-esque suits with black shades over their eyes, most-likely there to keep the less-savory elements from bothering the club's rather exclusive clientele.

Stopping in front of the door, the two men looked him over, eyes stopping at his hat, patch, and shoulder bag before waving him in without a word. Wow, people really trusted a uniform, didn't they?

Stepping through the double doors out the front, the first thing that Virgil noticed was the slight drop in temperature. Not enough that he could see his own breath with each exhale, but cooler than outside and just-enough that it was comfortable. The décor certainly lived up to the place's name, as the entire place looked like the Arctic Circle, the colors largely dominated by cool shades of blue and the occasional black. In the center of the room in the middle of a goddamn pool of all things (with black railing), was a large white stage shaped like an iceberg jutting out the deep, a few musicians in black suits providing live music. Most of the floor was dominated by round tables with white tablecloths and black chairs, while around the room were black light posts with white globes sitting atop them, bathing the room in a soft light. There were circular pillars all around the edge of the room holding up VIP rooms, and most of the edges of the room were soft curves instead of sharp bevels. All along the outer walls were designs made to look like mountains, while the ceiling twinkled like the night sky.

If there were aurora borealis-like projections set to come on at certain intervals, he wouldn't be surprised.

'Iceberg in the center, iced water in the pool, mountainous décor off to the sides… All it's missing is penguins and it'll be a true iceberg lounge,' the brunette thought as he took everything in. It may've been a little over-the-top, but as far as distractions went, this place would definitely distract from the state of the city right outside the doors behind him. Everything truly did feel a world away.

"Can I help you sir?"

"Wah!" the brunette yelped in a rather undignified manner. "Oh, I'm sorry. Most people just don't come up and talk to me."

"It shows," the man who spoke to him said tiredly. He was a rather gaunt man with black hair, angular features, and glasses wearing a black suit. He was standing behind the front desk and twirling a pen around his thumb as though he'd done so for many, many hours prior. "Business or pleasure?"

"Business," the brunette replied, wanting to get out of Gotham as soon as physically possible. "I have a parcel for Mr. Cobblepot. I was told to give it to him directly."

"Hmmm…" the man hummed as he looked at the patch on Virgil's left shoulder. "Ah, yes, I heard a Diamond Dog would be coming," he said with a nod. "Take the stairwell around the corner and to the right. You'll find Mr. Cobblepot's office on the fourth floor."

"Thank you," the brunette replied with a tip of the hat. Walking around the corner to the aforementioned stairwell, he made his way up, and up, and up until he came to an open area overlooking the Iceberg casino.

The carpets were red, a stark contrast to everywhere else, and it was actually a bit warmer up there than down below. There were a couple plants, a sofa, display cases with old masks or statues behind what was obviously bulletproof casing, and the green-eyed gothic Lolita in pigtails sitting off to the side waving her fingers at him with a parasol resting over her shoulder.

'Wait what?'

Whirling around to do a double-take, instead of a green-eyed gothic Lolita with pigtails, it was instead a portrait of a gothic Lolita with pigtails. Her attire consisted of a sleeveless black blouse with white frills on the chest and collar with a black ribbon bow hanging from the front of the collar. The umbrella she had was black with white lacy accents, and looked quite fancy and elegant. It seemed like one of those eerie paintings whose eyes followed you around the room too.

'Creeps me the fuck out,' he shuddered as he made his way to the man's office, past the burly men in suits who look like they could twist him up like a pretzel.

"Mr. Cobblepot." Didn't want to insult the man by calling him 'The Penguin'. "Diamond Dogs Delivery. I have a parcel for you."

"Ah, yes, the front desk said you were on your way up. Come in, come in."

'For an ex-villain, the guy doesn't sound too bad,' Virgil shrugged as he made his way in. The carpets in this room were a dark shade of green as opposed to the red lead-up carpets outside. There were ornate mahogany bookshelves lining the walls, some lined with books, others with expensive nick-knacks from all over the world. One side of the office was a panoramic view window, also likely to be bulletproof, that gave an uninhibited view of the club down below. At the front of the room was a large, and expensive, mahogany desk with paperwork and expensive gold-plated pens scattered about, a high-end computer off to the side, and behind it a large portrait of the club-owner.

And then there was the man himself.

Oswald Cobblepot was a short and rather round individual with a sizable lateral girth; probably put on a few pounds after he settled down to the role of informant and business-owner. He had pale skin like one who rarely went outside, beady eyes, angular eyebrows, creases in his forehead, a vertical scar running up his forehead from his left brow, and a large monocle over his left eye. He was balding but still had black hair, and was clad in a black suit with fur lining the lapels of his collar and cuffs, a thick white ascot around his neck. For some reason his lips and fingernails were colored black, and if it weren't for the umbrella within arm's reach or the umbrella-holder off to the side of his desk, he could be mistaken for any balding old guy who came from big money.

All in all, the guy looked shadier than a subway tunnel. But at least he tried to look classy about it.

He also had a rather pronounced beak of a nose, but with a nickname like "The Penguin", that was to be expected.

"So you're the Diamond Dog ol' Fry-Face sent my way, eh?" Oswald said in a thick London accent.

"I don't think she appreciates being called that, but yes, Balalaika sent me with a parcel for you," Virgil said pulling the sealed manila envelope from his bag, placing it on the desk before Oswald.

"Hmmm… A little young for this particular line of work, wouldn't you say?" Oswald Cobblepot said as he examined the boy before him. The only thing that really stood out about him were his blood-colored eyes and the readiness he held himself with. Other than a little muscle tone and he looked like your run-of-the-mill youth.

"Gotta start early. Especially in this economy," the brunette shrugged as he looked around.

"Tell me about it. Bloody 'bama's running this country right into the ground," the man huffed as he took out an elegant golden letter opener and broke the seal. A little over-excessive, but if the man wanted to flaunt his wealth, more to him.

"I know who I'm not voting for next voting season," the brunette said as he looked out the panoramic view window to the lounge. "To be honest, I never thought I'd come face to face with one of Batman's rogue's gallery, but since you retired from the whole villain spiel, it looks like you've done pretty well for yourself. The live music and fine dining offers a bit of class that Gotham is sorely lacking nowadays, while the iceberg in the center offers a unique atmosphere you can't find anywhere else. If I had the money, I'd probably come here myself."

"Glad to see some youths nowadays can actually look up from their blasted smart phones and appreciate the finer things in life," the man said with a smile as he polished his monocle.

"I never understood the fascination myself," the brunette admitted with a shrug. "What's wrong with just talking to people in person? Texting is just so… inconsiderate compared to looking a person in the eye and saying what needs to be said."

"I know, right?"

'I can't believe I'm talking shop with The Penguin of all people,' Virgil thought as he pulled some forms out of his shoulder bag. "Could I get you to sign this receipt?"

