DCAU Beyond: Gotham Knights [IC]

He heard footsteps on the roof, and as a matter of fact, it wasn't even Christmas now, so, it definitely couldn't be Santa. Not that Santa would even wanna go to Bludhaven, a city almost as tainted as it's sister-city of Gotham. The man's name was Richard Grayson, a middle-aged retired Superhero. He was home alone, because his son was in Gotham at school. It was in the middle of the day, so, who would be dumb enough to break into a house in broad-daylight?

Unluckily for Richard, it wasn't a matter of a break-in. Richard heard a window break, and footsteps in the upper floor. He silently walked towards the door, which he locked. He wasn't letting anyone out that way, at least. He grabbed a Golf-Club from the umbrella stand next to the door, as he made his way up the stairs.

He couldn't even see what happened, before he was knocked out, and taken away from his home.


Batcave: Gotham City
19th April 14:36

“Terry, Matt.” The old man had begun, as he sat at the Batcomputer, looking at Police reports, when he found the missing persons report on Richard Grayson. His former Robin. The man, was in fact Bruce Wayne, he was Batman. At least, he had once been. His title had been passed on years ago, to someone, whom he himself believed to be able to surpass himself as the Caped Crusader of Gotham. “ I need the both of you to rendezvous here. I have a special task for the both of you. It's about an old friend.” Bruce had simply told them. He had called both of them on their Cellphones.

He would await for them to arrive, he lifted himself up, using his cane, he hadn't been very fond of the modern-technology's ways to push age back a few years. So, he was going mainly natural, very few meds, he didn't even have a pacemaker, but, fair enough, it took it's toll on the old man.

The aged Dog, Ace the Bathound sat in the cave with him, awaiting the Dynamic Duo.



BludHaven
Meanwhile.

Julian Grayson. An athlete, one of the best at Gotham High, and it was what had gained him the Wayne Scholarship, to be able to go to the school, at all. As for some reason, the schools in Gotham cost quite a lot, but on the other hand, they were a heck of a lot better than the alternatives in Bludhaven. Problem was that it took over three hours to travel between them. Something that Julian wasn't fond off.

He himself hadn't learned of his father's little vanishing act. Something he didn't learn, until he got home, and was met by friends of the family, namely his father and his late mother. Julian was confused, and worried. What was going on?

Hamilton Hill High School
19th of April, 14:45

The Freshman known as Matthew McGinnis had only just finished his final class of the day before he found himself throwing his backpack over his shoulder and plugging a pair of earbuds into his cell phone. He merely tapped a small icon labeled "Voice-mail". A smile appeared on his face when he hung up the phone, wrapping his earbuds around it and sliding it back in his pocket as he pushed open the back doors of the High School, walking past his usual bus and giving a slight signal to the driver when the doors opened, simply continuing on his way down the road, and eventually, out of the school zone. The walk to Wayne Manor was a long one. Matt preferred it that way, it gave him time to think. Knowing from the way Terry spoke about him, a "special task" from the former Batman, especially those involving his old friends, either involved a hefty amount of explosions, an almost annoying amount of espionage, or fetching the fine china and teapot. Seeing as how this was the first time he had ever been called into the Batcave following his taking up the mantle of The Boy Wonder, Matt presumed it would be one of the former.

Matt arrived at Wayne Manor some time later, and showed himself into the gates and up the rather large walkway. Presuming Terry and Bruce were already waiting for him in the Batcave, Matt didn't bother knocking before opening the front door. He whistled a tune as he closed the door behind him and made his way to the large Grandfather-clock in the main library and study room. Turning the arms to the appropriate setting, Matt could hear the barks of the Great Dane Ace from within the cave as he made his way down the stone steps. Opening the metallic door at the bottom of the stairs, Matt walked in to see ace nearly running towards him, going in between his legs and nearly jumping up onto his hind legs to nip and lick at the boy's face. Matt chuckled and droped his backpack to the ground, rubbing his hand along the dog's back. Truly, Ace had taken quite a liking to Matt following his introduction to the Batcave, at least, he was far more accepting of Matt than he was of Terry.

The newest Robin peered at the Batcomputer and saw his elder mentor. Ace shoved his face against Matt's chin before he got the chance to speak. "So, where's Terry?" he asked, scratching the back of the dogs ears.

Blurs of memory flashed across the man's mind's eye as he stirred from his slumber. The familiar sounds of loud new age music, flashes of bright lights of from all of the colour spectrum. Clinks of glasses and splashes of drinks as girl giggled and men roared with laughter. Now waking from, what would be for anyone else a very uncomfortable hangover, Drake Murdoch grinned happily as his hands found the warmth of a naked female body on either side of him.
"Too bad I can't remember the best part of last night, perhaps we'll have to do it again." He muttered half awake as he stretched his arms to pull his partners in closer only to be jolted fully awake by hard cold steel against his naked skin.

