The generator rumbled; a black leather sheet spread over it to protect it from the rain. The floodlights swung around the Fisheries, shining across the faded signs and weathered buildings. Robin hid in the shadows, hiding behind empty trucks and empty crates as he snuck towards the generator, avoiding the green glow of the night goggles like they were venomous snakes.

Robin leapt out of the way as one of guards snapped his head in his direction, thanking his parents and Haly’s circus for teaching him acrobatics as he found himself behind a van.

The rumbling of the generator grew louder. Hidden beneath a small stack of crates and through a pair of binoculars Robin saw two men, M16’s in hand running patrols around the generator.

Luckily, they weren’t many guards around. Robin snuck to a truck close to the generator. He needed to confirm their method of communication before he made a move. He poked his head out of the corner, checking the equipment on one of them standing a few meters away from the truck. He checked his belt; a pistol was holstered his right hip but no walkie-talkie. He looked up at his face, his bald head shining because of the rain and saw an earpiece. If the other guy saw him, Robin wouldn’t have time to knock him down before calling reinforcements and he’d be ripped apart like fried chicken.

He’d have to use stealth.

...

The rain felt like it was seeping through his skull and into his brain. Diesel knew he shouldn’t have gone bald before the job but his girlfriend said his hair looked like a dead cat so he decided that he’d get a haircut just the afternoon before the boss called him, telling him he got a job. So here he was standing in the rain with the rain pouring down his skull like it was a fucking umbrella.

And the boss wouldn’t let him get an umbrella. No, Johnson said. We have to look strong in front of the contractor, you know? Present an image. But when the contractor was a midget with a forced British accent Diesel did not give two flying shits about impressing him. And to make matters worse, Diesel’s job was guarding the generator with no direct contact with the contractor.

“Look strong in front of him,” Diesel said in a mocking voice. “We’re mercenaries, we have an image to uphold.”

At least when the Batman or his sidekick Ostrich got here, he’d be the last to get attacked, seeing as he was so far back into the perimeter that Batman wouldn’t care much to get to him.

As he made his patrol around the generator (for the 100th time), flashlight beaming across the truck in front of him he heard something. He heard the knocking of metal, like someone was tapping the truck, it sounded like it was behind the truck. Diesel stiffened. He slowed down his pace, gun loaded and with a swift movement his gun was pointed at… emptiness.

“What’s the matter?” his partner Osman asked.

“What was that?”

“You looked like you’ve seen a ghost,” Osman said. “What’s up?”

“Just thought I heard something, is all.”

He was just about to leave but he heard that knocking again. This time it was inside of the truck, most notably the wagon.

The cover flapped in the wing. Diesel yanked it open, flashlight darting across the empty crates. He put on his night goggles; the world enveloped in a green glow.

“Yo Diesel, what’s up?” Osman asked as he stepped into the back of the truck.

“Stay on the defensive,” Diesel said. “I’m hearing something in here.”

Osman had his weapon trained at the back of the truck. Meanwhile Diesel was searching through the truck, his gun trained in one direction as he darted around, searching behind crates before moving to the next.

He finally made it to the back of the truck where the largest crate stood. A crate big enough for someone to fit in. Diesel opened the crate, the cover swayed open letting out a whine. Diesel had his gun focused on the crate, his body tense.

Three Vibranium weapons were placed in the crate, standing side by side. Diesel let out a sigh of relief. He turned around and the last thing he saw before he blacked out was a flash of red.

…

Diesel was taking way too long for just a checkup. Sure, Osman hated the bastard but that didn’t mean the Bat had to get him.

Osman was about to call in reinforcements but before he could he was knocked into the ground, his M16 clattering across the floor. The world swirled around him but he noticed a black fist closing in on his face like a sledgehammer.

Osman reached out for his pistol so he could get the bastard.

“No, you don’t,” Robin said. Robin yanked out the pistol and threw it aside. Osman used this as an opportunity to punch the kid across the face and shove him off.

He was about to call in reinforcements but before he could switch on the headset there was a sharp jolt of pain in his palm. Osman saw one of those Batarangs the boss briefed him on (this one being red instead of black) sticking out of his palm and blood running down his arm.

He turned just in time to see Robin leap in the air, landing a dropkick straight in his chest.

Osman felt the air snap out of his lungs as he landed on the ground with a thud. Meanwhile after the dropkick, Robin landed gracefully on his feet and before Osman could even do anything Robin crushed his headset and kicked him across the face, knocking him out.

Now to deal with the generator, Robin thought. There was no way he could hit it, even if he could do destroy it without making noise if somebody noticed the generator was just scrap metal, they’d probably call the Penguin and he’d get away again. He needed to do this in a way that didn’t physically alert the guards.

And he knew just how he’d do it.