"Of course," the man said taking out an expensive looking gold-plated pen. The thing looked like it was worth more than the bus he took to get there. "Here you go," he said handing the form back.

"Thank you, and I hope that in the future, you'll consider Diamond Dogs for all your courier nee-"

*GROWRRRRRR*

"Uh… Sorry for letting out such an… unrefined noise," the brunette said awkwardly as he scratched the back of his head. "I wanted to catch the first bus to Gotham to get this out of the way and I guess I didn't have enough breakfast. My bad."

" . . . You know, I like you boy. You actually have a brain between your ears unlike all those other mindless youths with their hippity-hop music and their rock and roll and their face pages," the man went on. "That's why, for your prompt delivery and services rendered, I'd like to treat you to a nice London breakfast," he said feeling quite magnanimous with himself as he took out a sheet of paper and scribbled something down in fancy cursive. "Pass this along to the maître d'. He'll have you seated right-quick and give you a nice breakfast with all the trimmings."

"You know, I think I'll just take you up on that," Virgil said with a smile. "Thank you for the treat Mr. Cobblepot, and you have a splendid day," he said taking the voucher. No reason to be rude to the guy if he was offering a fancy breakfast. Besides, Cobblepot was a businessman now, not a super-villain; that he had the smarts to walk away from that lifestyle was just a plus in his book. There simply wasn't a future in the super-criminal business. Not when you made the entire world your enemy.

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

Handing the voucher off to the maître d', true to form, Virgil was ushered to a nice booth a little way's away from the live music and promptly handed the breakfast menu. After being sure that the breakfast was being provided pro-bono, the brunette had himself a nice ice water as he looked over the menu. He wasn't sure if this was because of the former-villain's affinity for avian lifeforms or not, but there was a rather stark lack of poultry on the menu. Since this breakfast was on the house, he decided to have himself a nice breakfast platter with scrambled eggs, hash browns, and hearty London sausage.

Everything smelled, and more importantly, tasted great. After filling his stomach and offering his compliments to the chef, he left a five-spot for tip to the waiter before gathering his things and making his way back to the nearest bus stop. With Athena's directions in hand, all he had to do was take the right bus and let nature run its course. Trying to stand out as little as possible, it was a twenty-minute wait for the necessary bus to come and pick him up.

Like most of Gotham, the bus had its share of shady individuals, but when he gave off the impression that he was packing heat inside his shoulder bag, most of them left him alone. Looking out the window, he noticed that the architecture was dark and foreboding, and with all the dark alleyways and hidden corners he could see from the safety of his bus seat, he could understand why some travel critics would say that Gotham was like "someone built a nightmare out of metal and stone." It really was hard to believe that prior to Thomas and Martha Wayne's deaths, Gotham was anything but a festering sinkhole filled with the worst that humanity had to offer.

Looking out at the city like this, like many that had come before him, he too wished that an earthquake or something would rip through so that they could start over.

"Oh look, it's my stop," he said seeing the street sign. Alerting the driver and getting off the bus, he looked around to orient himself before making his way to Apartment 302. Had he not had Athena's ever-so-helpful tactical support, he'd probably be left to try and ask directions from passerby, which in all likelihood he would've been ignored since everyone in Gotham looked out for Number One and no-one else.

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

Gotham
09:50 EST

For one Artemis Crock, daughter of a Caucasian father and a Vietnamese mother, life had been pretty hard. At an early age her mother had been both arrested in an assassination contract gone bad, and crippled in that very same attempt. She would then go on to spend the next six years being raised by her father, her older sister running away for parts unknown in the first year because of their father's emotional and verbal abuse. Whatever friends she'd been able to make, she'd spent the entire time lying to them, all so she could conceal the fact that her parents were the supervillains Huntress and Sportsmaster. Things eventually got better for the girl when her mother, Paula, was eventually released from prison, and her father, Lawrence, was booted from the house because he wouldn't go straight.

No longer subjected to the borderline-criminal tests her father subjected her to, Artemis was able to find a degree of normalcy in the past few months. She could hang with her friends without worry, talk about cute boys, window-shop and actually pay for the stuff… Life was good, the best it had been in a long time, but it was somehow… boring. Like there was something missing.

Probably why she was stress-testing her bowstring and checking the weight & balance of her individual arrows in the living room. She wanted to do something with all the training her father had subjected her to in order to alleviate the boredom, and after picking up a few pieces of tight-fitting clothes at the store, ideas as for what to do began to slowly come to completion in her mind.

All she needed was to pick the when and the where.

*Knock*knock*knock*

"Artemis! Could you get that?"

"Sure thing, mom!" the blond replied. It was weird, being able to say something like that after so long, but it felt good having her mom back in the house. Getting up from her chair and walking over to the door, she asked- "Who is it?" –as she looked through the peephole.

"I'm here to deliver a… can't believe I'm going to say this out loud… A Moxxigram to one Paula Crock," the person from beyond the door said.

"Hey, whatever you're selling, we don't want any-"

"Excuse me," Paula said wheeling over to the door. "When you say Moxxigram, do you mean from Madeline "Mad" Moxxi?"

"She tried to get me to start calling her Sugartits a while back, for whatever reason… But yeah, that's who I'm here from."

"Heheh… That definitely sounds like something she'd do," her mother said laughing slightly. "Please come in."

"Mom, who's this Moxxi person?" Artemis asked as she undid the latch and chain on the door.

"She's… an old friend of mine," her mother sighed. "One I haven't heard from in a long time."

"I see," Artemis replied, eying the delivery boy up and down as he made his way into the house, wary of any sudden movements he might make. His attire consisted of white sneakers, khaki pants, shirt, and hat, a diamond-shaped patch reading DIAMOND DOGS DELIVERY sewn into his left shoulder making him look like any other delivery boy.

Clothing notwithstanding, the blond had to admit, he was pretty easy on the eyes with his lightly-tanned skin, messy dark-brown hair, and the scar below his left eye that set him apart from all the tools and wannabe "playas" she had to put up with in Gotham North. What was most-interesting about him were his scarlet-colored eyes… or rather, the sharpness about them.

Almost like her sister. It kinda put her on edge, actually. And made her a little hot under the collar.

Was it getting hot in there?

"Here you go, Mrs. Crock. One hand-delivered Moxxigram," the brunette said passing the message along, contained within a plain envelope. Her mother taking it, she opened it with a quick tear of the seam before reading over the document within.

"Would you mind sticking around for a few minutes? I… I would like to have you deliver a reply."

"Sure. I've got time before my next job," the brunette replied with a shrug, her mother nodding as she wheeled off.

"Well… come on in, have a seat," Artemis said with a shrug as she invited the delivery boy in.

"Nice place," the brunette complimented.

"Eh, its home," the blond replied with a shrug as she sat down in front of her gear.