"That's my wife and daughter you're in bed with your animal." A male voice said as a the muzzle of the gun urged him to get up from the bed. The women on either side shrieked at the sound of the familiar voice, each scrambling to cover themselves in front of the other man. Murdoch simply grinned from ear to ear looking down the barrel of the gun.

"Mine's bigger." He said as a shot rang out. The man grabbed at his shoulder as the a smoking hole appeared by Murdoch's groin. Throwing aside the blanket, the naked man climbed out of bed, spinning the gun around. "Never go to sleep without a fire arm nearby. Especially not on this side of Gotham." He began to speak, pulling on a pair of shorts that had some how ended up on the archaic looking ceiling fan. "Now, your wife and daughter are fine. Probably great even, my endurance hasn't shortened over the years any." He winked at the blushing wife, the daughter looked enticed, perhaps she was even trying to remember the night.
"I'm afraid however it won't work out anyway." He grunted as he pulled on a pair of pants, tucking his gun in the back of the belt. "I have a life style and a reputation to keep up with." The woman's husband groaned on the ground. "Oh by the way he needs a medic." Murdoch said pointing, before he ran at the nearby window and jumped. Pressing a button on his wrist, a motorcycle revved up and took to the air. The handle bars passed underneath him at the last possible minute before he hit the ground. Revving the engine, the modern age motorcycle shot up into the air, the repulsor lift engines long ago replaced the wheels. Merging with Gotham's lunch rush traffic, Drake headed towards his own apartment.

Landing the bike on his small balcony. Drake jumped off, and grabbed a large bag off the back of the bike and headed inside. Ripping the bag open, his costume and gear toppled onto the floor. Drake smiled as he quickly undressed and redressed himself. Looking at himself briefly in the mirror, he threw up his large hood as he activated his mask and the system interface. Turning around once he again, he admired his Thrillkiller look. Reaching into his belt, he pulled out a small vapor spray. Lifting his mask briefly he opened his mouth and inhaled deeply as he sprayed the Terror on himself. The effect of the drug on any other man would send them into a frenzy of fear but it barely made the hairs on the back of Murdoch's neck stand up as he grinned from the rush. Pulling a small canteen from the inside of his jacket, he swigged back the rum before pulling his mask done and running towards a window. On the first attempt he ran flat into a wall.
"Who put that there?" He muttered to himself, before he more or less fell out the window. Plunging towards the ground, Thrillkiller activated his repulsor pads, attracting himself to the side of the building. Using the repulsors he rode down the side of the building like a luge rider. As he neared a balcony, Thrillkiller kicked off from the wall, reaching to his back he pulled out his hoverboard. Activating, the repulsors at the base of his boots, he launched off the balcony, throwing the board beneath his feet. Slamming against wall, he grinded down it, until the repulsors reversed and sent him soaring up the side of the wall. Rocketing over the edge of the roof, he came down zipping off across the top of the roof top.

Had Thrillkiller been more aware, he would have realized that from a few rooftops away, a man had a bow trained on him as he moved across the Gotham skyline.

"Oh, I got away from it. The little shithead has a range afterall," She fumed through straight pink lips and a posture of crossed armed hostility. Then Kara Zor-El paused; long dark lashes blinking as the thought hit her: "Of course...it's the Stratosphere...but at least he has one." A sentiment of relief cemented in all but inaudible sigh, her hands falling to her sides. Supergirl was forcing herself to relax.

"I'm sorry. That's...creepy beyond measure. I can't really imagine having a telepath invading my...sexysexy thoughts."

There was a long moment when the superhero in the room stared at the mortal in the room. Then the superhero began to smile, and before it come finish she was laughing. Eyes sparkling in the bright sunlight that poured in the apartment that was nothing but windows at it's exterior walls. The apartment also happened to be on the one hundreth and twenty sixth floor of the Park Tower on Metropolis' upper east side. Although, Kara supposed, 'apartment' wasn't the term. The place was a neo-modern palace highrise paradise.

According to the NON-superhero in the room, it belonged to Atlantic Media Corp. A media conglomerate that had recently bought the Daily Planet from it's original ownership charter. The fact seemed to make Jacob frown...and Kara wished she understood why. Afterall, Jacob Estes was maybe her most favorite human being in the universe at the moment.