Batman scanned the fisheries from the rooftop, his cape billowing in the wind. The floodlights danced in the night sky ready to alert the guards below to any intruders that might be brave enough to glide above them.

“The disruptor has been placed on the generator,” Robin said through the radio. “I repeat, the disruptor has been placed on the generator.”

Judging by the direction of the wind, if Bruce started to glide now, he’d be landing right at the front gates of the fisheries.

“Switch it on.”

“Alright,” Robin said. The disruptor beeped and soon the generator was engulfed in blue sparks. The loud rumble of the generator coughed and sputtered before it finally stopped.

The bright beams of the floodlight flickered, one last tango before it finally disappeared.

Batman got up. “Deal with their trucks,” Batman said. “Make sure Penguin has no means of escape.”

Robin grinned. “You got it boss.”

“I’ll deal with the mercenaries.”

Batman leaped off the building, plummeting to the ground like a missile. The wind fought back, first with very little resistance and then it began its onslaught. But the Batman would not lose.

He spread his wings wide, the wind fighting against the black wall of its impenetrable far, the floor getting closer and closer to the Batman’s face before release. Soon, the Batman was gliding in the air above the walls of Gotham fisheries like an eagle above its prey.

…

Batgirl opened the shutter only to be greeted by a vacuum.

She didn’t know why she breathed a sigh of relief, after all the Joker wouldn’t be stupid enough to hide in a suit of armor.

“Ma’am I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave,” said the guard.

“Oh, come on! I was just helping out with the investigation,” Batgirl said.

“By doing what?” Wilde said. “Laying your filthy hands on the only suit of armor that got cleaned before these bozos stormed in. Get out of here!”

“It was just a mistake,” Batgirl said. “I thought I saw something.”

Wilde scoffed. “How stupid do you have to be? You really think the Joker would be hiding in a suit of armor? I don’t think the Joker is as stupid as you are.”

Batgirl sighed. “Still doesn’t give you a reason to push me out of here.”

The expression on Wilde’s face changed from that of an angry tomato to that of a stressed-out college student. “The presence of this here Batgirl causes me great duress. I’d like to kindly request she be removed from the premises.”

“What?” Batgirl exclaimed.

Gordon sighed. “Just listen to him Batgirl. No point in dragging this on any further.”

Batgirl wanted to protest but decided there was no point in being stubborn. As long as she was still in around the mansion, she could keep track of what’s going on with Wilde. She left the basement and waited outside the door. Outside, lightning flashed and thunder roared. She could see the windows of the mansion dotted with millions of raindrops that slide down the glass, dropping into a puddle before.

The GCPD officers that were patrolling the mansion found it very professional to stare at her and make snide comments with their friends. Checking the giant grandfather clock in the living room, Barbara saw the time was only 8 P.M.

She was in for a long night.

…

Peter navigated through the junkyard using his bag as a makeshift umbrella. He made his way through giant mounds of trash, makeshift shelters and homeless men until he found Mr. Toomes’s shelter.

His spider sense started buzzing. It had started to buzz before he even entered the junkyard. Peter knew it was a dangerous place, many of the people giving him stony looks as he navigated his way through the junkyard. The other people grinning and pointing at Peter in a condescending way as if to say “Look at this stupid kid” but as soon as he made it to Mr. Toome’s place it started to buzz even louder.

Peter looked around, seeing if there was any potential danger before he knocked the door of Mr. Toome’s house, the rain drops dripping off the metal roof. Mr. Toomes didn’t answer. Peter knocked the door again, his spider sense buzzing.

“Mr. Toomes,” Peter called. “You there? I’m freezing out here!”

Adrian Toomes opened the door.

“Parker?” Adrian asked, wearing an old jacket and faded jeans. Peter’s spider sense stopped buzzing. “The hell you doing here?”

“I need help for another science project.”

Mr. Toomes sighed. “Come in kid.”

Peter entered the “house”, hanging his soaked jacket on a makeshift coat rack. He noticed buckets dotting the floor, some of them overflowing with water. The floor was covered with newspapers and the invention that Mr. Toomes had covered with a waterproof material. The “windows” were covered by a flimsy cloth that flailed in the wind despite being soaked to the last thread. All the wires that were trailing across the floor and spare parts that littered the floor were nowhere to be seen. Peter assumed that it was in the trunk he saw tucked away in the corner of the room.

“So, what do you need kid?” Mr. Toomes asked.

“An electromagnet,” Peter said. “One I can control remotely.”

Mr. Toomes chuckled. “Your school’s really demanding.”

Peter thought about the Vulture and nodded. “You can say that. A plusses always seem to escape me.”

Mr. Toomes grinned. “Used to be like that for me back in school too. Though the problem usually came from me being too smart and not doing things the way teachers wanted me to.”