"Hey, is that a Bear Showdown compound bow you've got there?" the brunette suddenly asked, pointing to the implement set out on the floor in the living room.

"Hm. Good eye," Artemis hummed appreciably. That he wasn't staring at her ass the whole time was certainly a plus in her book. "You certainly know your bows."

"I was part of the archery club in high school. Used to shoot, myself," the brunette replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "Next time I'm in Gotham, we should talk shop. The name's Virgil. What's yours?"

"Artemis. A pleasure," the blond replied with a smile, offering her hand. Receiving a firm grip in turn, the two exchanged pleasantries. After finishing with her arrows the blond cued up the television. "So, Virgil. You a delivery boy all the time, or what?" she asked as she surfed channels.

"Not all the time. I also do a bit of work at the local arms dealer," he shrugged as he adjusted his shoulder bag on the couch. "What about you?"

"No job. Still in high school. I go to Gotham North, what about you?"

"Bludhaven High."

"I see," Artemis hummed. There was a moment where he wouldn't look her in the eye and his fingers twitched, so while he could've been lying about what school he went to, it wasn't like she had any place calling him out on that. Strangely enough, there was a tiredness in his eyes too, almost like what she caught in her mom's from time to time, so it was possible he'd quit high school to work. Or something.

It wasn't like she could afford to pry too deeply. They'd only just met after all.

Still, she wasn't opposed to seeing him again.

"I've finished the reply," Paula said coming in partway through their program; a rather explosive episode of Mythbusters. "How much will it be for the delivery?" she asked. She could've sent it though snail mail, sure, but she wanted a little more of a guarantee that it'd get to her. D3 had an exemplary reputation when it came to the success rate of their deliveries after all, and if she was going to mend broken bridges, a little money up front was a small price to pay.

"This one's on the house. I'm heading back to Bludhaven anyway," the brunette waved off. "You have a nice evening."

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

After tucking away Paula's letter to Moxxi in his shoulder bag, Virgil made his way toward the bus stop, eyes wary of every dark corner as he stuck to the well-lit areas. His phone vibrating in his pocket, he looked to the screen to see that he'd finally received rendezvous coordinates. Otacon even went as far as to send him directions to a bus that'd take him to his destination and a countdown timer for its arrival.

Shoulder bag tucked under his arm, clad in uniform, the brunette didn't look at all out-of-place as he ran down the street full-sprint. None of the would-be muggers he saw in Gotham's dark corners could even get a bead on him, and by the time he got to the bus stop, he wasn't even out of breath as he paid his way and took the nearest seat to the front. There were a couple of questionable individuals in transit, but with a hollow-point-filled Makarov pistol tucked away, he felt just a little bit safer as he neared his destination.

The bus stopped at the midpoint between the good and the bad parts of Gotham, a couple blocks away from your typical brick-made hotel. Nothing too fancy about it, just ordinary brick, going ten stories up, the surrounding buildings a short hop away so to speak. Getting out and making his way to it, his phone vibrated in his pocket, Otacon instructing him to meet with his contact at room 1012 on the top floor.

The hotel's décor was unremarkable. Red carpets, tan walls, white ceiling, fake plants in the lobby, stainless steel panels in the elevator. The elevator ride up was boring as hell and the music was really out of date. Also, after spending so long climbing up buildings by the stairs the old-fashioned way, it just felt really weird having an elevator do all the work for him.

When the lift came to an end, with no-one worth mentioning coming or going, he eventually made his way to the top floor. Making his way over to room 1012 at the corner of the building next to the employees-only stairs to the roof, the brunette raised his hand before knocking on the door, which opened a few seconds later revealing his contact.

The woman standing in front of him was a head taller than him and had powerful muscles while still maintaining her feminine curves, not unlike Wonder Woman in that regard. She had a slight heart-shaped face, bright red hair only a couple shades darker than Yoko's, and green eyes that just popped because of the shoulder-length tresses. Her attire consisted of a black tank top which showed of her six-pack and muscular arms, and olive drab shorts that showed off her muscular legs.

"Hm? Oh, you must be the new kid," the woman said looking up at him. "Come on in. And close the door behind you," she ordered, the brunette doing just that. About to open his mouth to speak, the woman raised a finger before putting it to his lips, her phone held up which had a red ring spinning round and round. A few seconds later and the red ring was replaced with a green check-mark. "Alright, we're clear," she said putting her phone away. "The name's Carolina. I'm going to be holding your hand tonight. So to speak."

"It's nice to meet you," the brunette returned. The woman turning around and walking to the room's only bed, the brunette gulped slightly as he tugged at his collar. Carolina may not've had the softest curves he'd seen, but there was something undeniably sexy about a muscular woman who carried herself with an air of confidence. 'No! Bad! Snap out of it!' he told himself as he dragged his eyes up, the red-head thankfully not catching him looking at her ass. "So… What do we do in the meantime?" he asked taking a seat next to her.

"Here. You can try this while we wait," the woman said holding out what looked like an electric cigar, shaped like an actual cigar down to the color.

"Um… I'm under contract, and I'm pretty sure smoking is in violation of that," he said looking dubiously at the electronic cigar being presented to him.

"Relax, kid. It's an all-natural medicinal herb. Totally within the bounds of your contract," the red-head waved off as she popped the end of the cigar into his mouth. Holding out a white and gray-colored iDroid, which blossomed a holographic flame, Virgil gave her a poignant look before conceding to who was effectively his superior officer, and took a puff from the cigar in his mouth. A few seconds later and everything outside the window began zipping by, from the trains on the monorails to the traffic, to the planes and even the clouds in the sky, a woman's song ringing in his ears as the world whooshed by, the sun arcing across the sky which rapidly darkened as-

*WHAP*

"UWAH!" Virgil yelped as he was suddenly, and literally, slapped back into normal space-time, the electronic cigar flying out of his lips as he was sent sprawling backwards out of the bed. "Wha! Huh? What happened?" Virgil gawped as he looked around. "WHAT HAPPENED TO THE GOD DAMNED MOON!" he bellowed as he looked out the balcony window, gawping at the full moon that was not there a few seconds ago. Also, it was night. What the fuck?!

"Yeah… Happened to me the first time I smoked one of those bad-boys too," Carolina said hauling him to his feet. "Accelerated perception of time's a real mind-trip, huh? No idea why they call it a Phantom Cigar though," she shrugged.

"Yeah… I'll say," Virgil said rubbing his eyes as he looked to a clock. "Nine hours!" he gawped, seeing that the time was now 19:35. "I've been tripping out for twelve hours!"

"Yeah. Whatever they put in that stuff, it really makes the time go by," Carolina nodded. "'Course, the stuff loses all its potency if someone startles you. But hey, Mother Nature's not perfect. Now c'mon. Get your shit together, we've got work to do," she said passing a closed briefcase over to him.