"Sexysexy thoughts?" Supergirl transformed into Kara Zor-El right before the reporter's eyes. Her lips pressed into a playful, bright, grin. Her eyes went wide and alive with light. Eyes that Jacob Estes had written were 'eyes with a little devil in them on the face of an angel.' Religious conservatives had an issue with the wording, Jacob had later told her. Kara knew what those were. Zod had been one of those, in his way. The line had appeared in the article 'The Pod Girl', the very one where Estes had introduced Supergirl to the world.

Everyone knew the history; raised with her conciousness in a virtual reality and her body on a complicated process of micro-biotics and stimulants. Her first breath of air on Earth was the first breath of real air she could remember. Everyone knew that, now, too.

The non-superhero tried to suppress a laugh, and finally pushed himself to move on with a quick look to his notepad. "I think that's...it. Economy, Congress and Parliament, favorite movies--"

"---very important, Sixteen Candles, Clueless--"

Jacob Estes was grinning, despite himself. "The classics. Got it. Favorite place to be?"

Supergirl didn't hesitate a beat, "The moon. It's so quiet, so peaceful. And a refuge from creepy telepaths who want to accost me."

"And annoying reporters."

"Ohyeah." The reporter stopped, and the superhero smiled. "You're okay. Thanks for the weekly chat. What's next week's theme?"

"Feminism and Super Colliders."

Kara chuckled as she floated across the room, the bottom edge of her cape brushing her legs as she moved slowly towards the sliding glass door that was open and the patio that looked out over the heart of Metroplis from a view rivaled only by LuthorCorp Towers. "I'm a fan of both. Seeya next week, Jacob."

Kara looked the human in the eyes, and smiled at him. Smiled at him. It was a sign, a signal. One she knew as she lifted off from the penthouse she would spend the entire flight to Gotham City debating. She'd even fly at a relative slow pace...to give her some time to herself, for once. The little telepathic creep wasn't going anywhere in Gotham. And if he did, she'd find him before he could get the jump on her again.

Right now the open sky and a mind full of thoughts was more than enough for her to focus on. The rest would wait until she fell back down to Earth.

Deep in the underbelly of Gotham, in a dank alleyway far below the tops of the endless skyscrapers, far away from the main roads, a door at the bottom of stairwell leading down, the walls above and sides next to the stairwell covered in graffiti. The door however, was clean, possibly painted recently, if a bit old and dented. There were a few signs, one reading ‘Vintage Firearms’ and a smaller one underneath with ‘Licenses required’. The owner was legit, to the dismay of the potential customers who hang out on this part of town; the true dregs of society indeed. He was also not one to be trifled with, as a one or two punks with broken noses found out when they tried to tag his door, only to find it hitting them in their face, before being forced to repaint it. A third sign hung on the doorknob, flipped to ‘Open’.

A customer walked in, face covered in makeup and outfit colorful. He was a tall and lanky member of the Joker gang; that much was clear to anyone. The door opened into a lit, medium sized room, walls covers with racks of firearms, all old slugthrowers, not a laser pistol in sight. Shotguns, rifles, pistols, a replica sniper rifle or two, a counter in the corner holding the register full of ammunition, another cabinet behind the counter with rarer guns locked inside. Behind the counter, a man leaned back in a chair, legs on the counter, newspaper in hand. At the entrance of the customer, he dropped the newspaper, folding it and plopping it on the counter. The store owner was a black man, not very tall, hair short and black, face only beginning to show its age, a scar visible on his cheek. He wore a baggy black coat over a blue shirt, a red bandanna tied over his forehead, and fitting jeans. Sitting up in his chair, he looked at the customer with hard eyes, nodding as he said, “Good day. How can I help you sir?” There was a bit of sarcasm laced in those words, but Omar Brice was a professional vintage arms dealer, and was careful to act professional.

The gang dreg snorted, not appreciating the stellar customer service. As he approached the desk, Omar continued, “Pistols? Revolvers? Shotguns? Rifles? We got a real beauty here. Weapon collector’s would crap themselves if they knew I had it.” Omar raised his arm and tapped the cabinet behind him, pointing at a semi-automatic rifle. “Gewehr 43. Germans used it during World War II. Perfect condition,” Omar smiled inwardly: he got it a decade ago during a fight against time traveling Nazis. It was technically wasn't even twenty years old, but the ones it was made alongside likely long gone by now. Standing up, he added, “You’re probably looking for something a little less pricey though. Can I interest you in a revolver? The weapon of choice for men of robustness and class.”

Glaring a bit, the dreg took out a laser pistol, aiming it at Omar, saying, “Yeah. I’ll take them all. Creds in the register too. Shall we call it a five-finger discount?”