Peter chuckled.

“I’ll gather the parts in around two days,” Mr. Toomes said. “And I’ll teach you how to build one of those. After that you’re not coming to this here junkyard again, you hear?”

“How come?” Peter asked.

“This junkyard’s too dangerous,” Mr. Toomes said. “I barely managed to scrape by when I first came here. People here will prey on you the moment you show any weakness. They’re like vultures. Gimme your number kid.”

Mr. Toomes pulled out one of those old flip-phones. The screen was cracked and the keypad creaked under the weight of his fingers but it still looked like it worked.

Peter told him his number. Adrian nodded and with a swift moment his phone was back in his pocket.

“I’ll call you when I get the parts,” Mr. Toomes said. “Now get on out of here kid, before it gets dark.”

Peter sat on the sofa. He wasn’t particularly excited about going home, especially after the falling out he had with May.

“What’s up kid?” Mr. Toomes said. “You look under the weather.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. There was a flash of lightning.

“Oh,” Peter said. “It’s nothing.”

“You sure,” Mr. Toomes said. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Forget what I said about getting out of here, let me treat you to a drink. How about some coffee?”

Peter smiled. “Is it expired.”

Mr. Toomes grinned. “Only about two days off.”

…

The rain let off for a bit enough for Mr. Toomes to make two cups of coffee. Peter sat on the sofa and Mr. Toomes sat on the one-legged stool across him, sipping his coffee.

“My wife used to love coffee,” Mr. Toomes said. “If there was anything, she was keeping from me I used to make her a cup and she’d keep on going on like a radio host.”

Mr. Toomes let out a soft laugh, a wistful look in his eyes. He cleared his throat. “But this isn’t about me, Peter. Tell me what’s going on in your end.”

Peter spun his cup around, tapping his fingers against the scratched surface. He took a deep breath. “My aunt and I had a falling out. First it started with her saying something about my uncle that didn’t sit right with me. Then she tells me that I can’t hang out with my friend. My only friend.”

“She’s worried about you Pete,” Mr. Toomes said. “And take it from a parent, that’s what we tend to do. We worry.”

“I know,” Peter said and sighed. “But I still can’t forgive her for what she said about my uncle.”

“What happened to your uncle?” Mr. Toomes asked.

“He…” Even thinking about it made Peter’s heart feel heavy. “He died. A burglar got him.”

Peter felt a tear streaking down his cheek. “I was really close to him, you know? We used to build stuff together.”

Mr. Toomes nodded. He placed his cup on the table and sat next to Peter, hand on his shoulder. He shuffled around his pockets pulling out a pink handkerchief.

“Wipe up,” Mr. Toomes said, tucking the handkerchief in Peter’s hands. “Don’t want my house flooding up any more than it already is.”

Peter chuckled. He wiped his eyes and handed the handkerchief back to Mr. Toomes.

“I can’t forgive her,” Peter said. “I can’t forgive her for what she said.”

“I can’t pretend to know your situation, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Toomes said, going back to sit on his stool. “But I’m pretty sure it isn’t your Aunt that needs your forgiveness but you.”

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Toomes shrugged. “You’ll find out as time goes. I suppose. But let me tell you something I learned.”

“That is?”

“These fights,” Mr. Toomes said, his expression a mixture of serious and sad. “With your family, with the people you love. Sometimes it’s best to just suck up your pride and apologize. The missus and I had a lot of fights some small, some big. Hell, some of them are unresolved to this day but sitting and thinking about it now, makes me realize how petty it all was.”

“I don’t think an apology is enough,” Peter said.

“Then what is?” Mr. Toomes asked.

“I… um…” Peter struggled to find the words.

Mr. Toomes laughed. “Exactly. I don’t expect you to understand now Pete, you’re still have years ahead of you. But take it from me, apologize now. Before it’s too late.”

The smile on Mr. Toome’s face disappeared. Instead he stared down, a solemn expression on his face.

“What happened to your family, Mr. Toomes?” Peter asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Please call me Adrian,” Adrian said. “I’m not that old. As for my family…”

“We split up,” Adrian said, not meeting Peter’s eyes. “Like families do, nowadays.” Adrian smiled. “Ain’t nothing special.”

“I’m sorry, Mister…” Peter shook his head. “I mean Adrian.”

Adrian smiled. “Ain’t your fault kid.” He got up. “You should be heading home, it’s getting late.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah I should.”

“I’ll call you when I get the parts for your little electromagnet,” Adrian said. “You have an umbrella?”

Peter shook his head.

Adrian shuffled through his toolbox until he found a black umbrella. “Bit rusty but it’ll do.” He tossed the umbrella to him which Peter caught.

“What’ll you be doing?” Peter asked.