'Two missions in and I'm already doing hallucinogenic drugs,' Virgil sighed to himself as he followed the woman, briefcase in hand.

*GROWRRRRRR*

" . . . Right, I forgot those things gave you the munchies," Carolina said digging into her cargo pockets. "Here. Make it quick. We've got work to do," she said tossing him a few energy bars. "They're chocolate-flavored, so that should help it go down better."

'Twelve hours... What the hell was I smoking that I lost twelve hours?!' he thought to himself as he chowed down on the energy bars.

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

After stuffing his face before stripping out of most of his clothing and changing in the stairwell, Virgil, now clad in Nanosuit with OctoCloak draped over his shoulders, found himself standing atop a shadowed rooftop in the dead of night. In front of him was a smaller silver briefcase, and no-one else. A familiar ringtone sounding in his ear, Virgil crouched down on bent knee and put his fingers to the side of his helmet, a small square reading AUDIO ONLY appearing over his HUD.

"Alright kid, as I'm sure you've already been briefed, tonight's little outing is one-part data-collection, the other being real-world combat applications of the Nanosuit," Carolina's voice said over Codec. "To the first end, we've provided you with a new tool that the media may've already made you familiar with," she said, the brunette kneeling down and undoing the latches on the case.

"A grappling hook?" he said looking at the tool presented to him. It looked like a very high-powered pistol, similar in shape to the M-3 Predator from Mass Effect, but less-streamlined, colored all-black with a metallic finish, and a collapsed four-pronged hook on the end. There was a cylindrical reel on top, and behind it a screen that showed what was at the immediate front of the gun, which had an attached laser sight.

"Correct," Carolina said as the claw sprung open. "Maximum range is a little over thirty meters, or one-hundred feet if you don't get metrics. Auto-Correct accounts for variations in wind shear, air density, humidity, and other prevalent atmospheric conditions, while the scanner highlights compatible latching points for you to hook onto. The same technology that allows you to magnetically sync weapons to your Nanosuit also allows you to keep a tight grip, while the fibers of the Nanosuit prevent your arm from being ripped out of the socket by the reeling force."

"How many recess monkeys did you lose before you figured that one out?"

"Not important. What is important, is that the grappling hook you're using has just come out of Beta, and the Nanosuit will be the perfect test platform to determine the kind of stresses its use will impart on a human body."

"Yeah, speaking of stresses… What happens if I fall?"

"It's recommended that you activate Armor Mode. The raised nano-plates will enable the suit to absorb most of the shock from the sudden deceleration when you hit the ground, while protecting your vital organs from any damage."

"It's really weird that you had an answer for that right away," Virgil thought, filing away that little tidbit for later. "Hey hold on a second," he said patting his back. "My bow isn't here. How am I supposed to fight that Deadshot guy if I'm unarmed?"

"A supply drop will be arranged prior to any engagement with the secondary objective, and if you wish to have any new equipment added to your present arsenal, you can put the deployment order out through your iDroid. For the time being, command's set up a course for you to put the suit through its paces," Carolina said as a number of blue holograms shaped like the FOXHOUND logo appeared in mid-air, spinning around lazily. "Think of it like a real-life video game."

"I noticed," Virgil said as he walked through the first waypoint directly across from him. A small *DING* sounding, he then raised his grappling hook at the next rooftop, the crosshair in his screen locking onto the side of an air-conditioning unit before he fired, his hand magnetically tightened around the gun, and he was hauled off his feet.

Had the Nanosuit's speaker been on, those down below would've heard a manly scream sound through the night air.

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

Elsewhere in Gotham, another young adult in a costume all their own was skulking across Gotham's skyline. Instead of high-tech gizmos, this person used only parkour and acrobatics, while the nature of their costume was notably more low-tech by comparison; a midriff-baring number that highlighted her athletic build, and was form-fitting without being over-sexualized.

Around her face she wore a dark green mask extending from her hairline to her cheekbones with her blond hair styled in a low ponytail, connected at the neck to a sleeveless top with a stylized light-green arrow tip on the front that exposed her flat stomach. She had green fingerless gloves that went up to her forearm, a green band around her right bicep, dark green pants with black knee pads, and black combat boots. She had a black utility belt around her waist with a stylized green buckle, and a tool pouch synced to her left thigh. She had a dark-green quiver on her back filled with dark-green arrows bearing light-green fletching, and a familiar compound bow.

Only a little while ago she'd stopped a convenience store robbery being carried out by guys with guns wearing balaclava. One got socked to the face with a solid rubber slug, while the other had his shotgun gummed up with a quick-hardening liquid rubber solution. Then she struck one with her bow's composite frame in the stomach before giving him a concussion via the chin, and then back-kicked the other into a wine cupboard.

While the green-clad blond didn't take a single hit from the trio of crooks, what actually hurt was that they assumed she was a thief too, simply because she was wearing a mask. Batman wore a mask, but everyone universally agreed he was a hero. Why couldn't she be extended the same courtesy after not taking the money?

From that point on the blond decided to stick to the shadows, hanging a cat burglar up by the ankles, pinning a thug to the wall by his clothes via arrows, and delivering an old-fashioned smackdown to some extortionists at the storefront.

As she skulked through the night, seeking out crimes to stop and ass to kick, she heard whisperings of a cloaked figure zipping from rooftop to rooftop with a grappling gun. Most-likely Batman, or even the Boy Wonder, Robin. Who else would have tech like that?

The blond's next course of action was decided for her as the sound of an explosion followed by gunfire rang out through the night. Following the noise, she eventually came up on the Second Bank of Gotham which was in the process of being robbed. Three police cars had pulled up in front of the building, a half-dozen police officers engaged in a fierce firefight with ten masked men that were obviously robbing the bank.

Clicking her tongue, the blond drew a rubber-slugged arrow and fired, hitting one of the bank robbers right between the eyes and knocking his ass out. There was a momentary lapse in the fighting as both sides registered her presence. The hairs on the back of her neck raising, the blond threw herself to the roof and dropped to the ground as countless bullets assailed the spot she'd once been.

"What are those idiots doing!?" Artemis raged as she ducked behind cover. "Don't they know I'm on their side?!" she growled as bullets chipped away at the edge of the roof. The number of bullets dying down after a few seconds, before all gunfire in her direction suddenly stopped, she skulked around the side and peered over the edge with a pocket mirror.

Based on how there were now three dead or injured cops on the ground, the blond assumed that while the GPD had taken pot shots at her, some of the bank robbers had decided to rub some brain cells together and decided to take the city's "finest" out. The blond actually would've felt a little bad if the GPD wasn't rife with corruption.

'Those idiots are going to get torn to shreds down there,' she thought as she notched two arrows, holding her bow sideways and firing, her rubber-tipped arrows knocking another two crooks out. The bulk of them aimed for the roof in an attempt to take her out, but the remaining cops took this opening to exchange gunfire. Waiting a few seconds and moving to another spot on the roof, Artemis hastily took a knee before firing off three arrows in succession, knocking out another three, while another two were taken out by the police.

