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Chapter Text

     "Line up kids, the weather is going to turn nasty!" called the group home staff with his hands cupped over his mouth, the sky hanging over Gotham city turning darker as the raining clouds of storm overtook the sun without mercy. The remaining rays of light dissolved into the abyss as the clouds covered the source. The courtyard of Gotham's own St.Swithins Group Home turned gray and depressing while its inhabitants stood up and abandoned their activities that they relished in the sunlight. Many varying in ages mumbled profanities under their breaths as they joined the troop of sheltered kids marching begrudgingly back into the equally depressing recesses of the group home that they resided in. One of them, no older than fourteen and dressed in clothes just a size overlarge stood up from his spot by the fence overlooking the city skyline; his hair cut neatly into a fade and his eyes holding dark circles underneath them. He kept his head lowered, gaze intent on the ground as not many people he lives with enjoys the pleasure of his company. Much to his enjoyment of solitude, he did find a certain level of depression harboring inside because of his solitude. Never the less, life moves on and his hope for being taken in as a foster child has long since withered away into nothingness as the years of his living there grew longer and longer. He hardly advanced a few feet towards the group of kids moving indoors when the small sound of a plop caused his attention to turn around in curiosity. Behind him, only by a mere inch on the concrete ground, laid a small notebook: black leather in cover and writing on the cover. He bent down towards the fallen book and peered closely at the writing on the front. In bold white, as if etched by a nail, was written on the cover 'Death Note'. He picked it up and looked around, wondering if maybe someone threw it at him as an ill conceived joke but nobody was near him and this notebook felt flimsy to the point where it wouldn't receive much air time if it was. Before he had a chance to flip it open, a voice called for him to hurry along and the feeling of a raindrop turned his attention from the first page. Instead he stuffed the notebook into the back of his pants and tucked his shirt over it, hiding it from view and followed along to join the rest of the congregation inside. Nobody noticed his actions nor anything different about his walk despite having the notebook wedged within his backside. To his displeasure, even the majority of the staff dismiss him, paying him little to no mind that doesn't go beyond their regular duties of keeping him fed and alive. So silently and with his eyes down, he meandered inside where nobody looked his way, gave him greeting or acknowledged his presence. If they did, they might have noticed his hands behind his back: holding his contraband firmly from slipping from his buttocks and onto the floor.

    The best thing about being easily ignored is the point that hardly anybody notices when you go missing or wandering around after hours. As the group home settled into bed for the night and the evening staff sat lazily in the lounge, ignoring the children, Our unknown child slipped from his bunk bed and tiptoed out into the hallway; taking special care to sneak by the lounge where the staff remained with their heads lolled back in chairs; asleep to the world with little to no knowledge of the person slipping behind them without leave. He quietly made his way down the dimly lit hallway of the home until he reached his desired location: The art room where the kids gather for arts, crafts and other leisurely activities to invigorate their creativity. He enjoyed to come here at night because it offered him desired privacy from staff and other kids who might've snuck out of bed to wander out into the city or canoodle elsewhere: and staff hardly ever bother looking in there because they assume nobody would be interested in doing trivial arts in the dead of night. But luckily for him, he preferred to be alone in the art room as it permitted him the luxury of drawing without calling the ire of his fellow home inhabitants and staff. Tucked in the hem of his pajama pants, he pulled the found notebook out and inspected its leather cover in the soft moonlight, taking in the words 'Death Note' with curiosity. He flipped the cover open and found even more words scrawled on the front in the same white ink that emblazoned the cover. Holding the note closely in the moonlight, he was able to make out bits of the words but the darkness prevented him from being able to discern much of the text. Flipping through more of the pages, he saw more and more writing that he was unable to read; only making out the occasional 'Note', 'Die', 'Shinigami', 'Write' and 'Heart attack'. Beyond that, the notebook was empty; its pages blank and ready to be written in. He flipped the note shut and gave a small sigh of disappointment. What a weird notebook, all these words on the front and nothing beyond that. He'll have to read it later when the sun is up and he can see what all of it says. He made to slip the note back into his pajama's when a sudden voice, enshrouded in the shadows broke the silence.

