#1 - New Blood

#1 - New Blood

The night sky was a cloudy gray over the Gotham City Docks. The air was humid and thick, like being wrapped in a wet blanket. The citizens of Gotham hoped for a late spring rain to come and bring some measure of relief, but the weather reports called for at least another week of the same.

Not that it mattered much to the armed men waiting amongst the shipping containers, keeping to the shadows on an already overcast night. They were spread out in defensive positions, automatic weapons at the ready. There were much worse things than the weather to be concerned of at night in Gotham City.

"I don't like this," Reed whispered over to the man standing guard across from him. They were positioned at the corners of opposite shipping containers, roughly ten feet apart. "We're too exposed."

Reed was a tall, lanky man in his early twenties. When you looked at him, with his long, thin hair and his wispy beard, he was anything but intimidating. Not one you would expect to be involved in clandestine activities, yet Gotham was a city that brought the worst out of many.

"Shuddup," Georgie whispered back harshly. He was a man much more in line with social expectations of a criminal. Short, stocky, with a hard square jaw and bald head. His eyes always seemed to be squinting, yet he was a man who noticed everything.

"Nah man, look," Reed whispered back, nodding toward the sky. Shinning bright against the cloud was an oval light with the silhouette of a bat inside. A symbol that men like this knew well.

"So what?" Georgie shrugged, not bothering to look to the sky. "Penguin says..."

"Shhh!" Reed breathed sharply. "He hates being called that!"

The muscles on Georgie's chin flexed as he ground his teeth. "Penguin says dat Bats hasn't been seen in weeks. Gordon just keeps lightin' dat thing to scare us."

Reed ran a slightly shaking hand through his hair. "I dunno. I dunno man. He could jus' be saying that to get us out here. I mean..."

"Shuddup!" Georgie said a little too loudly. He looked behind him self-consciously. A couple faces gave him dirty looks, but the boss didn't seem to notice him.

A couple blissful minutes of silence fell until Reed couldn't contain himself any longer. "E-Even if the Bat is gone, what about all the others?"

Georgie groaned, his frustration finally making him take his eyes off his area and look to Reed. "Like who? Birdboy? Nightfin? Gimme a break. They ain't da Bat. We can handle 'em."

"What about me?"

Georgie started to turn his head toward the voice beside him, but a bullet ripped through his skull before he could react. The single shot rang out through the night air, echoing off the stacks of shipping containers like a bell. Time froze. For that instant the world was still, save for the turning of heads toward the falling body of Georgie.

Then all Hell broke loose.

Two bullets tore through Reed's chest, his long limbs flew back into the shipping container behind him as his corpse slid to the ground. A hail of bullets impacted the corner of the shipping container where the intruder had been, ricocheting wildly and pulverizing Georgie's body.

Bodyguards threw their arms around the Penguin and ran off as the lone, dark figure leapt up on top of a stack of shipping containers. Bullets rained down from twin pistols, every bullet hitting it's target. Three more bodies fell before the Penguin's men got a bead on their target. When they fired on it's position, the figure leapt from one container to another, rolling over the far side to avoid incoming fire.

Tires screeched and the smell of burnt rubber mingled with gunpowder. Shouts echoed amongst the containers, ranging from cries of fury to cries of fear. With their boss and his guards gone, only four men remained. Three of them quickly decided their pay wasn't worth their death and ran off.

Two men turned a corner to find the barrel of a gun waiting for them. Two bullets took the first man down, the second fell back onto the ground and fired wildly. The dark figure held the dead man's body out as a shield, then kicked off the side of the shipping container, leaping over the corpse and firing. When he landed, the man on the ground was dead.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" a burly man screamed as he slammed into the dark figure. Landing on top, the burly man used his rifle to try and choke out the dark figure. A knee to the groin and an elbow to the face later and the burly man was on the ground, a pistol at his temple. One shot followed.

The last man was fleeing for his life, running wildly through the maze of metal containers. His assault rifle hung at his side, slapping his hip as he ran. The starless sky offered no help to the man who kept running into containers as he fled in the dark. Before long, a strong hand impacted his chest, bring him to a stop. A single shot rang out and a bullet went between his eyes.