“You ain’t gonna have five fingers to touch yourself if you don’t put that gun away, boy,” Omar snapped, eyes locked on the dreg’s, intimidating him into not looking away. By the look in his shifty eyes, Omar could tell this guy’s story. He was doing this on his own, probably trying to get prestige in the Jokers, or perhaps doing it on a dare. He wasn’t holding the gun easily, and he was sweating a bit too much. However, his gun didn’t drop. “You’re seriously trying to hold up a gun seller? You ever play the Grand Theft Autos? Nah, probably not, they’re too old.” Omar had his attention, staring down the boy. While he was focused on him, his hand worked quickly, a pistol resembling a revolver appearing in his hand from a hip holster under his coat, the coat barely moving at all.

“Just shut the hell up and back down!” the Joker punk yelled, grip tightening.

“If you hold a gun, you best be ready to shoot it,” Omar said, not breaking his gaze. Not a moment later, he saw the shift in the thug’s eyes: the focus, the readiness of someone prepared to kill. Omar hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but to not prepare for it would be a mistake that would cost him. If he made mistakes like that often, he wouldn’t be standing here. As the thugs trigger finger twitched, the man once know as Twitch moved first, hurling himself to the side, raising his gun, safety released with a click. The click was drowned out by the blast of the laser pistol, which pierced through the glass window of the cabinet. Omar raised his own pistol, firing with amazing accuracy. The bullet impacted the pistol, damaging it and blasting it from the thug’s hand. He grabbed his hand, crying out in pain as Omar moved in, reaching his hand out, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him closer, slamming his brain case into his skull, knocking him out for the count. He let go and the thug crashed to the floor. Rubbing his forehead, he slipped his hand under the counter, hitting a button that would bring the cops to the door in a few minutes. As if nothing had happened, he inspected the damages, noticing that his antique, WWII rifle was ruined, split in half by a laser. Shaking his head, he grabbed his newspaper and sat back down, waiting for the police to arrive.

As Ted watched his father's coffin being lowered into the ground, he promised himself one thing. He would not cry.

Theodore Nigma stood with his eyes on the grave, in the center of Gotham Cemetery. Around him, stood the people who his father had known. Some he recognized. His mother for instance. She stood in silence. She wasn't crying, though her eyes told Ted everything he needed to know. Next to her stood a very bored looking man. Ted's step-father. Why he was here, Ted had no idea. Mother had probably invited him. Ted tried to control himself as he turned to gazed around at the other guests. Some cried, though most simply watched. He had no idea who half of them were. Maybe they were also his family? Maybe he had a half-sister here somewhere. Or a bunch of cousins. He shook the thought out of his mind however, where the sound of wood meeting earth met his ears.

The coffin led in place at the bottom of the grave. It was jet black in colour, with a symbol engraved in the centre. As dirt began to cover the surface, the redhead turned away, and began to make his way up the path. He was stopped though by a tap on the shoulder. Turning, he came face to face with the most horrible looking old man he had ever seen. The man had only a few clumps of hair left and his whole head was covered in wrinkles. The mans nose stretched out from his face into a jagged point. The man wore a tophat on his head, and a monocle over his right eye. His cane, after further inspection was in fact a purple umbrella with the handle in the shape of what looked to be a bird. A penguin perhaps?

"You're.... You're Eddie's boy." The man said, his voice low and croaky. "The names Cobblepot. I've known your father... for years!"

The name was familiar, though Ted could place it. Smiling, he shook the Cobblepot's outstretched hand before replying. "I'm Ted. So you and him were friends?"

Cobblepot smiled. "Yes, we were! Good ol' Eddie was the only one who I could converse with on an equal level. A great man!" Cobblepot sighed and looked back towards the grave before looking Ted in the eyes. "He would have been proud of you." He smiled, before darting his wrinkled hand into his pockets.

"Thank you, Sir" Ted blushed slightly.

"No problem my good boy!" Cobblepot removed his hand from his jacket pocket and offered Ted a small piece of card. "If you're ever around, free drinks in my ol' nightclub. Now I must go. Business meeting in ten minutes. Nice talking to you."

Ted thanked him before slipping the card into his pocket. Turning, he looked back down the path at the grave, and managed a smile. He thought back to the symbol on the coffin. It had been a question mark. Ted knew exactly why. His father, in the days of his youth had roamed the underworld of Gotham. He was the Riddler, foe of the Dark Knight. A clever man. A clever yet deadly man. The Riddler had been one of the Batman's greatest enemies. Thanks to his time at the library, Ted had learnt that his father had made several enemies. He had also learnt that his father was murdered. Ted was sure that whoever did it was from his fathers past due to the fact in the last few years, the man had seldom left his home. It had to be someone from his past. Another masked villain most likely. That was why after he was done with this funeral, he was going to Wayne Manor. He was going to seek the help of Batman.