"How to use, The human who's name that is written in this note shall die." The voice said slowly and clearly. It had a certain malice behind it, cold and detached. The boy dropped the notebook, taken aback by the sudden voice, and recoiled into a nearby desk. He squinted his eyes and surveyed the dark of the room, searching for the voice.

"Wh-who's there...?" He said slowly and quietly. "Barney...is that you?" The mysterious voice chuckled but still did not show himself.

"My name is Kuro." He replied, still making no effort to show himself. "And that's all you need know."

"Where are you?" The kid asked, still looking but fear clutching his body from movement. "Show yourself!"

"Calm down kiddo, I'm not here to hurt you." The one named Kuro returned in a terrible attempt at reassurance. "By chance, you stumbled upon something that belongs to me." The kid froze for a moment and felt around to touch the notebook. He picked it up and tossed it into the darkness.

"Here, I didn't know it was yours." Kuro gave another laugh, another cold but amusing laugh that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. The sound of rustling paper broke through and the notebook flew into the air and landed back at his feet.

"No you misunderstand." Kuro laughed. "That notebook is mine but, since you picked it up, it's technically yours now. I think you humans call it 'Finders keepers'." The kid slowly picked up the notebook and looked at it closely, still unsure what was even going on.

"Let me break it down simple for you." Kuro explained as if he were talking to a toddler. "That notebook is now yours to do whatever with. It's a special notebook so anybody's name you write down while thinking of their face will die. I'm just here to tag along for the ride until you give up the notebook, or you die. Either or." The kid stood up from the ground, his legs still shaking and heart racing. He looked down at the notebook and back into the darkness where Kuro was hiding.

"Show me who you are." He called out, trying to find his bravery. The sound of subtle footsteps echoed on the floor and an appearance came into view in the moonlight. Whatever the kid was expecting, he wasn't prepared for a well dressed man in a black and white suit, dark hair slicked back and red eyes staring down at him.

"Don't mind the form." He smiled with pointed teeth as he inspected his own body as if he was just seeing it for the first time. "I chose a look so that you wouldn't be too scared of me. Humans are such weird looking creatures."

"Why do you keep saying 'Humans.'?" The kid asked slowly, trying to piece everything together. "Are you an alien or something like Superman?"

"We go by many names in your human history." Kuro said. "Shinigami, Ferrymen, the list is extensive. But in short: I am a god of death. And that's my notebook you're holding."

"Wait, what do you mean by 'Form'. What do you really look like." The kid persisted. Kuro gave a dark, deep laugh and leaned down to look at him; his red eyes reflecting off the moonlight.

"Believe me: you'll want me to keep this look." He said simply. "But the real question is what are you going to do with that notebook?" The kid looked down at the note in his hand, still making out everything that is happening. 

"So I write a name in the notebook while thinking of their face, that person will die?" He asked, making sure he heard right.

"With some rules and stipulations, in the fine print as you humans say, but that's the main point of it." 

"How are you going to get back to the room with me, people will see you."

"Only those who have touched that notebook will be able to see and hear me." Kuro continued to explain. "Think of me as your little imaginary friend." The kid stood quiet, his hand still clutching the notebook and his eyes looking at Kuro who stared down at him with a vile, wretched smile.

"So kid, what do you say? Are we going to have some fun?"

Chapter Text

     "Full house boys, read 'em and weep!" howled a gruff man with raucous laughter as he slammed his playing cards down on the green felt table, causing four others to groan in disapproval and shake their heads in defeat. He leaned in towards the table, scooping up a pile of petty cash and coins and dragged them towards himself; face pleased with his winnings. The small room they sat in was dimly lit with a small light overhead and the eerie shine of the moon beaming gently from the window. Smoke from their cigars laying idly on the table creating a small cloud of vapors overhead and the smell of tobacco and alcohol running rampant through their noses. One of the players leaned back, taking in a long drag from his cigar and blowing a pillar of smoke from his mouth, glared at the overjoyed winner who greedily counted his cash with his fingers.