“Got some work to do but I don’t mind dropping you off, junkyard gets real dangerous around this time,” Adrian said. “You live around the block?”

Peter nodded. “It’s alright, I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Adrian said. “But it’s my treat. Some interesting company to keep you busy on your way home.”

Adrian dropped him off to his apartment block.

“Thanks Mis… Adrian,” Peter said. “Really appreciate it.”

Adrian smiled. “I should be thanking you, kid. Been a while since I talked about my wife. Feels like a weight off my chest. See you around, kid?”

Peter nodded. “See you around.”

Adrian waved at him before he headed back. Peter, on the other hand climbed up the stairs to his apartment. He got a message from May telling him that she’d be late. That was great. It gave him time to make more web fluid and stitch up his suit. Everything was great except for one thing.

The fact that he had to message Barbara Gordon to tell her he’d be cancelling on their date.

…

The lightning had stopped but the thunder still rumbled in the distance. The rain slowed down to a steady pour and the floodlights were off at the Gotham Fisheries.

Captain Perez wasn’t nervous like the rest of his man. Instead, he was excited. He’d been excited ever since Penguin decided to hire him for this mission. After all, this was a one in a lifetime opportunity to do what no man had ever done. Kill the Batman.

“Shouldn’t we call Penguin, boss?” Lucas said. “Tell him to get the hell outta here.”

Perez shook his head. “Hell no. It could be the generator short circuited. Very likely, especially in this weather. No need to cause a fuss.”

Perez was lying. Lying very blatantly. Anybody who had a single brain cell knew that the Batman was here. But Perez was a stubborn man which was why he couldn’t keep a girl for more than a month. Perez never compromised when it came to his goals and being the reason, the big bad Bat bites the bullet was one of them.

“Getting static from Osman’s and Diesel’s headsets,” Rodriguez said. “What do you say Cap?”

“Take three men and check on em,” Perez said. “Make sure your night goggles are on. You see anything suspicious; you call me. Don’t do anything without my say so, capiche?”

His men nodded.

“Alright boys,” Perez said, putting on his night goggles, the parking around them being enveloped in a green shroud. “Let’s see what’s up with the floodlights.”

…

Eighteen hostiles. Two of them had been knocked out by Robin. Three were headed to Robin’s previous location. Two pairs of two men were investigating the lighthouse and the rest were patrolling the parking lot searching for what caused the blackout. Meanwhile, Robin was moving from truck to truck, slashing the tires. They promised to rendezvous by the entrance of the fisheries after they were both done.

Atop a vantage point on the walls of the gate, Batman saw the scene lay out in front of him. He needed to take care of a few men before the three guards sent to investigate the generator became privy to the fact they were not alone.

His fast target was a few feet away from the gate. He was by a stack of crates, looking around for any signs of trouble. A few feet away was another mercenary.

The guard by the crates turned around. Batman glided to the ground, careful not to make a sound. He snuck towards him, stalking him like a predator stalked its prey.

The guard stopped in front of a truck, perfect.

Batman grabbed him in a chokehold, his screams muffled by his palm. He tightened his grip around his neck and before he slipped into unconsciousness, he bashed his face against the back of the truck, loud enough to attract the attention of his friend.

“Yo, Walt,” called his friend. “Walt, you okay?”

On noticing his friend’s unconscious body, the mercenary rushed towards it. Before he could call backup, Batman fired the Batclaw, his screams echoing throughout the fisheries. When he got him behind the truck, Batman had him in a chokehold, his screams muffled. He pressed against his throat until his body was still.

Sixteen left.

“I heard it over here,” called one of the mercenaries, his voice shaking. “Hurry it up guys.”

They were scared now. Batman could hear it in their voices.

Good.

…

Osman and Diesel were down and Walter and Johnathan were found unconscious by the gate, Batman nowhere to be seen. His boys were starting to panic.

“Calm down boys,” Perez said. “He’s just one man.”

Hughie wasn’t having it. Poor kid looked like he was about to piss his pants.

“C’mon Hughie,” Perez said. “No need to be worried. You and Butcher check out the trucks, look for any place he can hide.”

“You sure we shouldn’t call the Penguin?” Lucas asked. “He’s going to do a lot worse than kill you if the Batman gets to you.”

Perez grinned. “If Batman gets to him his little midget body will be too broken for him to do anything to me.”

He pat Lucas on the back. “Don’t worry Lucas. We’re going to be fine. He’s just one man.”

“You’re right,” Lucas nodded. “We’ll get him boss.”

Perez smiled. “You see, Luke? Don’t worry so much. Besides, what can one man do?”

…

One of the men was standing in front of the wagon. Batman pulled him in with the Batclaw, bullets bouncing off the roof. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the ears of the devil.

Fifteen left.

