Chapter Text
“Leaking?” Dick repeats. “How does a Zeta leak?”
The chittering of the bats clinging to the cave’s ceiling is loud in the answering silence.
Bruce drops his hand from where it’s pinching the bridge of his nose and stares in the direction of the Zeta tube. A muscle ticks painfully in his jaw. The cave lights dim briefly and then spring back to life.
Bruce surges to his feet. Just like the phony signal light earlier this evening, somehow, this is deliberate. He strides forward, moving around Tim and Alfred and off the central platform.
“Bruce?” Tim calls out from behind him.
“Stay here,” Bruce commands, pulling his cowl back up over his head.
A thin sheet of water surrounds the Zeta when he reaches it. Bruce stabs the code for the Newton Zeta site into the control panel, holding back the snarl that’s building in his throat—the zero key cracks slightly under his finger.
He moves into position, and the yellow-white light of the Zeta swells and engulfs him. The cave fades away, and after a moment, the Newton garage resolves around him.
An emergency light is flashing, washing over the concrete walls and ceiling in streaks of bright red. There’s a rapid beeping coming from the Zeta control unit. Outside the garage, the drumming of heavy rainfall against metal rises and falls with the whine of the wind.
Bruce moves forward, stepping off the platform, boots splashing into two inches of standing water. A stream of water runs over the edge of the upper level and pools around the Zeta’s platform. At the front of the garage, one side of the metal door is crumpled, the metal peeling back from the frame. Rainwater rushes in through the jagged opening.
Bruce moves up the stairs to the upper level, his cape swirling around him. It’s not the damage to the garage door or the slowly flooding floor that has his attention.
One wall of the garage is covered in a large mural sketched out neatly in black spray paint. It’s a basic map of Gotham. Several notable landmarks stand out - Robinson Park, Arkham Asylum, Blackgate, and Amusem*nt Mile.
On the northern isle, the eastern neighborhoods of Crime Alley, the Bowery, and Burnley are painted in finer detail with silver highlights. A thick red boundary encircles Crime Alley, encompassing the edges of the Bowery and Burnley.
Next to the map, in large block letters, a message is spelled out in blood-red paint:
NO ALLOWED
Embedded an inch deep into the concrete between the two words is a Batarang. The metal glitters and shines in the red strobing light.
Bruce stalks forward, the snarl finally ripping free of his throat. He tears the Batarang out of the wall and flings it at the emergency light, shattering the glass. The garage drops into darkness.
Bruce stills, breathing heavily, his hands curled into fists. Lightning flashes through the gash in the garage door.
The comm in his ear clicks softly, and then Oracle’s clipped voice crackles through the speaker.
“This is an all-call, emergency protocol delta-5. Repeat, all call in with your location and standby.”
Tim stares after Bruce as he disappears through the Zeta.
He should finish the Batarang analysis, Tim decides, gnawing on his lip. Then, fix the power grid. Then maybe he can help with the Zeta issue.
Dick sighs heavily and stands from his chair at the Batcomputer, lifting his arms above his head and stretching side to side.
“Well,” he says, glancing at Tim, “I think that’s my cue. I needed to get back to Blüd anyway.”
Alfred’s lips press together slightly as he eyes the legal papers spread over the desk.
“Perhaps you should stay the night, Master Dick, and finish your discussion with Master Bruce.”
Dick slips around Tim, his hand darting out to ruffle Tim’s hair quickly before he leaps lightly off the platform and heads to where he’d parked his motorcycle.
“Oh, I think Bruce has it covered. Night, Alf!”
Tim watches the lights of Dick’s motorcycle disappear down the cave’s tunnel, the growl of the engine fading with them, feeling slightly envious of Dick’s ability to retreat to a different city entirely.
The cave lights flicker again. In the dimmer light, a dull glow from the parking platform draws Tim’s eye. He squints, trying to see around the equipment. Everything there should be dark now.
Tim hops off the central platform, making his way over. His eyes widen as he takes in the Batmobile. There’s a very faint glow emanating from the car’s interior. It’s coming from a small, fluorescent green patch on the front passenger seat.
Oh, crap, Tim thinks, his eyes sliding back to where Alfred is now sitting at the Batcomputer. Alfred has a headset on, and the comms program is open on the screen.
Maybe if he makes a break for the manor now, Tim thinks desperately, he can get out of the cave before Alfred notices the Batmobile. He eases back a few steps, creeping toward the staircase.
“Master Timothy.” Alfred’s impassive voice drifts through the cave. “I think you should hear this.”
Tim swallows, glancing longingly at the staircase before plodding back to the central platform.
As Tim approaches, Alfred pulls off his headset, turning up the volume on the Batcomputer’s speaker. Tim recognizes the sound of GCPD’s main channel immediately.
“Dispatch to central control, reports of multiple incidents across Crime Alley—”
“—need back up immediately. Suspicious activity in the parking lot of Anderson’s Grocery. 10-71, 10-71! Multiple shots fired!”
“—assault in progress at the corner of Adams and 5th. I repeat, 10-10, multiple parties involved.”
“—10-62, burglary in process at the industrial complex on Newberry. I’m getting reports of multiple individuals—wait, shots fired! I repeat, 10-71, 10-71! Multiple parties now engaged in a firefight—”
“Units 7 and 9, backup units are still 5 minutes out. Proceed with caution—”
Tim frowns, glancing over at Alfred. “Can you call Dick and Bruce back,” he starts. “I’m going to—”
The police scanner cuts out as one of the Batcomputer’s screens goes dark, Oracle’s symbol filling the screen. An open comm line transmits loudly out of the Batcomputer’s speaker.
“This is an all-call, emergency protocol delta-5. Repeat, all call in with your location and standby.”