The muzzle flash revealed, in the last instant before death, his own face reflected on the shiny, red helmet on the figure in front of him.



Gunshots at the Gotham City Docks were reported to the GCPD shortly after midnight. It was not an unusual call. By quarter to one, police cars had surrounded the area. By one o'clock, detectives were called in. Nightwing was already there.

Crouched down on very top of an industrial crane high above the scene, Nightwing looked down through an electronic scope. His feet hung over the front and back of the crane beneath him, but a lifetime of training left him with perfect balance. He barely even had to think about his positioning.

"Whadda we got?" he heard Detective Harvey Bullock ask as he strolled up to the crime scene. Bullock was more round than a detective should be, yet Nightwing was often surprised by the man's capability when danger came. There was a reason Bullock had survived on the police force with the highest mortality rate in America for over twenty years. Even if the man had the perpetual look of someone destined to die young.

"Nine gunshot victims. All armed," Bullock's partner, Detective Renee Montoya explained. Montoya was the opposite of Bullock. Young, fit, and professional. She was also recently promoted. Nightwing wondered if she would go down the same path as Bullock.

"An' all upstanding citizens, no doubt," Bullock laughed to himself. Nightwing took note of the pills he downed with his coffee. "Any IDs?"

"Nothing on them, but I recognize this one," Montoya told her partner, pointing down at mangled corpse being outlined on the ground.

"You can recognize that mess?" Bullock said in a disgusted tone. His partner ignored the comment.

"I picked him up five months ago for assault. Georgie Greco. Open and shut case, but the victim refused to press charges."

"Oracle," Nightwing whispered into the radio hidden in his ear. "Can I get some info on Georgie Greco?"

"On it."

As he waited, Nightwing spotted Commissioner James Gordon's car pull onto the scene. It was unusual for the police commissioner to visit the scene himself. Gordon had always been hands on. In most other cities, nine bodies taken out with ruthless efficiency would also be an unusual crime.

"Gordon's here," Nightwing whispered,

"Mmm hmm."

"I'm gonna go talk to him."

"Sure."

Ignoring the strain in Oracle's voice, Nightwing put his scope away and stood up. Without looking, he fell back off the crane and into the air. A few heart-pounding milliseconds and he shot a grapple toward a tall tower of shipping containers.

His costume, skin tight and black save for the single dark blue stripe that went up his arms and met in a V across his back and chest, helped conceal him in the dark. He kept to the shadows, silently traversing his way toward Gordon.

As he went, Oracle read off her findings. "George Greco. Thirty-seven years old. A lengthy rap sheet I won't go into right now. He lives down in Park Row. Officially unemployed. All pretty typical stuff."

"Any clues to who he was working for?"

"Hmm, he's gotten busted for drunk and disorderly a lot around Mooney's."

"Cobblepot," Nightwing whispered, finally landing on a container above Gordon.

Staying in the shadows, he waited for the ideal moment when Gordon was alone. The Commissioner long ago made a habit of taking time at a crime scene to be off by himself.

"Commissioner," Nightwing said in a low, deep voice. Gordon was good, but Nightwing still noticed the subtle disappointment that it wasn't the right voice.

"Mmm, what was it again? Nightwing?" Gordon said without looking away from the crime scene. His voice was warm yet rough. Years of cigarettes and coffee having taken their toll.

"That's right."

"You masks and your names," Gordon mused. He took the opportunity to light up a cigarette now. "I appreciate sticking to the bird theme, though."

The comment took Nightwing aback. Gordon finally turned toward the shadows and a smile rose from under his white mustache. It was a fleeting moment, an almost fatherly look that quickly faded like the setting of the sun. "I don't suppose you've heard anything? About him?"

Nightwing sighed, a sudden weight on his shoulders. "Nothing. Still following the leads."

"I suppose no news is good news," Gordon said as he took a long drag. "If he were dead the killer would be broadcasting it loud and clear. The street cred alone..."

"Any suspects?" Nightwing asked, changing the subject.

Taking the hint, Gordon nodded and threw his cigarette on the ground. An expensive tendency. "None yet, though the MO looks a lot like that hit down in the Narrows two nights ago."