He heard the footsteps of three men sprinting towards the truck. Before they came, Batman ran towards the wagon door climbing to the roof.

They made it to the truck, one of them went to investigate the wagon. The other two made the mistake of looking up.

Before they could even react two disruptors were attached to their weapons. The tossed their guns away and pulled out their pistols but the Batman was too fast. He kicked one of the thugs in the legs, causing him to fall backwards. The other was about to pull the trigger but the Batman ducked and grabbed his arm, twirling around him and pulling his hands upward, his gun shooting the sky. The third goon came out from the truck. Before he could shoot his friend was hurtling towards him. The second goon who was on the floor tried to get a lucky shot in but shot the pavement inches away from Batman’s boot as a jolt of pain shot through his palm from the Batarang stuck in it.

While the second goon groaned in pain, Batman knocked out the other two by knocking their faces together. He punched the second in the face. He could hear more mercenaries racing towards him, around three of them. Batman stood still. The mercenaries stopped right exactly where Batman wanted them to. They cast a quick glance to their unconscious friends and were just about ready to fire at Batman when there was a puff of smoke.

Robin leaped in the air; his legs wrapped themselves around one of them. The other two turned but they were too slow. His legs still wrapped around the mercenary Robin launched him forward by arching his back and using the force of his legs to throw him backward. He landed on in a headstand. The third goon tried to shoot him but Robin, supporting his weight on one hand, threw one of his Batarangs causing him to toss the gun to the ground. Before he could even pull out his pistol, Batman kicked him across the face instantly knocking him out. Robin grinned.

“Pretty cool huh?”

Batman walked past him.

“Oh, come on,” Robin said. “Can I at least get a compliment?”

“Focus on the mission.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Robin said. “But I mean I at least deserve some sort of praise for pulling off that move.”

While Robin continued to rant, Batman ignored him finding a vantage point in order to see what was happening.

9 left, he noted. And boy were they scared.

…

One by one, their signals went out. Rodriguez, Butcher, Hughie, Lucas. All of them had been taken out.

8.

Phoenix’s com was out now leaving only…

7

of them. Perez tried calling them, tried telling them to get into formation anything. But they were too scared, too panicked too answer.

6, 5.

Both Ness and Jeff’s mics went out at the same time.

4.

Ledger’s mic was gone.

3, 2…

Bale and Pattinson mics were static.

He was the only one left.

“You idiots!” he growled. “I have to do everything myself!”

He crushed his mic in his fist and got into position. He marched around the parking lot, firing into the air at random. The only thing he heard was the wind blowing and the rain pouring. He walked around, searching behind crates and inside trucks. He heard something moving inside one of them and his gun immediately swung into position. Turns out it was only a cat.

The parking lot was empty, save for the unconscious bodies of his squad. He noticed that the tires of the trucks had been slashed and chuckled. Clever. The Bat made sure that none of them could escape.

He was in the middle of some crates when he heard the wind rustling around him and some footsteps.

Perez chuckled. “You think you can hide from me, Bat? I got night vision goggle. You hear that? Night vision goggles. I could find you with my eyes closed.”

He saw the shadows dance behind a crate. With one smooth turn, his light was shining behind the crate revealing nothing but air.

“I’m not scared,” Perez shouted. “You hear me? I ain’t scared of you.”

He fired at random crates reducing them to splinters.

“You can come out right now,” Perez said. “And you’ll be mince meat before you can even touch me. You hear me Bat? Come out right now!”

“Boo.”

Perez screamed.

…

The marble face of his mother stared at Oswald Cobblepot. Esther Cobblepot was a wonderful woman, so full of kindness and warmth hence why his father decided to build a statue of her in one of his main offices.

His father, Penguin resented his father almost as much as he hated the Waynes. A cold, distant man who always made jabs at his size, most of his bitterness stemmed from him. He never used to hit him (at least not until he drowned in the alcohol), never used to shout him no. It was the indifference in his voice that hurt the most, like he couldn’t be bothered to call him his son. Young Ozzy always wondered how this cold man found such a lovely wife in Esther.

All around the office there were worn pictures of his mother, an oil painting hung behind the desk and his father even had a stone statue made of her. But there was nothing of Oswald, not a single trace of his existence in his room. Not even a picture.

Young Oswald grew to resent his father. After all, it wasn’t his fault he was born this way. It wasn’t his fault he was born with a pointy nose and a tiny body. He resented his father so much that when his dealings with Falcone were leaked, he felt so happy.

That happiness was not to last.

Many of the bruises, many of the scars on his body were from the drunken abuse of his father. He remembered his father would drag him by the ears into the basement despite his mother’s pleas and beat him. After he was done, he’d leave young Oswald crying in the basement, alone with all the spiders and the insects. Young Oswald Cobblepot couldn’t even go out to use the toilet. His only hope being his mother who would open the basement door, her eyes red and puffy.