"So, that's been your life lately?"

"Yes. Pretty much. A load of travelling, and consultations and just generally staying relevant in the fashion world. It's really not as hard as most people lead you to believe."

"So, Mari, can I just call you Mari?"

"Why yes Alan, of course you can."

"Mari. What does a woman like you do in her free time. Obviously, your exercise and are in the fashion world. But for fun and when no one's looking, what does one of the worlds leading models do in her free time?" The interviewer leaned in, and Mari could smell the tasteful cologne wafting towards her. Though it was really a scandalous question, the reporter's eyes made it seem like he had just asked for her deepest and darkest secret.

Which, he might as well have.

"Well Alan," Mari began, not missing a beat, "If I went over everything, we'd be here all night. Let's just say, a girl's just gotta......" she looked the man head on and flashed her brilliant smile, "keep herself busy."

"Well," Alan said, shuffling his note cards together, and uncrossing his legs, "It looks like that's all the time we have. Mari, it's been a pleasure having you. And I can't wait to write up this article."

--------------------------------

Pulling up the collar of her coat and donning her shades, Mari strolled out of the building at a brisk pace. Being a former supermodel had it's advantages and draw-backs. This was one of those necessary evils. Interviewing. But, now that it was over, she could finally enjoy the rest of Gotham.

It had been a few days since she had officially moved here. This is where she would settle down, and stave her hand from being too involved in the industry. And this was a good place for her to do that. She could be a consultant just enough to keep herself marginally busy, but not have to devote herself to the craft again. The city seemed like it had a lot to offer.....for both sides of her. Crime was a little rampant, though the resurgence of the bat family had started to put things in check.

She still had yet to decide whether she would try and team up with the old Bats. She could be a team player, but a strong woman like her saw the advantages of working alone.

She gingerly touched the fox headed amulet under her clothes, a smile playing on her lips.

Tonight she would go on patrol and let out some steam and get a good workout in as well.

Besides, she'd altered her costume a bit so her heels were a tad higher and sharper. She'd been itching to try them out.

Terry McGinnis, Theodore Nigma, and Matt McGinnis.
(A collab between Sloth, Natty, and Myself.)

"I can't keep doing this, Terry." Dana's irritation echoed from her voice. Those that stood in the college halls tried not to listen in but, the prying eyes could be seen. Dana had been through Terry's bullshit for years now. Being late to nearly all dates, not showing up half the time, hurt but, never telling her what happened and even the time he couldn't be by her side when she was in the hospital. She loved the man more then life itself regardless of his crap, but now she just couldn't stand to be hurt anymore.

"Dana....I know. I'm trying to make things better." These were the only words able to leave his lips. They unfortunately fell to deaf ears as Dana turned to talk away. Stopping for a second, she looked back at him with loving eyes. "It's over Terry McGinnis. Lose my number." Her words hit him like a brick, crushing the heart of Terry. This would the be the last time he spoke with her. Being the Batman really cut into one's social life. Before he could take another move, his phone went off to signal him that Bruce wanted him.

"Damn it old man. Bad timing as always."

********************

The taxi screeched to a halt in front of the Wayne Manor. The sun was just starting to set as Ted leaned forward to pay his fare before climbing out the taxi door. It had been a long and peaceful drive from the cemetery, which was good. It gave Ted some time to think. Maybe Batman wouldn't be so kind? Maybe he was just wasting his time? Maybe his father's death had really just been a simple murder, by your average murderer? Ted just knew though that is wasn't. Maybe it had something to do with what the man knew? He had discovered the identity of the Batman after all. As well as plenty of other secrets of Gotham's Underworld. His Father's laptop told him that at the very least. Maybe Edward Nigma knew someone he shouldn't know? Whatever it was, Bruce Wayne knew. He was the god damn Batman after all!