Rolling backwards as retaliatory gunfire peppered the roof where she was at, the blond ran sidelong across the roof before jumping. In mid-air she drew back another arrow and fired, a smoke grenade bursting as it hit the ground around the bank robbers' feet. As the bad guys coughed and tried to wave their way out, the blond synced her bow around her shoulders as she grabbed onto the firing escape, dropping down entire levels at a time before rolling to a stop as she reached the ground. Stepping out of the alley, she fired two more rubber-tipped arrows from the darkness, striking their silhouettes head-on and knocking them out.

"There. It's over," the blond sighed as the smoke began to dissipate, revealing the knocked-out or dead forms of the would-be bank robbers. Two of the cops moving forward with handcuffs and zip-ties to make the necessary arrests, muzzle flashes from inside the bank pierced the darkness, the two cops that had stepped forward peppered with rounds as clouds of red mist burst through their backs. "NO!"

"Honestly, do I have to do everything myself," a man whom the blond recognized as one of her father's "business acquaintances" said as he stepped out, a double-barreled arm-gun held forward with smoking barrels. "I'm going to want a bigger cut out of this," Deadshot said as he leveled his weapon at the remaining cop. The whooshing of an arrow streaking through the air meeting his ears, he man leveled his weapon to the left, a flurry of bullets knocking the trio of rubber-tipped bows out of the air. "What's this now?" the man hummed as he took in the appearance of his attacker. "A little girl version of Green Arrow? They're getting younger every day," the super-mercenary said as he leveled his weapon at the blond and opened fire.

The teen hero, fast on her feet, ran sidelong before rolling into cover behind the nearest patrol car. Ducking low and covering her head, her hiding spot was quickly perforated by gunfire, the outside looking more like Swiss cheese with every passing second, windows bursting above her head and showering her with broken glass. Looking at the remaining patrol cars, she saw that the remaining officer was cowering in fear, gun trembling in his hand. Based on how young he looked, the guy must've been fresh out of the academy, with this having been his first shakedown run.

"Of all the GPD I get stuck with for backup, and it has to be the new guy," the blond huffed. "Great," she huffed as she made to peek over the top, only for bullets to whiz through the air above her head, so close it made her hair wave through the air.

"You know… I wonder how Green Arrow would feel if I gave his daughter or niece or whoever a new pair of lead earplugs," the super-mercenary said aloud thoughtfully as he leisurely made his way to Artemis' hiding place, gun-arm trained on her as he casually strafed.

'I don't stand a chance against this guy in a straight-up fire fight,' the teen hero thought to herself as she reached into her quiver, her gut lurching as she found herself with only two arrows left. 'The only chance I have of not eating at this guy's lead buffet is to catch him by surprise,' she thought as she readied an arrow.

Before the blond could jump up and fire, however, a grey cylindrical object with a neon blue stripe around the side that resembled a grenade suddenly fell to the ground between herself and Deadshot. The mercenary staring down and raising an eyebrow, the grenade suddenly opened up before letting out a loud *BREEEEEEN*, the hairs on the backs of everyone's necks standing on end as an electromagnetic pulse rippled through the air. Car batteries, radios, street lights, and everything else within fifty feet suddenly went dead, the effect cascading until the entire street was plunged into darkness.

"Have another player, do we?" Deadshot asked as he looked around, his gunsight EMP-shielded, and now switched to night vision. "Come on then. Show yourself," he said panning around at every dark corner. At the same time, the blond hero waited for Deadshot to turn his back to her so she could get a shot in. However, before she could, the sound of rippling cloth echoed through the cold night air.

All eyes turning up, through pale rays of moonlight they saw a cloaked figure descending from on high. The enigmatic figure landed with a deafening *CRASH* that blew the silence of the darkened street into a million pieces, the patrol car he'd landed on crumpling like a tin can as shards of glass went out in all directions. Between the dead streetlights and the cloud cover that had rolled in, the cloaked figure could've easily been mistaken for another caped crusader of the night. However, the smaller stature of their figure and lack of pointed bat-ears said otherwise. Also, not even Batman could survive a four-story drop unassisted, regardless of landing strategy used.

"Finally decided to show yourself, did we?" the super-mercenary asked as he leveled his arm-gun at the figure, hooded head snapping up as a pair of red eye slats glowed ominously. Trigger mechanism depressed in his glove, muzzle flashes lit up the night air, the figure crossing his arms in front of himself.

Were anyone to observe the figure's body closely-enough, on the nanoscopic scale rather, they'd have seen that the metal comprising the epidermis momentarily liquefied before raising up like scales and solidifying. Those scales would then rise up at an angle, bunch together, and rise up again at an even sharper angle as microscopic arcs of electricity danced around their pointed edges. This sudden transformation happened in less than a fraction of a second, more than enough time for the suit's exterior to ready itself against the onslaught of custom-tooled armor-piercing rounds that bore down on it. The suit's epidermis rippled like water as the force was dissipated across the surface of high-frequency-charged scallops, not a single scale chipped or out of place as the rounds flattened and bounced off like they were made of rubber.

Several seconds of sustained gunfire later and Deadshot's magazine ran dry, yet the figure before him was still standing. Technically he was kneeling, but the fact that he wasn't dead and/or filled with lead and he may as well have.

"My turn," a synthetic voice toned ominously as the figure leapt upward, the car beneath his feet flattening even further as the figure back-flipped high into the air. Hooded cloak rippling, the blond-haired hero recognized the unmistakable profile of a super high-end compound bow that the figure drew out in mid-air, an arrow sliding out of some kind of magazine and extending to full length. The arrow drawn back, the cloaked figure let the arrow fly, a glint of silver piercing the darkness as moonlight reflected off the broad head arrow moments before it found home through Deadshot's gunsight with a sickening *SQUELCH*

The figure landing on the ground in a crouch, as the figure's bow folded in on itself and was deposited back into his cloak, the super-mercenary teetered before falling over backwards with a *Whump*, a jet black arrow shaft with metal fletching sticking up out of his eye.

'What the…' Artemis gawped as the figure rose to full height, body beginning to flicker in and out of the visible spectrum before he almost completely disappeared. A distortion in the air moving away towards the nearest dark alley, the blond hero gathered her wits about her as she gave chase, patrol cars arriving on the scene as the lights began to come back on.

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

With years of parkour training under her belt, training across all ends of Gotham in the dead of night while dressed as your stereotypical ninja in black pajamas, it was a small matter to follow the cloaked figure. Despite the head start, the costumed blond was able to catch up after vaulting her way up the fire escape. Flipping through the air and landing in a crouch, she heatedly locked eyes with the cloaked figure standing in the middle of the roof, their back turned to her.