At the young age of 12, Esther Cobblepot committed suicide. She was found in the living room, her mouth foaming and pills spilling on the floor. Instead of getting better, his father got worse beating on him, humiliating him. Oswald remembered how he one locked him in his own closet without clothes, Cobblepot crying the entire night to the point that his throat was sore.

At the age of 15, his father died but his resentment didn’t go away. If it wasn’t for the Waynes he wouldn’t have lost money. If it wasn’t for the Waynes, his mother wouldn’t have died. If it wasn’t for the Waynes his father wouldn’t beat him and throw him in the closet and rip his clothes and kick him.

And his resentment only grew when he figured out that the only reason that the Waynes cut off their partnership with the Cobblepots was because of a picture, a single inconsequential picture of Falcone and his father laughing. They had been no deals; no backwater money transfers. Just two men laughing.

And on that day Oswald Cobblepot was dead and the Penguin was born.

He cradled the statue of his mother, hand on her cheek. “I swear mum, I swear after all this is over, I’ll avenge you. I swear.”

Penguin could feel his throat clamp up. His mother didn’t laugh at him for being short. His mother didn’t shout him or give him backhanded compliments like his father. His mother loved him fully and unconditionally. He’d do anything to bring her back.

The phone rang. Oswald let it ring for a while, cradling his mother’s face for a while before The Penguin answered the phone.

“What it is it?” Penguin asked.

“The mercenaries,” stuttered Danny. “The mercenaries…”

“Can you calm yourself boy?” Penguin said. “What about the mercenaries?”

“They’re all knocked out,” Danny said. “A-and the vehicles they’re all out of commission. B-Batman and R-Robin are here.”

Well, shit.

…

The shutter door creaked open with a hiss. Batman and Robin were greeted not by a welcoming party but by 20 goons who looked ready to kill.

“Pretty great welcoming party,” Robin said. “Don’t you think.”

Half a dozen had guns. Machine guns, shotguns the works. Seven of them had other weapons old steel pipes, knives and baseball bats. The other seven used their fists. They were led by a man who towered above them wearing nothing but a vest that strained under his muscles and the black and white mask of the Penguin.

“Batman and Robin,” the big guy said. “Boss told me that we had to bring you to him, alive preferably. He has a bone to pick with you after you took Bruce Wayne away from him.”

“And who are you supposed to be?” Batman asked.

“My name is Tiny,” the big guy said. “Not my real name. I’ve been with the boss for two or three years. Never thought to use me until now. Now you can either come with us easily and not strain yourself with my boys over here.”

“And if we refuse?” Robin asked.

“Well the boss did say preferably.”

The goons with guns loaded their weapons. The others tapped their weapons against their palms or cracked their knuckles.

“So, what’s it going to be?” Tiny asked. “Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way.”

Robin twisted his neck enough to crack the tendons in it. Meanwhile Batman cracked his knuckles.

“Well, I do like myself a challenge,” Batman said. He turned to Robin. “What about you?”

Robin smirked. “Bring it,” he said as they disappeared into a puff of smoke.

…

There was no escape. All the trucks had been compromised and the mercenaries Penguin paid good money for could barely form a sentence. The weapons were stored in a huge vault right in his office and there was no telling whether or not the buffoons out front could even handle Batman and Robin.

Cobblepot was in a bad situation. Really bad. He wanted so badly to curl up in the arms of his mother like he did when he was bullied but all he had was the cold stone statue of her standing right by the vault.

He paced around the room, his umbrella clattering on the floor. Downing every bottle of beer, he could find lying around in the room. He rubbed his forehead, his hands running over the oil painting of his mother. In the picture his father sneered at him, as if even from beyond the grave he was saying: “Look at you now, midget. Look at how useless your fat ass is.”

Cobblepot ripped the photo of his father leaving only his legs in the picture frame. He guzzled another bottle of beer as he heard gunfire ring across the hallways of Cobblepot Fisheries before finally deciding to sit down on his chair, scratching his bald head.

An hour later the lights went off.

…

The men with guns had been dispatched off. Now all that was left was Tiny and his band of merry men.

One of the goons tried to swing a bat at Robin. Robin ducked as the goon kicked him in the stomach causing him to stumble backwards. Another tried to hit him from behind but before he could Batman stunned him with a wave of his cape and punched him in the stomach before flipping him down.

The goon with the bat tried to hit him in the face again but Robin kicked him the stomach and did a backflip, just in time to see a few men reaching for the guns. He threw his Batarangs at them, managing to hit one of them in the palm and the other in his leg. The goon with the baseball bat tried to hit him but before he could even counter let alone get hit, Robin was tackled across the room by Tiny.