Giving a short wave to the taxi drive as the car began to disapear behind the treeline, he began to make his way up the gravel path towards the large oak doors. Noticing that there was no doorbell, Ted reached up to the grand brass knocker, letting it slam against the wood with a loud slam. He waited, tapping his foot impatiently.
Matt was already up and staring into the screens of the Batcomputer by the time the stranger had set his first foot on the grounds of Wayne Manor. His hand was on his chin, looking at the man through the numerous surveillance cameras of the area. It was true that Bruce Wayne liked to feel.....safe, when people attempted to contact him. Bruce was solem as ever as he placed his hands together and stared at the screen. The Mentor and Student spoke nearly simultaneously, Matt emerging from a deep thought, and the elder just realizing who it was. "Theodore Nigma." The duo shared a glance at each other, and Matt couldn't help but raise a curious eyebrow. "Now what would the son of the Riddler be doing here?" The Boy Wonder looked to his mentor, putting his hands behind his back as Bruce scratched his chin. "No idea, he never took up the family business..." Matt already knew this. The boy now known as Robin had fished through almost all of the Batcomputer's files, read up on all of The Dark Knight's former enemies, their bases of operation, dates of birth, immediate family, and of course, their descendants, and quite possibly, their successors.

The teen turned his back and began walking towards the small elevator back up to Wayne Manor's extensive library. Why Bruce had two entrances to the Batcave originating from the same room, he'd never know. 'Here I was expecting it to be Terry.' Matt thought as he let his hand slide off of the metallic button inside the small shaft, placing it back into his familiar pocket as the elevator doors snaked close.

Matt reemerged from the elevator as a bookcase in Wayne Manor slid clockwise to reveal the compartment. 'Now why would Teddy Nigma come to Wayne Manor?' Matt's brain raced while his eyes kept solemn. He grabbed a small, leather bound book near the top of the oaken shelf, simply opening it and allowing the spare Batarang to fall into his left hand. Replacing the book in it's spot, the Boy Wonder hid the projectile in the back of his pants as he turned into the main hallway of the mansion. 'Edward Nigma's funeral was just a couple hours ago..normally the family would still be greiving...there's no plausible reason for the Riddler's son to turn up at Wayne Manor unless...' Matt kept a stern look on his face as he turned the knob on the nearly ancient front door of the house. 'Unless he knows. Damnit Terry, where the hell are you?'

Of all the things that could happen, Ted was not expecting to be greeted by a kid. He had expected Mr Wayne, or even a maid or butler at the very least, but a kid was just ridiculous. Raising an eyebrow, he looked the kid up and down. Could this be... No. Of course not! The new Batman probably had no connection to Bruce. This couldn't be Robin! Then again, it could be the boy wonder. It would explain how Bats and him got all their fancy gadgets and toys.

"Is Mr Wayne here?" Ted asked, peering inside over the head of the boy. The old man was nowhere to be seen!
'Can't say that wasn't the obvious choice for the first question.' Matt slid the door inwards slightly in order to regain the man's attention. "Might I ask why you are here, Mr. Nigma?"

"I'm here about the death of my father." Ted replied cooly. If he knew who he was, then surely the boy knew about the old family buisiness of dressing up in green and terrorising people. "I assumed Mr Wayne would be able to shed some light on the subject of his murderers. That is, if he really is still the world's greatest detective"
Matt's eyes enlarged for a but a split second before reaching his left hand back towards the weapon in his back pocket. 'The Riddler, murdered? Sure, he had enemies, but there were absolutely no signs of foul play on the body...poison? Maybe. Knowing the underworld of Gotham, it isn't entirely unbelievable.' Matt tightened his grip on the door knob, preparing to slam the door shut as soon as possible if need be. Truly, stress often got the better of him in these situations. "You seem to have Bruce Wayne confused with the Batman. I'm sorry to say he is not feeling well at the moment. Perhaps you should leave a message for him with his assisstant." Matt motioned his head for the man to look behind him, where his brother was walking ever so silenltly up the curving cement path.

The movement of the boy's hand to his back pocket was not unnoticed by Ted. He took a small step back. If this child was the Boy Wonder and he was reaching for a weapon, then he was surely done for. "Confused?" Asked Ted with a smile. "I was on the assumption that the two were the same person! How silly of me, my good ol' father must have been wrong!" He looked back along the path to watch Mr Wayne's "assisstant".

*****************

The batmobile...well more adequately the Batmobile under disguise as a normal car, raced through the city streets. The whole ride was an exstensive memory of Dana and the time he spent with her. It hurt like hell to lose someone so close to him after so many years though it didn't compare to his father's murder. He neared Wayne Manor, his current residence, with his mind still on the things with Dana. That's when a sound buzzed through his radio followed by a raspy voice.

"Terry. A man claiming to know my identity....as Batman."

"Yeah so? A lot of people did that."

"But he's here. Talking to Matt. I have a camera traced on him. He's the son of The Riddler, Edward Nigma."

"Could this be a problem?"

"Maybe. Handle this subtly."