"You there! Stop where you are!" she shouted at the cloaked figure, their silhouette broken apart by the billowing cloak surrounding their form. Now away from the well-lit street, the figure's cloak no longer flickered in and out of the visual spectrum, though the natural shadows all around obscured their presence even more ominously.

The figure looked over their shoulder at her, eye slats seeming to regard her before turning back to the horizon. Then, without a moment's pause, the figure crouched before bolting off in an explosive burst of movement, cloaked form rippling in the wind as he suddenly soared through the open air between buildings with a powerful jump.

Artemis was quick to follow, her bow slung across her back as she gave chase, muscles coiling like springs across her body as she pursued Deadshot's killer.

As far as she knew anyway.

Running across rooftops and leaping through open air, no matter what tricks she tried to keep her momentum going, the distance between them would not shrink. Even when she put her all into it, her quarry simply increased his speed, perpetuating the chase between them. However, her pride as a hero was on the line, and if she developed a reputation of having to be saved, she would never get out of the shadow of her peers and become a hero in her own right!

After a good twenty minutes of running, her quarry suddenly pulled a hard right, losing a great deal of his momentum in the process. Her hand scraping at the ground as she slowed to a halt, chipping a nail in the process, she followed after, and one leap through the air later she was upon her adversary.

Though the roof of the apartment she'd landed on was bare save for a single air conditioning unit, the entirety of her attention was focused on the conspicuous cardboard box situated in the middle of the roof, desperately trying, and failing, to blend into its surroundings with a band of monochrome-checkered patterning around the sides.

"I have you now…" Artemis panted out as she stalked the box. "Now…" she said notching an arrow. "Are you going to tell me who you are, or will you make me use this?"

" . . . "

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" she shouted angrily, her arrow slipping out of her grasp. Before she could gawp in horror at having fired her arrow at full draw weight at point-blank, the arrow passed through the cardboard with little to no resistance, digging into the roof after passing through two walls of corrugated paper. " . . . Huh?" she gawped as she carefully walked forward and kicked the box over.

[ ! ]

Within said box, plastered across the roof, was a poster of Chuck Norris and Segata Sanshiro, standing across from one another with arms crossed and black sunglasses over their eyes.

"What the fuck!?" she blurted out as she backed away in shock, only for a sudden karate chop to her hand to make her drop her bow. She made the rookie mistake of following her weapon's descent to the ground, and by the time she'd realized it, a pair of flexible armor-clad arms had wrapped under her armpits and around the back of her head, interlaced hands bending her neck forward.

"You know," a decidedly older-sounding voice said from right behind her. "I'd have thought that Green Arrow's daughter or niece or whatever would've had a little more training under her belt. Because that showing back there was a little on the pitiful side."

"Hey, that guy was a professional assassin! Cut me some slack!" she said angrily kicking out her legs in an attempt to break free, only for her captor to suddenly take a seat and situate her in his lap, taking away her leverage after nudging her behind the knees. Through her tight pants, she felt that her captor was wearing a cup of sorts, so crotch-shots wouldn't do any good even if she got free.

"Kid. I'm going to give you some advice. Whether you take that advice or not is up to you," the figure putting her in a headlock said into her ear. "One-hundred push-ups, one-hundred sit-ups, one-hundred squats, and a ten kilometer run every single day. If you do that, then you'll get strong, and you won't need anyone to save you ever again. You get what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, I get it. I need to become stronger before I do this again," the blond huffed. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

"You can call me… Special Agent Washington," Virgil spoke out, his suit's voice modulator making him sound much older than he actually was. Give the Capes a fake name to work off of, and they'll look for a person working for an organization that doesn't even exist. "As for why I'm here… I like to take very enthusiastic walks under the moonlight."

"Bull… shit…" Artemis scowled as she tried to break free, only for the man's strength to be like iron. 'This guy's got to be Special Forces… No way he could get the jump on me otherwise.'

"I also wanted to avenge those Russian diplomats and secret service, but mostly it was for the enthusiastic walk under the moonlight."

"Then why… are you attacking me…? We're on… the same side."

"I put you in a headlock so you wouldn't shoot one of your arrows at me. Like you did at my QPCS."

" . . . If I promise not to attack… will you let me go?" she asked, while racking her brain for whatever "QPCS" was an abbreviation for. It looked like an ordinary cardboard box, but what if there was more to it than that?

" . . . Alright. I'll let you go if you promise."

" . . . "

" . . . "

" . . . "

" . . . "

"WELL?! Are you going to let me go or not!?"

"You didn't promise yet," "Special Agent Washington" said cheekily.

"Alright, I promise!" Artemis bit out. Having a father who was a supervillain, she could tell by vibe alone if someone was good or bad, and this guy definitely wasn't a Sportsmaster. He wasn't squeaky-clean like Superman either, more along the lines of someone like the Punisher.

Her assailant wasn't as-intimidating as him, but the inability to see his face and most of his body put the fear of the unknown in her.

Sometimes, not knowing what was skulking around at night, was enough to get what you wanted.

The arms around her neck uncoiling, Artemis was quick to roll forward, snatching up her bow and notching her final arrow before turning on her bent knee and drawing to half-weight. However, when she looked at where her assailant was moments before, there was nothing. The sound of something rolling to her feet fluttering into her ears, she glanced down slightly, a black-colored cylindrical object rolling to a stop at her feet.

By the time she'd realized what it was, the top had already begun belching out a thick plume of black smoke. The thick smokescreen choking her, she quickly backed away while waving the smoke from her face, her vision in every direction completely obscured.

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

At the same time on a faraway rooftop…

'Good thing I invested some GMP into those EMP and Smoke Grenades,' Virgil thought to himself on a distant rooftop, watching Artemis wave her way out of the smoke. 'I still find it a bit weird that I have to pay, in a sense, for the gear I'm going to use on missions. Maybe I'm paying for the license to use them?' he asked himself. 'Makes sense I guess. I doubt they'd let me use a rocket launcher right off the bat. Some of those items' GMP cost was way more than what I got on that one mission with Banner.'

"Snake, do you copy?" Otacon asked, coming in over Codec.

"I copy, Otacon. What do you need?"

"I just wanted to let you know that the medics have stabilized Deadshot, and are taking him to a secure facility for treatment and subsequent detainment. Unfortunately, for him at least, his eye won't be able to be saved."

"Well, that was what I was aiming for… Pun not intended," he amended. Out loud at least. That pun was too good to pass up.

"I also have word that you were followed. Can you confirm?"

"Yeah, confirm, but I've already ditched my pursuer," Virgil nodded. "I'm heading to the extraction point now. In the meantime, I need you to run facial recognition on the last twenty minutes of my suit's visual log. There's something I want to confirm?"

"And what would that be?"