He felt the air rush out of his stomach and Tiny tackled him against the wall causing a jolt of pain to rush up his back. He fell on the floor, the world around him spinning.

Meanwhile, Batman was surrounded by five men who each had weapons on them. Two of them tried hitting him at the same time but Batman blocked one, yanked his iron pipe out of his hand, did a quick sidestep and knocked hit him across the face with the iron pipe. He saw Tiny charging across the room with Robin and one of the men try to grab a gun all the while two other thugs tried to attack him at the same time. He ducked under the two men throwing a disruptor at the gun which send an electric shock that knocked out the goon. The other thugs tried to circle around him but Batman rolled out of the way detonating his explosive gel which sent the five goons flying.

He saw Robin crumple on the floor. Before Tiny could have his way, Batman used his Batclaw to yank Tiny backwards. Robin managed to recover as he rolled between Tiny’s legs. Tiny in a fit of rage charged at Batman who tackled him head, locked together in a grab like bulls, both trying to tackle the other to the ground, both of them not giving each other ground.

“Robin now,” Batman growled.

Robin nodded dashing towards Batman. Batman let go of Tiny causing Tiny to stumble. He ducked and Robin jumped using his back to propel him into Tiny. Robin kicked Tiny across the face before gracefully doing a backflip over him.

He landed on his feet. Tiny was still for a second, just one short second and then he crumpled on the floor.

The rest of the goons in seeing their leader knocked out thought it best to run but Batman and Robin swiftly dealt with them.

“That was a sick move we pulled together,” Robin said, rushing towards Batman. “Wasn’t it?”

Batman was silent, his eyes focused on ahead.

“Oh, come on Batman,” Robin said, rushing in front of Bruce. He raised up his hand. “Let’s at least celebrate with a high five. You owe me that.”

“Focus on the mission,” Batman said, walking past him.

Robin sighed. “Way to leave a guy hanging.”

…

Penguin sat on his chair. His umbrella pointed directly at the door. He’d kill Batman and that pretty boy before he got to him. He clutched the picture of his mother close to him, hoping and praying they didn’t get to him. That Tiny or any one of the idiots who were part of his gang would kill him and he could go on making money from those Vibranium weapons.

He loaded his gun, his finger trembling over the trigger.

The first thing he saw was red. He pulled the trigger.

“Thanks, Ozzy,” Robin said, waving the umbrella like a stick in one hand and his Batclaw in his other hand. “It’s pouring outside.”

Penguin tried to keep a straight face but everything and anything was falling apart in front of him.

“Hello Pretty Boy,” Penguin said. “Didn’t bring your daddy with you?”

Robin shrugged. “He’s much closer than you think.”

Penguin turned around and was greeted by darkness. Robin pulled out one of the chairs, turned it around and leaned on it. Robin placed the umbrella by his side, leaning against the chair.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Robin said. “So let me get straight to the point. Where’d you get the weapons?”

Penguin chuckled. He shuffled through his drawer and put a cigar in his mouth. He lit the cigar.

“So what?” Penguin said. “You’re supposed to be the good cop. Tell me, where’s you bat-daddy?”

“Eww,” Robin said. “Can you not say that?”

Penguin laughed, a dry hollow laugh. He placed the picture of his mother on the table.

“Now that you’ve made yourself comfortable,” Robin said. “Where’d you get the weapons?”

Penguin leaned forward, Robin did so too. Penguin blew out the smoke straight in his face.

“Not talking.”

“You sure?”

Penguin laughed. “Not going to yap to some dumb kid.”

Robin nodded. “Okay. The hard way it is.”

The lights came on and Penguin’s head bashed into the table. He saw two of everything. Two of his desk, two of his room and two of the Batman leaning over his table. Batman yanked Penguin out of the table and held him up.

“Where did you get those weapons?” Batman growled. “Tell me or I’ll kill you!”

Penguin scoffed. “Bollocks. We all know you don’t kill.”

He tossed Penguin to the ground. “True. But when they take you to Arkham you won’t be able to use your legs.”

Batman flipped Penguin on his back and was grabbed his leg.

The Penguin laughed. “That’s what you want to know innit?” He twisted his head to face Batman. “Well ain’t no way I’m telling you.”

Batman twisted his leg but the Penguin still laughed. “Ah, Ah Batman. You can break my bones, hell even destroy the weapons but I’ll take this secret with me to the grave.”

Batman stared at him for a while, Penguin could see the anger in his eyes. Then he did something Penguin didn’t expect.

He got up from the Penguin. Penguin got up, dusted himself and followed the Batman to the marble statue of his mother. The Batman removed something from his utility belt and sprayed something on it.

“Hey,” Penguin growled. “What the hell are you doing?”

He walked over to the oil painting of his mother and father and did the same.