"I'm Batman. I bleed subtle."

The car was elegantly parked within the garage where it would be lowerd into the batcave and Terry instead stayed outside to take the gravel path up to the manor's front door where Matt and The Riddler's son was located. Walking closer to the two as they talked, his eyes noticed his little brother head motioning toward him...or more so for Nigma to look behind him. "Hmm....excuse me. Might I ask what's going on here?"

After looking at the newcomer's face, Ted instantly realized that they were brothers. That meant that if the younger one was Robin, this guy was probably Nightwing or something. That meant trouble. He had to choose his words wisely here. "Your brother was just informing me that Mr Wayne was unwell." He looked between them with a smile. "Though I'm guessing that is just a pile of horse shit, as if he was ill he would just have two kids looking after him!"

"Well too bad this kid is twenty-one so, I think I'm perfectly capable at watching over him." Terry replied with a smile, a false smile as being irritated on top of heart break was not a good combination. The older brother walked past Nigma and to the side of his brother. "But yes, Mr. Wayne is not feeling too good. So I ask that you kindly leave the premises." Terry's right hand was already balled into a fist as today was not the day to push him.

Letting out a sigh, he took a step back. "Well, I'll just come back another day." Before leaving though, Ted decided he might as well let them know he'd figured it out. The looks on their faces might even lift his spirits. With that in mind, he stopped and looked back at the two. "Thought I'd let you know, that it's pretty obvious that tiny here is Robin and that you're just another one of the Bat brats!"

Terry's eyebrow twitched from the man's words. "Bat.....brat..." The words were soft but, full of irritation. This man must have been looking forward to pissing off someone to day because he had done a fine job. "And this coming from the Riddler's little bastard." He took a step forward, looking directly into the eyes of the son of the Riddler. From a little intercom that Bruce hoped at least was wearing in his ear, his voice came out loud enough for the younger brother to hear. "This situation needs not go farther. Defuse it now." The command was issued quickly.

At those words, Ted also snapped. He balled his hand into a fist and glared back into the man's eyes. "What.. What did you just say to me?" He asked, daring him to say it. His face was red with anger and he knew he would probably get his ass kicked, but Nigma didn't care. He needed to hit something today, and this punk was right up his alley.

Matt reacted to his mentor's voice almost instantaneously, jumping between both his brother and the progeny of the Riddler, using his strength to push them away from each other. "Enough!" Matt glared at both of the fools. He attempted to put on a kind face before turning to Theodore. "I apologize for my brother's rudeness, Mr. Nigma, but I will have to second his request for you to remove yourself from Wayne Manor. You will not find Mr. Wayne here, and quite frankly, I would not like to clean up your blood from the pavement." Matt lowered his hands from the both of them. "Now, if you'll excuse us, Theodore, we must return to our duties."

"But...I..." Ted stared in confusion and anger at the boy. Had he just been spoken to like a child, by a child? He opened his mouth to say something before quickly closing it. There was only one way he was going to see Bruce. It would be painful, but It would also be necessary if he wanted the mans help. "I'm sorry about this" He said before sucking in one last breath. He closed his eyes and prepared for the worst as he swung his fist towards the older brother.

Matt couldn't tell what happened in the next few seconds, his body just...reacted. At the sight of the incoming fist, Matt removed his hand from his brother and instinctively spun around, grabbing the fist of the Riddler's son while simultaneously pivoting and manipulating his weight, before he knew it, the Riddler was on the ground, and Matt had slammed his knee into his arm while simultaneously snapping the man's hand out of place, arguably breaking several bones.

The boy leaned back after a couple of seconds and exhaled. He was completely silent, and his body simply fell to the ground. 'Stupid...that was stupid. Bruce's going to murder me.' Matt had his hands on his head. "What do we do now?" he asked to noone in particular, his voice heavier than usual.

The first arrow whizzed through the Gotham night air, connecting with Thrillkiller's hoverboard. Upon impact, the arrow let out a jolt of electricity quickly shorting out the hover board and sending Thrillkiller stumbling onto the roof. Groaning, the pain quickly subsided as he ignored it and pushed himself up all the while wondering what had happened. A barrage of arrows whizzed through the air, as Thrillkiller quickly gathered himself, sloppily throwing himself out of the path of the arrows. Reaching for his hoverboard, he dove to the ground, swinging and deflecting a few arrows. Another arrow shot, embedding itself into the roof while projecting a line to the mysterious attacker.