"Two dead with gunshot wounds on Birch Street?"

Gordon nodded. "That's the one. Less bodies but same style. Looks like the same caliber bullets. We'll know for sure if it's the same gun after forensics tests them."

"What do you have on the victims?" Nightwing asked. "Any connection to Penguin?"

Gordon raised one of his bushy eyebrows. "We're still investigating but we think one was a low level informant for him. How'd you know?"

"One of these victims, George Greco, spends a lot of time at Mooney's."

"Mmm hmm, one of Cobblepot's fronts," Gordon mumbled. Lost in thought, he started cleaning his glasses. "Sounds like the Penguin has made himself an enemy. I'll have my detectives look into who he might have offended recently."

"And I'll go have a talk with Mr. Cobblepot," Nightwing announced as he rose to his feet. He pulled out a grapple and moved to leave, until Gordon cleared his throat.

"Y'know, kid." The look on his face spoke volumes as he tried to find the words. He was a man who resigned himself to the way this city worked and it's need for people like Nightwing. Yet the disappearance of Batman had shaken his faith. "Look...just be careful."

It was Nightwing's turn to offer a smile. It was just as surprising to Gordon. "Always."



It was almost two o'clock in the morning and the night was still bustling. It was Friday night/Saturday morning after all. If the citizens of Gotham knew how to do anything, it was throw a party. Almost like it was their last night on Earth.

Most teenagers would be out having fun. Going on dates, sneaking into clubs, or even gaming all night. The teen vigilante known as Robin, however, spent his nights in a much nobler pursuit.

"Patrolling." Robin mumbled aloud for the fifth time that night. "Goddamn patrolling."

The sixteen year old leapt from rooftop to rooftop, his black and yellow cape flowing in the wind. His boots and pants were black, while red covered his chest with dark green short sleeves and gloves. The yellow stylized R symbol sat over his right breast, his own design. It was his slight alteration to the Robin costume that helped make it his own.

This was the third night in a row that Nightwing had sent him patrolling. Tonight it was in Midtown. Even that had been a fight. After two nights of patrolling Uptown and Glendale and finding nothing but an attempted drunk driver and a kid vandalizing a billboard on a dare, Robin had to beg and plead to get Midtown patrol.

"Beware, Gotham's underbelly! Robin, the Boy Wonder, shall put a stop to all your jaywalkers and litterers!"

Coming to a stop on the corner of an apartment building rooftop, Robin looked down to see a midnight screening of The Gray Ghost Rises letting out at the theater. He watched silently, scanning the crowd for any signs of...well anything.

"Who does he take me for?" Robin whispered, his eyes behind his black domino mask narrowing. "I'm Robin. I earned this. I..."

"Need to add the Complainer to your list of titles." The sudden intrusion of Oracle's voice over his earpiece nearly caused him to lose his balance. "Robin, the Boy Wonder, the Complainer."

Regaining some of his composure, Robin turned and put his back up against the waist high wall of the roof. "Have you been listening this whole time?"

"No. Just off and on. Checking in to make sure you're okay."

"Not cool. You're like my own Big Brother."

"No, Nightwing is like that. Which is why he's trying to keep you out of the thick of things until we find Batman."

"And how's that going?" Robin already knew the answer. In fact, his question was tinged with venom he instantly regretted. "I'm...I'm sorry. I just..."

"I know. Believe me, I know. I've been there. But look at it from his perspective. First Jason, then me, now Batman. Our little family has lost a lot over the years and I guarantee in his heart he blames himself for all of it, no matter how stupid and thick headed that is. He just wants to make sure you're safe."

"Safe as houses," Robin sighed. "And just as grounded."

Oracle continued her pep talk but Robin quickly stopped listening. His eyes turned toward a distant rooftop, about three blocks away. A dark figure was leaping across the rooftops. It was hard to make out in the dark from so far away, but the figure was fast and fluid.

"Hold on Oracle," Robin whispered as he took off in pursuit. "I've got something. Nightwing's not in the area, is he?"

"No he's on his way to the Iceberg Lounge."