     "Jesus Liam, at this rate, you'll be the one buying us drinks next time we're at the bar." He coughed as the smoke flew from his mouth. two other's of the men mumbled incoherently in agreement, small piles of cash still at their sides but remarkably less than Liam's newly grown pile.

"Ya' gotta work on your poker face Reg." Liam smiled with stained teeth. "I can see your tell a fuckin' mile away!" He took hold of his beer bottle and downed a large gulp; dribbles of alcohol spilling from his lip corners. "It's almost as bad as Jessop's over there." He gestured to a balding man who's face was red from their frivolities. He gathered all the cards thrown on the table, piling them neatly in a stack and shuffled them lazily.

"Like your poker face is any better." One of the other guys retorted who also took a drink from his beer, albeit cleaner than Liam did. "I beat you a couple hands back."

"I let ya win that one, don' be tryin' to think otherwise." Liam returned as he dealt the cards to the players by two. "My poker face is as clean as a whistle."

"Is that how you were able to get out of that Domestic Abuse and Assault charge last month?" The one called Reg asked as he looked at his cards carefully, taking extra measures to make sure they remained hidden. "Your poker face is just that good?"

"Man, his lawyer was a fucking moron!" Jessop shot out as he peeked his own cards. "Gotham public defenders couldn't get a prostitute off if they tried. I call."

"You couldn't get a prostitute off if you tried Jess." Laughed Reg which earned him a swift punch to the shoulder. "Lighten up, I'm kidding." He gave another look at his cards before looking around the table at the players. "Raise, Five bucks." He tossed a crumpled bill onto the middle of the table, causing Liam, Jessop and the other one to shoot their eyes at their cards.

"If anyone can get a prostitute off, Its ole' Colby here." Reg chuckled, giving the last player a firm pat on the shoulder. "Your wife looked pretty happy last time we saw here."

"If that's all it takes to make that cow happy, Colby can have her and her goddamn credit card debts." Liam grumbled with clear disdain. "Make a move Cole, I ain't getting any younger or prettier over here."

"At your age man, you'll get pretty when the mortician is finished with ya." Colby smirked as he threw a couple dollars into the pot. "Raise you by ten."

"These kids don't got no respect for their elders." Reg choked as he took a long drag from his cigar. "Thinkin cause you're all young and spry, you know everything."

"It's that ignorance that'll land you on the wrong end of the Bat, I tell ya what." Liam warned with a grim smile. Jessop and Reg nodded their heads in agreement, causing Colby to scoff and lean back in his chair.

"Man you old timers with your drugged up superstitions." He snorted with dismissal. "Ain't no such thing as a Batman." The room fell silent as the three older men looked at their naive counterpart. Jessop took a long, thoughtful drag of his cigar while Liam and Reg took sips of their beer. Reg set his bottle down, burping quietly into his sleeve.

"Kid comes down from Metropolis where a fuckin' yutz in a red and blue onesie flies around but don't believe the Batman is real." mumbled Reg from behind his cigar.

"It's a fucking scam man!" Colby defended with a smile. "You're telling me that one guy dressed for Halloween is out there fighting ya'll? Man I don't buy it." 

"Listen here punk, The Bat is very real." Reg snarled, leaning in the table closely. "I seen him. Taller than you, taller than me. Eye's like the devil and fights like it too." Colby stared at Reg who's eyes narrowed at him and his face serious and cold. "Guys who end up on the wrong side of the Bat ain't got much to say. Ya know why?" Colby shook his head slightly, not entirely convinced with what he's saying.

"Because most your teeth will be down your fuckin throat when he's done with ya." Liam finished, not looking at Colby but instead simply at the table. "And that's if he's having a bad day. the Bat put my man Darrel in a neck brace for a month when he was done with 'em."

"Darrel got off easy man." Jessop mumbled as he took another drag from his cigar. "How many times did the Bat put Joker in a body cast?"