"The chance that Green Arrow's daughter or niece or whoever, is actually a girl by the name of Artemis Crock, daughter of Paula Crock. Address is Gotham City, Sprang Boulevard, Apartment 302."

"Why her specifically?"

"Because I know I've seen those features before. Focus on the nose, lips, eyes, ears, and hair color for both subjects. Arrow-Girl or whoever she is, might be using a padded mask to alter her facial profile to throw off electronic recognition by those means."

"Alright, running facial recognition now…" Otacon returned. Virgil following the Waypoint Indicator on his HUD as he made his way across the rooftops, his grappling gun taking him to the places he couldn't reach on his own. By the time he got to the extraction-point, a back-alley with a familiar black van waiting for him, Otacon's image came back up on the HUD. "Alright, I've finished. Ignoring what parts of Arrow-Girls' face is obscured by her mask, all her other features are almost a complete match. How exactly do you know this girl? And what makes you think she's this Artemis Crock you singled out?"

"She's someone I met earlier today. I found her working on a green compound bow with matching arrows, so I wanted to be sure I wasn't just seeing things or not."

"On a scale of one to ten, ten being the highest, how would you rate her attractiveness?" Dr. Grey asked, a window with her face on it appearing beneath Otacon's. Based on the background, this was being recorded from her own cabin.

"When did this become a three-way?"

"Oh myyyyy," the woman drawled out like George Takei.

"Call! Three-way call!" Virgil re-iterated.

"Dr. Grey, what does this have to do with the mission at hand?" Otacon asked.

"Vincent, please answer the first question," Dr. Grey insisted.

"She's a solid eight. Happy?" Virgil asked, hoping his blush couldn't be seen on the other end of this Codec.

"Very," Dr. Grey said as she took notes. "Now tell me. Do you find yourself wanting to have sexual intercourse with her? And if so, on a scale of one to ten, ten being throw-her-onto-the-nearest-flat-surface-and-screw-her-brains-out, how would you rate your desire to copulate?"

"Okay seriously, what the hell does this have to do with the mission at hand?" Virgil asked exasperatedly.

"Weeeeell… After word got out about your little episode, we needed to ensure that the Nanobot Primer in your system hasn't begun causing any cascading side-effects within your anatomy. Like loss of sex-drive, bleeding from the eyes, ringing ears, inverted penis-"

"Inverted what?!"

"She's joking about that last part," Otacon cut in. "You are joking, right?"

"Whispering doesn't change the fact that I can still hear you," Virgil deadpanned.

"I'm joking. I'm joking," Dr. Grey waved off. "Phallic inversion's just a myth. Like herpes."

" . . . Come again?" Virgil asked.

"Take me out to dinner first, you strapping young man you," Dr. Grey said batting a paw at him with a wink.

'Oh my god, she's like the unholy lovechild of Moxxi and Dr. Zed but with a doctorate,' Virgil thought to himself with a shudder. He was so weirded out by that string of questioning thus far, that he couldn't tell if the quivering of his body was from arousal, or fear of what she might ask next. 'I feel like I should temper my sense of decency in expectation whenever I talk to this woman.'

"A continuation of the above question," Dr. Grey stated, a serious expression on her face. "In said hypothetical intercourse, do your preferences lie in oral, vaginal, or anal sex? Do you have any desire to bring her mother into it, and if so, how strong is that desire on a scale of one to ten, ten being-"

"You know what, fuck it, I'm hanging up," Virgil deadpanned.

"Sweetie, this is a Codec call. You can't simply-"

"Click brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…."

"What the-"

"*Gasp* Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr..."

"He… He hung up on me! How the hell did he even do that!" Dr. Grey gawped as she pounded on her keyboard, Otacon getting the message loud and clear as he killed the Codec from his own console.

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

"Note to self… Get laid before Dr. Grey attempts to take my virginity 'in the name of science'," Virgil noted to himself as he sat in the back of the van. Peeking out the windows, he saw them pass by several police cars as they twisted and turned their way out of the city limits. 'This car must have special plates on it or something, because an all-black van with tinted windows would look really suspicious otherwise,' he noted to himself. Like one-way glass, he could see out, but no-one else could see in.

Throwing his hood back before collapsing his helmet and pulling his head free from the Nanosuit, his eyes squinted as a hologram of Re-l imposed itself upon the reality to his immediate left, her hands resting in her lap as she turned to face him.

"Virgil. How was your mission in Gotham?" the woman asked.

"About as well as I could've expected. I completed both my primary and secondary objectives without any major complications," Virgil replied silently, still not completely used to the feel of talking over Codec outside the Nanosuit. While he could hear the other person clear-as-day, it still felt a little weird knowing that no-one, not even Superman, would be able to hear them. He on the other hand, was still getting used to talking in subvocals. "However… Looking back on the mission now, I feel like maybe I could've done things a little differently. Or that I should have done them differently."

"Feelings like that in hindsight are perfectly natural, especially for someone in your… unique, position," the woman replied. "What's important is that you take this experience and use what you've learned in future missions. Reflecting upon what works, and what you can do differently, will be important from here-on-out."

"So I guess this is really happening, then? Male model by day, military super-soldier by night?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," the woman nodded. "Like I said before, your identity as Vincent Valentine will be a valuable asset to place you within areas that Virgil would normally find out-of-reach. You're free to be Virgil to your allies, but it's important to remember that from a legal standpoint, the person you were before no longer exists. That's why officially, you can't come forward and testify against Blackwatch for their crimes against humanity. By all rights, you are, or rather, were, a wanted fugitive from martial law."

"It still leaves a bad taste in my mouth, letting them run around like that."

"That may be the case, but the fact of the matter is that Blackwatch is the best means of keeping the infection in NYZ contained. If the Blacklight Virus were to reach the mainland, or an airport, there'd be no means of stopping it. An extinction-level event of the highest order that would mean the utter dearth of humankind."

"And then real-life would become like a zombie flick," Virgil allowed him to say aloud.

"Don't worry. You'll get your shot at them someday. That's a promise. But for the time being, you need to focus on getting stronger, collect more data on the Nanosuit and make 'it' stronger, before you go up against them again. Looking at the audio and visual logs, you lucked out. Had even one thing played out differently, and Blackwatch may've very well overwhelmed you."

"Yeah, I hear you. I'm no Captain America. Not by a long shot," the brunette sighed. Justice… that wasn't a word he really believed in anymore. Revenge was where it was at, but want for revenge wouldn't mean a thing if he couldn't back it up. A technology gap that was in his favor could only do so much. He had to make the gap between him and them so large they couldn't even see the other side. " . . . There's something else I want to ask you."

"Go on."

"When I jumped off that four-story building… How sure was the R&D department that using Armor Mode mid-fall would save me?"