Had his focus not been on the mysterious figure, Robin would have been offended at not being asked to go with Nightwing. Instead he concentrated on his pursuit. The figure was fast but not in a hurry, allowing Robin to catch up quickly. He kept his distance, always leaving at least two rooftops between them.

When they reached the end of the block, the figure fired off a grapple of some kind to swing across the street. Robin did the same. The street lights revealed a hint of a red gleam as the figure crossed the street.

They came up to a parking garage. The figure used another grapple to rise up to the top floor. Robin followed, only to find the figure nowhere to be seen when he reached the roof. He immediately took a defensive position, his collapsible bo staff springing into his hands.

Only about a half dozen cars were on this floor. Robin scanned them quickly. A tiny glint coming from behind a blue Prius was all the warning he had before shots were fired. That warning saved his life, as Robin dashed behind the nearest car.

"Robin, what's going on?"

"I got it!"

Keeping low, Robin ran from his position to another car about ten feet away. More gunshots rang out, and Robin threw two Batarangs in response. One impacted the Prius and the other hit the wall behind the figure. The gunfire stopped for only a split second, Robin's apparent miss barely acknowledged. All part of the plan.

Silently counting to three, Robin leapt up over the car he was behind as the Batarang that impacted behind the figure exploded. It was a small explosion, not meant to injure but to distract. Robin quickly closed the distance, slid across the hood of the Prius, and landed both feet into the figure's red helmet.

The figure, now obviously a man by his build, fell to one knee and raised his pistol. Robin slapped it out of his hand with his bo staff, then followed through with a downward swing. The red helmeted man caught the bo staff in his left hand, used Robin's momentum to pull him in, and slammed his right fist into Robin's face.

Tossing aside the staff, the man tried to stomp on Robin. Despite the hard hit to his face, Robin quickly spun his legs around, dodging the attack and kicking the man in the behind, knocking him forward and giving Robin a chance to flip up onto his feet.

"Not bad, kid," the man laughed, his tone mocking. "Nice to see you're not all costume and no bite."

"Who are you?" Robin asked, readying a Batarang in each hand. "Why'd you attack me?"

"You were chasin' me, kid." In one quick, fluid motion, the man reached behind him, pulled another pistol, and turned to fire. He got two shots off before one of the Batarangs knocked his gun aside. One of the bullets grazed the Kevlar weave of Robin's cape as he dashed forward.

Staying low, Robin kicked the side of the man's left knee, causing him to stumble. Continuing his motion, Robin turned and slammed his elbow into the man's sternum. He felt the armor underneath his black leather jacket. The hit wouldn't have the impact he hoped.

The man countered quickly, grabbing Robin's wrist and elbowing him in the side. It knocked some of the wind out of Robin, but ignoring the pain, he also wrapped his own hands around the man's wrist and brought his legs up to tighten them around his chest and neck, using his falling momentum to flip the man onto the pavement.

Groaning against the pressure on his shoulder, the man flipped a hidden dagger into his free hand and used it to stab Robin in the shin. The armor of his boot and costume protected him for the most part, but it was enough that Robin pulled his leg away, releasing his hold.

Moving at a surprising speed Robin had yet to see out of him, the man got up to one knee, punched him in the kidney, grabbed him by the cape where it met his neck, and slammed his helmeted face into Robin's forehead. The Boy Wonder crumpled to the ground. When the white light cleared from his vision, he found a boot on his chest and the barrel of a gun in his face.

"Again, not bad kid. Nice to see he didn't skimp on your training."

"Who..." was all Robin could mutter. His vision was still blurry. He heard the drawing back of the hammer, the gun ready to fire. Was this it? Was this how his brief time as Robin ended? Was Nightwing right about him?

"Perhaps if he trained better, things would have turned out different, eh? No matter. Bats is gone, from what I hear. This city is dying and needs new blood to keep it alive. That'll be me. Tell the circus boy that Gotham belongs to the Red Hood."

A single gunshot fired. Robin squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, waiting for an impact that never came. After what seemed like an eternity, he opened his eyes. The Red Hood was gone. A bullet smoked from the pavement six inches to the right of Robin's head. His heart pounded. His ears rang. When he got to his feet, his stomach turned over and emptied itself onto the pavement. But he was alive.

-To Be Continued-