Ezekiel
Half Pint
Eviledd1984
Guardian Angel Haruki
Supermaxx
GreenGrenade
Simple Unicycle
Lexisheeps
LG
B L U D H A V E N
1013 Parkthorne Avenue
The small child-like shadow was a flurry of motion and energy.
Bounding from rooftop to rooftop, the doll seemed a whirling dervish as he flipped and jumped and vaulted over to the top of the Parkthorne Avenue brownstone. He continued, cartwheeling into a backflip as he arrived at the skylight that offered a view into the renovated apartment suite below.
Opening the pane, the youthful Pinocchio dropped into the loft that overlooked the sitting room. Below, the back of the sofa was toward him, facing the entertainment center that was framed by bookshelves that ran floor to ceiling. The shelves were adorned with a variety of ornaments. Honors and awards bestowed upon his public persona by the state of New Jersey, various police organizations, and different charities. The picture that these icons painted of a career law enforcement officer seemed in stark contrast to the posters on either side of the room. Vintage advertisements for Haley’s Circus, prominently displaying artistic renditions of the Flying Graysons.
The coffee table was a glass case shadowbox filled with a variety of colorful circus memoralbilia. Not the least of which was a faded, black and white photograph of a young boy atop the flying trapeze. It lay near the folded newspaper, its paper yellowing, with the headline proclaiming Accident Closes Curtain on Haley’s Gotham Show.
Crossing from out of the sitting room, the boy stepped into a hallway featuring another bookshelf that was recessed into the wall. Stretched up on his toes, the doll reached for a large, leatherbound copy of Black’s Law Dictionary, 9th Edition. As the pulled on the tome, there was a muted clicking sound, after which a section of the bookshelf swung away to reveal a false wall. Behind which was the secret room that held mementos of Dick Grayson’s other life.
Stepping inside of Grayson’s own version of the Bat Bunker, the boy removed the domino mask from his face. Pulling the gloves off, Toyboy bent down to lay those out at his feet. The cape came next, folded up in his arms before he set that aside and then tugged off the boots. Changing out of the tunic and trousers, the doll changed back into the t-shirt and mesh shorts that Dick had brought for him to wear when the two had left S.T.A.R. Labs.
It really wouldn’t have been fair to say that it was late by the time that Dick had gotten home. Strictly speaking, it was early. Most people with respectable jobs were going to work by this hour.
Dick placed his back to the door to his home as he closed it, and was amazed that his legs weren’t giving out from under him. He’d called the mayor, but had left the press conference for Mack and the New Jersey State Detectives to handle. Cissy’s research and the preliminary statements from the kids had been enough for Anton Schott to be named a person of interest, but it was still too early in the investigation for the word suspect to get thrown around haphazardly in front of reporters.
They’d gotten thirteen of the kids back. It was still not enough. It hadn’t been all fifteen, and at least two of the thirteen that they’d brought back were going to require extensive rehabilitation for the physical mutilations that they’d suffered at the Dollmaker’s hands. But still, they had thirteen kids who were alive and safe. It might not be a resounding victory, but it was close enough that Dick would still celebrate for the moment.
The media, the law suits, and the public outrage could all follow tomorrow. For right now, Dick was going to sleep soundly knowing that there were thirteen families reunited.
As Dick pushed off of the door, the sounds coming from the sitting room prompted the haggard detective to wander into the sitting room. He found Toyboy stretched out on the floor, his head propped up on his elbows and his legs idly kicking at the air, as the doll stared up at the television watching Power Rangers Go on Cartoon Network.
Making his way over, the man sat on the edge of the couch. “Have any trouble finding your way?”
Rolling over, Toyboy flipped around so that he was now sitting cross-legged, facing toward Dick as he answered, “No, sir.”
Yes, sir. No, sir. Mister Grayson. Schott had obviously been rather particular with how he’d programmed Toyboy to respond toward adults. Gesturing back toward the loft, Dick offered, “We can set up the loft as your own room, if you like.”
It seemed strange that Dick would be contemplating sharing the large apartment with someone else. Then, when he’d thought about it, it was strange that Dick would think it strange. After all, that had been part of the reason why they’d remodeled.
For his part, Toyboy looked from Dick to the loft and then back. After another moment, the doll asked, “Are there any kids here that I can play with?”
It should have been a simple question with a simple yes-or-no answer.
If only anything in either of their lives was ever so simple. “Your prime directive again?” Dick remarked. It was a non-answer, and the vacant, expectant look that the doll was giving him made clear that his usual avoidance tactics probably were not going to work on a robot. “I’ll need time to think about that,” Dick finally offered candidly. “Unless there’s an expansion pack that turns you into a teenager, people are going to start asking questions after a while once you go public.”
Go public. Why was he only now considering the implications of that statement? Had he imagined pulling Toyboy off the shelf and then returning him to the cold storage locker at S.T.A.R. Labs when this was through?
Even if he did consider it now, the fact that Anton Schott remained at large made Dick dismiss the idea outright. Blüdhaven needed a Batman of its own, and Dick couldn’t be that anymore. But, what that meant was, he’d need some way to explain who this kid was that was living with him.