"More times than this kid's got pubes." Liam replied with a point at Colby. Colby looked around the table and saw the solemn expressions on their faces, clearly perturbed by the activities of The Batman.

"You never know when he's comin either." Liam continued next to Colby. "They say the man is shadow's themselves. Moves like death, all quiet like." He took a long inhale of his cigar and blew the smoke into Colby's face. Colby coughed, waving his hand in front of himself to dispel the smoke. "And that's all you'll see if you're lucky enough." Liam went on. "Just smoke. No warning, no voice. And you don't want to see him comin' at ya."

"Wh-why not...?" Colby asked slowly, the idea creeping onto him. Liam leaned in closer to him.

"Cause if the Bat lets ya' see him, then ya know you really fucked up."

"Forget the sunny daycare of Metropolis kid." Jessop chuckled darkly. "Aint no Superman here to give ya a slap on the wrist anymore. You're in hell."

"And the Batman is the goddamn devil." Liam finished as he leaned back into his seat. There was an eerie silence that fell on them as the weight of what they told settled on Colby's mind. There's no way one man can be like that. Sure he's heard stories about Batman but that's all they were to him: Just stories. Tall tales from drugged up people who had too much to smoke, drink or whatever and the Batman was just some cocked up hallucination the police told the public to keep them from worrying. Now he's getting told that the Batman is real and not someone he want's to remotely meet on a good day.

"If you're lucky kid, you'll bump into Robin before you meet Batman." Liam sighed idly, looking down at his cards one last time. "Trash cards man, I fold."

"Man folds before the river ain't no real man." Jessop laughed as Liam tossed his cards on the table face down. "I hear round that Robin and Superboy are getting real close. Like close close."

"You better drop the beer Jess, I think its getting to ya." Liam smiled as he took a look out the window. "Ain't nobody anywhere saying that."

"Nah man, I heard a few guys down with the Falcone's talking about it." Jessop persisted.

"Probably just some stupid ass rumor, ain't no damn truth to it whatsoever." Liam dismissed as Jessop gave a defeated shrug of his shoulders. Reg gave a small yelp and clutched his shirt tightly with his hands. Liam looked over at him and laughed heavily.

"Ya gotta slow down with the smoking Reg, it'll kill ya." He choked between breaths as he took a long drag of his cigar. Reg leaned on the table, his hand not grabbing his chest clutching the edge of the table tightly. His face was screwed in pain as he took deep inhales, the sound of breath hollow and intense as it flew up in his throat. Colby looked over, his own face now etched with concern placed his hand on his shoulder; shaking him lightly.

"Yo man, you okay?" He asked urgently, lowering his head to see Reg's face which was screwed up in pain. Reg managed to shake his head but could not find the strength to speak as his hand clutched tighter on his chest.

"Leave him be Colby." waved Liam dismissively. "Reggie can't smoke like he used too."

"No, I think something is wrong with him!" Colby snapped as he leaned Reggie back in his chair. The other two looked over, slightly more concerned than they were before as Colby kept shaking Reggie by the shoulders. But Reggie took little notice; his eyes straining as their veins became more and more prominent. The veins in his neck popping slightly out as he gasped and clutched for air that was leaving his body. He made a minor attempt to grab Colby's shirt but only grabbed at air. Within a minute, Reggie gave a small exhale and saw no more, his hand's falling limp to his side and his head lolled back on his chair. The ghost of his pain etched on his face and his mouth hanging open. Colby shook him again, calling his name but received no answer. Reggie was gone from the world, no longer aware that his three friends were clambering to their feet to rush to his aid too little too late. Deep in the distance of Gotham city, sitting quietly in the dark of an empty art room, illuminated only by moonlight sat a young boy with a pencil in hand and a notebook in front of him. Only one thing was written inside the lines of the paper of the note: a name. A name that he never was going to forget with a face he was never going to miss. Written on the page was simply 'Reggie Carters". He set his pencil down and slipped the note shut, his breath held and anticipation running wild.

"So he's dead?" He asked slowly as he looked up at Kuro who was looking down at him as he wrote his first name down. Kuro gave a shrug, his red eyes looking down at the young boy.