"To an extent, they calculated that the shock from a thirty foot drop would be successfully absorbed by the suit, assuming you landed in a crouch and not while standing straight, though that goes without saying. That you used the roof of a car as a crumple-zone to absorb some of the shock was actually quite brilliant, and provided us with excellent data about Armor Mode's capabilities."

"I see. I see," the brunet hummed. To be honest, he wasn't thinking along those lines, he was aiming more for the "shock and awe" value, something to make them stop and stare. That and because he wanted to be a badass for whatever reason. As though doing so earned him Badass Rank or something. "What about in the future if I have to go to the ground floor in a hurry?"

Let it be stated for the record that he also wanted to say- "Fear me for I am the night!" -, as he punched Deadshot's lights out, but he didn't have enough hours in the suit to pull off that kind of maneuver without falling flat on his face and looking like a total ass of himself. So… he settled for an arrow to the eye.

"With the new data you've provided, we should be able to safely calculate the upper limits of the Nanosuit's ability to compensate for the immediate deceleration following a sudden descent. This will also provide the groundwork for other deceleration countermeasures in the near future. Though in the future, I'd advise acting with a little more tact. Your EMP Grenade and the cover of darkness were able to prevent any concrete images of yourself from circulating, but your greatest defense right now is secrecy."

"Alright," Virgil nodded. "Also, if it isn't too much trouble, I was wondering when the firing range in The Bunker was going to be complete. The only reason I was able to line up that shot so well was because I used the suit's Speed Mode. It proves I've gotten slow, since I used to be much faster with a bow. Not as fast as that, but that I needed the suit to compensate… makes it feel cheap somehow."

"That's understandable since you've been out of practice, and rest assured, when the firing range is complete, you'll be the first to know. And maybe around that time, I'll upgrade your security clearance so you can come to us on your own terms."

"Thank you," Virgil replied with a nod, anticipating the chance to practice something that'd become such an integral part of him. The Codec cutting off, Virgil sighed as he leaned back into his seat, exhaling deeply as he slumped in his seat. "All things considered, I suppose it could've been worse. And at least I didn't meet up with Batman of all people, or any of his boy-sidekicks. One round of amateur hour is more than enough for me."

"Are you really in any position to talk?" the bandaged man from the front asked, causing Virgil to click his tongue at the barb. Superhero sidekicks or not, there was no fucking way that they had the same zombie-movie survival experience that he did. He'd lived that shit!

"Just drive the damn car," the brunette huffed, resisting the urge to make a Shark Week joke about the guy's face. He had more important things to worry about, like making sure the nanobots in his head didn't send him over the deep end.

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

At the same time on a high rise, perched atop a gargoyle jutting out above the street was a cloaked figure, his face covered with a cowl dominated by pointed ears. His attire consisted of mostly grey with darker shades of black, and while a wing-like cape obscured most of his features, his identity was undeniable.

His gaze following the black-tinted van with spectrometric binoculars, in an attempt to peer through its hull with the Detective Vision built into his mask, on the inside he angrily snapped his fingers upon the discovery that the outside of the vehicle was shielded from external scanning. That the best that Wayne Tech had to offer couldn't peel through it meant he was dealing with an unknown element, definitely military-grade.

The Dark Knight hated unknowns. It's why he spent more time than was probably healthy plopped down in front of the Bat Computer, pouring over every new, credible piece of information he could find about players on a global scale.

Whipping out his Batclaw, the three-pronged claw snapped open upon firing. Hooking into another building, the Dark Knight allowed himself to be pulled from his perch with almost frightening speed. A current running through the memory cloth of his cape, the loose molecules became rigid, forming a batlike wingspan. Courtesy of the Bernouli Effect, the difference in air pressure, combined with the added speed of his Batclaw, enabled him to soar through the night sky in pursuit of the vehicle, readying himself to fire a Bat-Tracer from on high.

However, before he could do so, the same technology in his cowl which enabled him to detect the unmistakable sound of gunfire over a certain caliber, picked up the frighteningly-familiar sound of a pneumatic piston going off.

Years of training to hone his spatial awareness to a razor's edge kicking in, a glint of silver from below caught his eye, a grappling hook suddenly spearing through his left wing. The line drawing taut, the Dark Knight was suddenly hauled out of the air and into a downward spiral. Forced to throw his legs forward and open his wings like a parachute, the caped crusader rolled to a stop before facing his assailant, ready for battle.

That whoever had intercepted him had just joined the short list of people on the entire planet that could get the jump on him, was at the forefront of his mind as he appraised his opponent as they stepped out of the shadows, grappling line retreating as they holstered the tool across the small of their back.

From the neck down, the figure was clad in a black flexible armor, not unlike that of the Batsuit itself. Over their shoulders, forearms, thighs, and shins they were clad in aerodynamic ceramic plates, with the unmistakable contours of hidden tech underneath. Over their chest was an armored flak jacket, and over their head was a streamlined helmet with a golden glasses-like visor. The helmet, armor, and flak jacket were all colored in an urban camouflage that was a mix of black, gray, and red to break up their silhouette. Detective Vision determined that his attacker was perfectly calm with a normal heartrate, as well as that they were armed with a pair of AY69 Micro Machine Guns and a collapsed electrified baton.

It also seemed there was some form of jammer in place keeping him from prying any deeper.

"Hello there, Bats," a feminine voice said to him casually, the armored segments of their uniform bleeding from urban camouflage to a glaring shade of teal. The Dark Knight could think of no reason for such an awful camouflage pattern, other than a signal for unseen reinforcements, or merely a personal preference for that color. "Wanna dance?" she then asked, knees bent before she shot at him at speeds above and beyond that of an Olympic athlete, the Dark Knight bringing his arm up to block.

*KNIGHT AND DAY*

The adventure you've all been waiting for, even if Batman isn't exactly the star of the show. I've needed to do enough world-building before I started mixing DC characters into the mix, mainly because UNTIL now, Virgil hasn't had any reason to cross paths with them. Sure, I incorporated Aquaman and Aqualad earlier, but that really wasn't what you were looking for, they only came in at the end. For the time being, Paula and Laura Crock will have to suffice until reasons.

Oswald Cobblepot's role as a businessman in the DC Universe interested me, and since he never showed up in Young Justice, I figured I'd bring him in for a bit of world-building. In addition, I moved the date that Paula Crock got out of prison forward by a few months, and have made a connection between DC Comics and Borderlands through Paula and Moxxi respectively; more on that later.

As for the "Bear Showdown Compound Bow", that's simply the name of a 2009-made bow I thought was a pretty close match to the one from the show, at least aesthetically. Remember, according to the comics, she was a self-funded heroine before Green Arrow and Batman got to her, so it's only natural I'd use a publicly available bow as her first weapon of choice. Not everyone has "Bruce Wayne money" or "Tony Stark billions".

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the "show", and that you leave your Reviews with questions and comments before moving on with your day.