Deal with that problem first. Then figure out what to do about the Peter Pan issue. “Toyboy’s not exactly a name,” Dick remarked, leaning forward as he asked, “Did Winslow have another name for you?”
The stoic expression of the cherubic doll just shook its head. “He never named me. He would just say boy and I was expected to answer,” the automaton stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
At first Dick started to nod, then he paused for a moment and considered what the doll had said. Toyboy wasn’t a person. He was a calculator on two legs. If he used a particular word, it was deliberate. Which meant, Schott had never named Toyboy at all.
As if to confirm, Dick posed, “So, Toyboy was..?”
“An identity that I devised from his use of the Toyman persona,” the doll answered with a nod. “Toyman and his sidekick, Toyboy.”
The image that Dick had in his mind to that point of Toyboy playing happily in the Toyman’s shadow was starting to crack even further. “And Anton? He called you boy as well?”
Another nod. “Even on the few occasions that he was able to sneak me into a school field trip, birthday party, or sleepover, the other children thought it strange but otherwise accepted that my name was boy.”
The deferential tone. Nothing given him, not even a name. And Dick was positive that Toyboy had referred to Schott as master at least once. It was all starting to come together for him now. Winslow Schott hadn’t been Gepetto, he’d been Mangiafuoco. Regarding his creation as a puppet and nothing more. A tool for various uses. “Something to think about, then,” Dick uttered, rousing himsef from where his sleep-addled brain was apt to lead him down this rabbit hole. “Like Toyboy, Robin’s an identity, but it’s not a name. You should have a name of your own, to reflect who you are as a person.”
The doll’s head cocked to one side. The otherwise stoic expression blinked, as though the computer within was having difficulty in processing that statement. When he finally spoke, Toyboy said, “But I’m not a person, Mister Grayson.”
A weak smile tugged at the lines of Dick’s face. “On that, we may agree to disagree.” With that, Dick rose back to his feet. He had a bed to get to...
He made it only a few steps before he heard: “Mister Grayson, may I have a glass of water?”
Turning back around, Dick was questioning what he’d thought he’d heard. “Say what, now?”
Rising up from the floor, the child-sized nuclear reactor said, “My coolant levels are a little low.”
The moment that he’d witnessed Toyboy puking up a wet mess on the floor of S.T.A.R. Labs flashed back to memory. Hadn’t Sarah said that it had probably been coolant? “You were shut down for twenty years,” Dick remarked, as much to himself as to the doll.
Ushering the boy toward the kitchen, the man added, “We should probably have Sarah take a look at you to make sure that everything’s in working order.”
Bounding from rooftop to rooftop, the doll seemed a whirling dervish as he flipped and jumped and vaulted over to the top of the Parkthorne Avenue brownstone. He continued, cartwheeling into a backflip as he arrived at the skylight that offered a view into the renovated apartment suite below.
Opening the pane, the youthful Pinocchio dropped into the loft that overlooked the sitting room. Below, the back of the sofa was toward him, facing the entertainment center that was framed by bookshelves that ran floor to ceiling. The shelves were adorned with a variety of ornaments. Honors and awards bestowed upon his public persona by the state of New Jersey, various police organizations, and different charities. The picture that these icons painted of a career law enforcement officer seemed in stark contrast to the posters on either side of the room. Vintage advertisements for Haley’s Circus, prominently displaying artistic renditions of the Flying Graysons.
The coffee table was a glass case shadowbox filled with a variety of colorful circus memoralbilia. Not the least of which was a faded, black and white photograph of a young boy atop the flying trapeze. It lay near the folded newspaper, its paper yellowing, with the headline proclaiming Accident Closes Curtain on Haley’s Gotham Show.
Crossing from out of the sitting room, the boy stepped into a hallway featuring another bookshelf that was recessed into the wall. Stretched up on his toes, the doll reached for a large, leatherbound copy of Black’s Law Dictionary, 9th Edition. As the pulled on the tome, there was a muted clicking sound, after which a section of the bookshelf swung away to reveal a false wall. Behind which was the secret room that held mementos of Dick Grayson’s other life.
Stepping inside of Grayson’s own version of the Bat Bunker, the boy removed the domino mask from his face. Pulling the gloves off, Toyboy bent down to lay those out at his feet. The cape came next, folded up in his arms before he set that aside and then tugged off the boots. Changing out of the tunic and trousers, the doll changed back into the t-shirt and mesh shorts that Dick had brought for him to wear when the two had left S.T.A.R. Labs.
+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +
It really wouldn’t have been fair to say that it was late by the time that Dick had gotten home. Strictly speaking, it was early. Most people with respectable jobs were going to work by this hour.
Dick placed his back to the door to his home as he closed it, and was amazed that his legs weren’t giving out from under him. He’d called the mayor, but had left the press conference for Mack and the New Jersey State Detectives to handle. Cissy’s research and the preliminary statements from the kids had been enough for Anton Schott to be named a person of interest, but it was still too early in the investigation for the word suspect to get thrown around haphazardly in front of reporters.