"It's a safe assumption." He replied grimly but with a unmistakable tone of deep, dark satisfaction. "By default, it takes sixty second for the person who's name is written to die. Unless you want to get more creative."

"What do you mean by 'creative'?" He asked as the sound of a distant siren cried through the nights. "It doesn't have to be a heart attack?"

"Oh no." Kuro responded. "That's just the 'go-to'. Within the rules of the Death Note, just about any physical death is possible. If you tried to crush a man with a planet, it defaults to heart attack. But you humans are built so fragile, any of your organs can fail without warning."

"And with this notebook.." The kid concluded, reaching the same end Kuro was eluding to. "I could cause a Pulmonary Embolism, total organ failure, brain aneurysms."

"Look who's starting to see the big picture." Kuro smiled as he leaned down closer to him. The kid looked over at him, his eyes alight with possibility. "I couldn't care less who you kill but I am curious kid: Who was the lucky first name you wrote down?" The kid looked out the window, a smile slowly etching on his face as he envisioned what he was going to do, who was going to write down and all he can accomplish or achieve with this one simple notebook.

"He was my Step-dad. He abused my mother until she couldn't take care of me when I was eight." The kid answered simply. "She got committed to Arkham Asylum, He was put on trial for Assault but he got off. He was set free and I was placed here."

"So this was just what you humans call 'Good, old fashioned revenge'?" Kuro sighed, looking up with a larger smile. "Most people use the note on random strangers they never met before."

"Yeah well, he deserved it." The kid returned darkly. "And with this, I can find all the people who killed my father and-"

"Yeah, I told you kid; I Don't care." Kuro interrupted plainly as he waved his hand rudely. "I'm here until the end, doesn't mean I want to know every step of the way." He looked down at him again who was looking up at him with a slight confused expression. Kuro bent down to one knee, now level to his new friend of sorts and smiled his smile. But this time the lines of his lips curled all the way to his ears, his mouth wide and demonic with his teeth bared: Pointed and sharpened. The young boy recoiled at the sight, unsure if this was part of his real form that he felt keen to keep hidden.

"You and I." He growled with an unearthly tone crawling from the depths of his throat. "Are going to have a lot of fun together."

Chapter Text

     While the nightlife of Gotham City is plagued by homicidal clowns, mutant crocodiles and other vicious beings that prey on the citizens; Daylight Gotham boasts a different kind of criminal underworld that many remain blissfully ignorant about unless they are in the deep know of the criminal underbelly. Of course there is much talk about the powers that actually control Gotham that leave the lips of Gothamites. That of the talks that surround the two most powerful families (next to the Wayne family) of Gotham city: The Falcone and Maroni families. On the outside, both families boast a large sum of wealth and influence that even the very government of Gotham can't ignore, with hands that reach into nearly every single prominent person's wallet to shift the tides of whatever in their favor. Such things are a cover though as both families have a different side to their otherwise normal facade. Like a coin; both families have a different face underneath all the pomp and circumstance that many citizens know as "The Falcone and Maroni crime families". When a new addictive drug suddenly hits the streets and inventories of every dealer in the city, chances are either the Falcone or Maroni family had a hand in it. Laundering, smuggling, kidnapping, grand larceny, the list could go on for a lifetime of crimes the families had a hand in. And while the Gotham Police are aware of their dealings; being able to pin them to any crime has always been a struggle near to the point of folly. Money talks and no money screams louder than the bills placed in the right judges hand or the jury that is charged to convict them: making both families virtually untouchable by the law. When they get caught with their hands in the cookie jar, they manage to wiggle their way out of any consequences. While that can be said for the main members of the families: such cannot be said for those who work for them as their underlings. Common thugs looking to make it as a big cog in the grandfather criminal clock often suffer as the patsy for the dealings. Lieutenants, enforcers and the ones higher in the chain of command are typically granted the leniency and luxury of the family bail out, letting them off free of consequences. Even though many mobs run rampant through Gotham city; whether it's the thugs working for Roman Sionis, The Black Mask,  or the bird patched goons under the ruthless arms dealer, Oswald "The Penguin" Cobblepot: neither gang compares to the structure, formidability and cunning that irradiates from the Falcone and Maroni Crime family. The influence the Falcone's command runs deep within the political world of Gotham: extending far into the police, Mayors office, and the courts themselves. Making them the impromptu rulers of Gotham. The Maroni Family, while not deep within the running of Gotham still commanded respect as they made their footing in the illegal drug trade, bootlegging and Alcohol distribution; running most of their operations out of Gotham Harbor. The corruption that entangles Gotham runs deep to the point that even the best of the city can't bring the dirty deeds of either family into light without suffering consequences from either side, rendering both the Falcone's and Maroni's untouchable and an overall force to be feared by those who uphold the law to the best of their ability. Figures such as James Gordon of the GCPD are a constant target and threat to the families as it his unwavering stance against organized crime that makes him a beacon of light in the ever dark shadow that both families cast over the city. His officers, loyal not to him but the law and city that they swore to uphold and protect, patrolling the city and doing all they can to thwart the activities of the Falcone's and Maroni's from all parts of Gotham; As far as the Narrows all they way to Lower Gotham. But even in the day, the actions and everyday heroics of these officers can only go so far as they are sworn to follow the law themselves, incapable to cross the bounds of law they so dearly cherish. Hence why when the sun of Gotham goes down and the officers of the city take to their patrols at night: they can work with a certain ease of mind knowing that somewhere within the bowels of the city, there are individuals who will stop at nothing to bring the crime syndicates into the light. And when the beacon lights up the night sky, the warning is issued: The Batman is out there.