“Stop it!” Penguin growled. “Stop it or I swear to god…”

Penguin reached for his umbrella but Robin kicked him to the ground.

“No Penguin,” Robin said. “You said you wanted to do this the hard way.”

After spraying those pictures, Batman put the gun-like device in his utility belt. “Before coming here, I read your psyche profile in the Arkham database. Turns out you’re a bit of a mummy’s boy, aren’t you?”

“I swear to god if you do anything to her,” Penguin growled.

“I won’t,” Batman said. “If you talk.”

“Screw you,” Penguin growled. “I’m not talking!”

“The thing I sprayed on the statues is a special form of gelignite,” Batman said. “If I pull this trigger.” Batman pulled out a gun like thing from his utility belt. “Whatever traces you had of your mother will go boom.”

Batman smirked which made Penguin feel unsettled. “You don’t want that do you?”

Penguin stared at Batman. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t spill to the Bat. He wouldn’t. Batman raised the trigger in the air, fingers getting closer and closer to the trigger.

“Fine,” Penguin grumbled. “Fine I’ll tell you where I got em.”

Robin pat him on the back. “Good boy.”

Penguin sighed. “I bought of the Joker. Me and the boys said no, we aren’t going to buy government issue weapons off of some random cunt dressed in a clown suit but the Joker told us it wasn’t government issue. Pulled out some papers.”

“Who bought the weapons?” Batman asked.

“At first we couldn’t believe it,” Penguin said. “No way these weapons were smuggled. These were high grade weapons, no way in hell someone could steal it. But much to our surprise that was exactly the case.”

“Did Joker mention the original buyer?” Batman asked. “Before he sold it to you?”

“No, but me and some of the boys did some research,” Penguin said. “Turns out it’s Ulysses Klaw.”

“Head of security of Ace Chemicals,” Batman said. “But why would they need Vibranium weapons?”

Penguin shrugged. “Beat me.”

Batman grabbed him by the collars. “You better not be lying to me.”

“I swear,” Penguin whimpered. “I swear to me mum.”

Batman let go of Penguin, letting him drop to the floor.

“So, you gonna let me go?” Penguin asked.

“No,” Batman said. “Robin tie him up.”

While, Robin was tying him up Batman started to think. Why did Ace Chemicals need such high caliber weapons? What were they hiding? What did the Joker know that he didn’t?

“Robin call the GCPD,” Batman said. “Send them the co-ordinates to the Penguin’s location?”

Robin nodded, tapping buttons on his gauntlet.

“Done,” Robin said.

Penguin laughed. “I shouldn’t have spilled.”

“What was that?” Batman asked.

“I shouldn’t have spilled,” Penguin said. “Should have know you would be too chicken to pull the trigger.”

“Leave him Bats,” Robin said. “Let’s go rendezvous with Batgirl.”

“Stupid little Bat,” Penguin laughed. “Doesn’t have the balls.”

“C’mon Batman,” Robin said. “This isn’t worth your time.”

Batman pulled the trigger.

Penguin let out a cry as the statue of his mother exploded into a volley of white dust. The painting and the picture were consumed by flames and the only remnants Penguin had of his mother was white dust.

At first the Penguin stared at the statue in half. And then he started crying. Tears started streaming down his face as the Penguin broke down in fits of ugly sobs. He didn’t look like a crime lord but a little boy.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Robin looked at the Penguin and then looked at Batman, at Bruce and saw something different. Something he had been ignoring for a long time.

They were in the Batmobile when Robin started talking about it.

“That was uncalled for Bruce,” Dick said.

“What was?”

Dick shrugged. “I don’t know, blowing up those pictures and that statue. That was his mother Bruce.”

“He’s a criminal Dick,” Bruce said. “Criminals need to be shown through whatever means that we’re not to be messed with.”

“It was still his mother Bruce,” Dick said. “If anybody should know why doing that is wrong, it should be you.”

Bruce was silent. It was 11:45 when they left the fisheries. No matter how fast Bruce drove, Dick knew they wouldn’t make it to Barbara in time. He just had to hope and pray that she would be oay.

…

It was 11:55 and the GCPD were getting nervous. They started drawing their weapons, patrolling the hallways and jumping at anything that moved.

Barbara Gordon tried to get in the basement but the SWAT team had beat her to it, chasing her out. Jay Wilde was surrounded by a circle of guards, all of them armed with automatic weapons. Commissioner Gordon searched around the basement with his gun drawn.

The guards got into position and by 11:57, Wilde’s manor looked less like a mansion and more of a military base.

The clocked ticked. Barbara waited outside the door of the basement seeing the minutes pass by.

11:58.

11:59.

12:00 came and nothing happened. Barbara let out a relieved sigh. Everything was going to be okay.

And then the lights went out.