The front wheel of Dick’s motorcycle slips slightly on the wet pavement, and he eases up on the throttle. Across the river, he can see rain falling heavily over Gotham, but in Bristol, there’s only a light drizzle.
He’s flying down Highway 47, half a mile away from the interchange with the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge. Dick shifts into the left lane, preparing to take the exit north toward Blüdhaven.
Home, Dick thinks tiredly.
He looks right one last time, gazing out across the water toward Gotham. The northern docks’ bright lights are visible through the misty haze. The rest of the city is shrouded in heavy, dark clouds.
Just as he starts to look away, red flares in his peripheral vision. Dick’s head whips back around, his motorcycle swerving slightly with the rapid movement. Across the river, a plume of fire rises over the docks.
As Dick watches, another explosion of flame bursts up over the docks. Then, two more in rapid succession to the east along the waterfront. A fifth flares brightly at the western edge of the docks.
Dick curses, what the hell is going down now.
He leans low, jerking his motorcycle across three lanes of traffic. Horns blare angrily all around him. He speeds up the south exit onto the bridge, heading back into Gotham.
From the bridge’s elevation, Dick can make out a series of flickering fires spread throughout the docks. As he takes the exit off the bridge, Dick can see the remains of a large warehouse amongst the easternmost fire. The warehouse’s structure is slowly collapsing inward. Thick smoke billows steadily above it before dissipating gradually into the rain.
Dick reaches one hand up to activate the comm built into the base of his helmet. Before he can reach it, there’s a click of a comm line opening, barely audible over the noise of his motorcycle. Oracle’s voice crackles through the speaker in his helmet. Dick’s experienced ear can hear the tension lurking in her synthesized tone.
“This is an all-call, emergency protocol delta-5. Repeat, all call in with your location and standby.”
Barbara wheels slowly through the hidden panel leading between Oracle’s base of operations and her apartment. There’s a tension headache brewing at the base of her skull.
She makes her way into the kitchen, grabbing the electric kettle from its stand and turning on the faucet to fill it.
The lights in the apartment are soft and dim. Beyond the kitchen window, Gotham stretches out in front of her. Brightly lit highrises shine against the night sky, their lights a smear of color through the heavily falling rain. A ghostly halo surrounds the giant, white W atop the Wayne Enterprises building.
Barbara raises a hand, brushing her bangs out of her eyes, and sighs. It’s been a long night. The kettle slowly fills. Rain splatters steadily against the windowpane, running in rivulets down the glass.
A peel of thunder rumbles through the sky, heavy and deep. Barbara glances up, content to watch the storm for a moment.
A red arrow of fire arcs across the sky, striking a nearby highrise.
BOOM!
Flames explode outward from the top floor of the building, orange and yellow lights flaring brightly. The Clocktower’s windowpanes rattle as the explosion roars through the night, echoing between buildings.
The kettle slips through Barbara’s fingers. The kettle’s glass wall cracks as it hits the porcelain sink base.
Car alarms wail, rising and falling in tandem. Somewhere nearby, a dog begins to howl. The kitchen faucet is still running, water hitting the broken kettle and splashing up out of the sink.
Through the window, Barbara can see smoke rising from the top floor of a building two blocks away. The faint sounds of police sirens rise in the distance.
Barbara swallows dryly, staring at the billowing smoke. She’s almost sure the building is home to Roman Sionis’ headquarters.
Someone is declaring war against Black Mask.
Her hand drifts up to the comm in her ear, taping out the command for an open line.
“This is an all-call, emergency protocol delta-5. Repeat, all call in with your location and standby.”
Replies flood in immediately.
“Batman, in Newton.”
“Robin and Penny-One, at the Batcave.”
She’s barely made it back through the panel when the Clocktower’s perimeter alarms start blaring.
Whoo-ah Whoo-ah Whoo-ah
Red emergency lights flash in a frantic pattern. There’s a burst of static over the comm line.
“Oracle, this — Nightwing — fires at the docks — warehouses —”
More static, high-pitched and warbling, cuts into the line.
Whoo-ah Whoo-ah Whoo-ah
Alerts flash across her monitors.
ALERT: PERIMETER BREACH. ALERT: UNAUTHORIZED ROOF ACCESS. ALERT: NETWORK ACCESS COMPROMISED.
Barbara silences the alarms, hurriedly pulling up the footage from her external surveillance cameras. The pointer on her screen vibrates minutely in time with the shaking of her hand against the trackpad. The footage flickers to life.
Barbara watches in mute horror as the motion detectors attached to the cameras focus in on movement along the western edge of the Clocktower’s roof.
The Red Hood flips up over the edge of the roofline, settling gracefully into a crouch. The empty cylinder of an RPG launcher rises starkly above his shoulder.
Barbara hits the Clocktower’s panic button, her other hand reaching for her comm.
“Oracle calling for emergency assistance at the Clocktower. I have a visual on Red Hood inside the security perimeter. I repeat the Clocktower is compromised.”
Static greets her call.
Hood stalks closer to the rooftop access door, ignoring the sheets of rain falling around him. The whiteout lenses of his helmet are staring directly at the camera hidden above the door.
Barbara licks her lips and flips over to a different channel, opening another emergency line.
“All call for help. Emergency assistance is needed at the Clocktower.”
Static.
Hood pauses in front of the access door and pulls a blocky device out of his pocket, holding it up into the camera’s view.
It’s a signal jammer.
There’s the soft click of another party joining the emergency line. Barbara’s lip curls up, her fingers tightening around the armrest of her chair.
“Now that it’s just the two of us, Oracle,” comes a modulated voice.
Hood lifts his free hand and gives the camera a wave.
“I thought it was time you and I had a chat.”