Fear slid across the line and rolled onto the roof top, notching several harpoon arrows onto his bow.
"There's a price on your head Bastard." He hissed from beneath his mask.
"Baby, I'm priceless." Thrillkiller retorted as he regained his composure and jumped over the shots. Stumbling as he botched the landing, he pulled out his twin pistols and returned fire. Fear spun around his bow, deflecting the laser shots before launching off a small bolt from his wrist mounted cross bow. The bolt took Thrillkiller in the shoulder knocking him to the ground. Pulling the bolt out, Thrillkiller raised his forearms in time to block a downward blow from the bow which Fear was now wielding as a staff.
"Say... Aren't you that Scarecrow guy? Ain't you going to use your fancy gas on me?" Thrillkiller said as the shock pads on his forearms sparked against the bow.
"You don't feel fear, why waste my time." Fear muttered before a hard boot met his stomach followed by a sharp shock. Activating his repulsors, Thrillkiller slid out from under the bow, reaching for his belt he pulled out his twin blades. Using the suit, he boosted back to his feet and forward. Swinging his blades he quickly cut through the bow, knocking the rest of it from Fear's hands. Thrillkiller leaped into the air, delivering a kick to Fear's face while the air hummed with the sound of Thrillkiller's blades.

Fear rolled back from the assault, pulling his crossbow from his hip. He fired a volley of arrows, emptying the clip into Thrillkiller.
"I'm betting that mask of yours has a rebreather built into it. If it doesn't you're even stupider than you dress." Fear said, as he slipped a clip of poison laced arrows into his crossbow while Thrillkiller pulled the arrows out of his body. "Healing factor too, aren't you just full of surprises?"

Boosting his repulsors, Thrillkiller jumped backwards and moved for his hoverboard. He was taking too many hits to logically win this fight. Diving for the hover board, he felt the first of the poison arrows bury itself in his leg, easily by passing his arrow.
"What are those things made out of?" He reached for his pistol, turning around to loose a shot. The bullet succesfully hit the crossbow at the perfect time to knock the next bolt off its course but Thrillkiller wasn't lucky enough to do the same for the third as another arrow took him in the shoulder just as he reached the board. Crawling on top of the board, he activated it, launching himself forward off the roof. Slowly pushing himself to stand, another bolt fired, burying itself in his side and sending Thrillkiller off his board.

Looking down as he fell, his vision began to go black as the ground became rapidly closer with each second.

“Listen, officer, if you don’t believe me, I’ve got tapes.”

“Tapes? What?”

“Recordings of the scene.”

“Bullshit! I don’t see any cameras. You provoked this young man here and assaulted him. Don’t you think about lying to me.”

Omar rolled his eyes, wondering who shat in this bald officer’s coffee pot this morning. It was usually like this at first though; Omar came into town, set up a shady looking weapon store in a scummy part of town...how does that not look suspicious? But as time went on, stuff like this happened, and he slowly won over the trust of the officers, before leaving to his next city. Turning around, Omar went into a backroom through a door on the opposite side of the store from the counter. “Hey, don’t you walk away from me!” the officer spat, following.

In the backroom, which had a few extra boxes of ammunition, a ladder up, and a console with two monitors, one set to outside, the other in, words in the corner reading ‘Inside 2’. Omar fiddled with it a bit, rewinding it and changing it to inside camera 3. He replayed the scene from several perspectives, complete with low audio quality and decent quality; much better than the security cameras decades ago. Befuddled and a little impressed, the officer asked, “How much was all of this?”

“Not the point, Officer Houk. The point is, he threatened me, and I drew my gun where he couldn’t see it. I don’t shoot to kill,” Omar explained.

Houk thought on it for a second before saying, “Fine, you’re off. They’re probably be a court hearing if he tried to plead innocent, but this is a solid case against him. You might get charged with firearm discharge within city limits though.”

“Even in self-defense? It’s not like I was shooting birds or nothing,” Omar argued, having had to defend himself on this point countless times. He wouldn’t have recorded it if it were illegal.

The officer though about it for a moment before adding, “Uh, talk to a lawyer I guess? Hell if I know. Let me take a recording and I’m out.” Omar complied and the officer went on his way, Joker punk locked up in his vehicle.

Shaking his head, Omar needed a break from this bullshit. Locking up the store, he triggered the security system before going to the small garage above the shop. Taking off his baggy black coat and readjusting his bandana, he donned his hat, boots, white gloves, and longer, brown coat. Making sure his guns were holstered properly, he hopped onto his motorcycle, able to keep up with speedy ground traffic, but resembling the older cruiser style of motorcycle. Revving the engine, he moved out of the garage, zooming to the streets, taking to patrol. That punk earlier was just a taster: he wanted to find a bigger fish to fry before day’s end.