They’d gotten thirteen of the kids back. It was still not enough. It hadn’t been all fifteen, and at least two of the thirteen that they’d brought back were going to require extensive rehabilitation for the physical mutilations that they’d suffered at the Dollmaker’s hands. But still, they had thirteen kids who were alive and safe. It might not be a resounding victory, but it was close enough that Dick would still celebrate for the moment.
The media, the law suits, and the public outrage could all follow tomorrow. For right now, Dick was going to sleep soundly knowing that there were thirteen families reunited.
As Dick pushed off of the door, the sounds coming from the sitting room prompted the haggard detective to wander into the sitting room. He found Toyboy stretched out on the floor, his head propped up on his elbows and his legs idly kicking at the air, as the doll stared up at the television watching Power Rangers Go on Cartoon Network.
Making his way over, the man sat on the edge of the couch. “Have any trouble finding your way?”
Rolling over, Toyboy flipped around so that he was now sitting cross-legged, facing toward Dick as he answered, “No, sir.”
Yes, sir. No, sir. Mister Grayson. Schott had obviously been rather particular with how he’d programmed Toyboy to respond toward adults. Gesturing back toward the loft, Dick offered, “We can set up the loft as your own room, if you like.”
It seemed strange that Dick would be contemplating sharing the large apartment with someone else. Then, when he’d thought about it, it was strange that Dick would think it strange. After all, that had been part of the reason why they’d remodeled.
For his part, Toyboy looked from Dick to the loft and then back. After another moment, the doll asked, “Are there any kids here that I can play with?”
It should have been a simple question with a simple yes-or-no answer.
If only anything in either of their lives was ever so simple. “Your prime directive again?” Dick remarked. It was a non-answer, and the vacant, expectant look that the doll was giving him made clear that his usual avoidance tactics probably were not going to work on a robot. “I’ll need time to think about that,” Dick finally offered candidly. “Unless there’s an expansion pack that turns you into a teenager, people are going to start asking questions after a while once you go public.”
Go public. Why was he only now considering the implications of that statement? Had he imagined pulling Toyboy off the shelf and then returning him to the cold storage locker at S.T.A.R. Labs when this was through?
Even if he did consider it now, the fact that Anton Schott remained at large made Dick dismiss the idea outright. Blüdhaven needed a Batman of its own, and Dick couldn’t be that anymore. But, what that meant was, he’d need some way to explain who this kid was that was living with him.
Deal with that problem first. Then figure out what to do about the Peter Pan issue. “Toyboy’s not exactly a name,” Dick remarked, leaning forward as he asked, “Did Winslow have another name for you?”
The stoic expression of the cherubic doll just shook its head. “He never named me. He would just say boy and I was expected to answer,” the automaton stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
At first Dick started to nod, then he paused for a moment and considered what the doll had said. Toyboy wasn’t a person. He was a calculator on two legs. If he used a particular word, it was deliberate. Which meant, Schott had never named Toyboy at all.
As if to confirm, Dick posed, “So, Toyboy was..?”
“An identity that I devised from his use of the Toyman persona,” the doll answered with a nod. “Toyman and his sidekick, Toyboy.”
The image that Dick had in his mind to that point of Toyboy playing happily in the Toyman’s shadow was starting to crack even further. “And Anton? He called you boy as well?”
Another nod. “Even on the few occasions that he was able to sneak me into a school field trip, birthday party, or sleepover, the other children thought it strange but otherwise accepted that my name was boy.”
The deferential tone. Nothing given him, not even a name. And Dick was positive that Toyboy had referred to Schott as master at least once. It was all starting to come together for him now. Winslow Schott hadn’t been Gepetto, he’d been Mangiafuoco. Regarding his creation as a puppet and nothing more. A tool for various uses. “Something to think about, then,” Dick uttered, rousing himsef from where his sleep-addled brain was apt to lead him down this rabbit hole. “Like Toyboy, Robin’s an identity, but it’s not a name. You should have a name of your own, to reflect who you are as a person.”
The doll’s head cocked to one side. The otherwise stoic expression blinked, as though the computer within was having difficulty in processing that statement. When he finally spoke, Toyboy said, “But I’m not a person, Mister Grayson.”
A weak smile tugged at the lines of Dick’s face. “On that, we may agree to disagree.” With that, Dick rose back to his feet. He had a bed to get to...
He made it only a few steps before he heard: “Mister Grayson, may I have a glass of water?”
Turning back around, Dick was questioning what he’d thought he’d heard. “Say what, now?”
Rising up from the floor, the child-sized nuclear reactor said, “My coolant levels are a little low.”
The moment that he’d witnessed Toyboy puking up a wet mess on the floor of S.T.A.R. Labs flashed back to memory. Hadn’t Sarah said that it had probably been coolant? “You were shut down for twenty years,” Dick remarked, as much to himself as to the doll.
Ushering the boy toward the kitchen, the man added, “We should probably have Sarah take a look at you to make sure that everything’s in working order.”