Chapter Text

     Hidden on the outskirts of Metropolis city, much like Gotham across the harbor, lays in secret a cave. Unlike the dark and macabre aura the Batcave radiates, this particular hideout boasts a more well lit environment with a variety of bright blue and white luminescent overhead lights illuminating the large area. Much like the Batcave, this hideout houses a series of expensive and delicate instruments, computers and other various devices and gadgets designed for investigation and deducting the various clues and mysteries that the inhabitants undertake. The lair, a gift given to by Batman and Superman to their sons, is the hideaway for Damian Wayne and Jonathan Kent: Or otherwise known as Robin and Superboy to conduct their own investigations while undertaking their own patrol's through Gotham and Metropolis. Much to Damian's ire, Jon dubbed the lair as the "Fortress of Attitude", cementing the name permanently through the vigilante's web of allies. When he's not leading the Teen Titans in Jump City, Damian spends most of his time in the Fortress with Jon; training, catching up on criminal activities or, on the down time when the two aren't busy, just relaxing and catching up on reading or other hobbies he has with his friend in the quiet and solitude away from everybody else. Jon, not having a lair of his own, spends much of his free time there as well when he's not helping his father on the Kent family farm, opting to use his leisure time to catch up on his school work or just plainly relax and enjoy the ambiance of having a secret lair to hide in. The duo sat in silence in the lair, with Damian sitting at the large screened computer, flicking through different pictures of people and sorting them in different files while Jon sat across the way upside down on a squashy blue sofa; a book in his hands as he read with his dark hair hanging towards the floor.

     "Why is Mrs. Ramirez having us read about the French Revolution?" Jon asked as he flipped the pages of his book with a slight hint of boredom. "What does that have to do with economics?". Damian didn't bother looking behind him, his attention firmly on the screen as he sifted and sorted through the different files and pictures.

"What was the main cause that led to the eventual revolution and overthrowing of the French monarchy?" He returned simply, his eyes alight from the computer. Jon hesitated for a moment, rifling through the pages of his book before responding with a curt mumble that was meant to say "I don't know." Damian, not bothering to acknowledge the sound Jon made instead continued on with his train of thought. "The main cause was because of the state of the economy during that time, considering France was in major debt from fighting a war against the British and funding the American revolution. That and factoring the two estates were living off the backs of the Peasantry who were barely surviving as it was and were being unfairly taxed to the point that even poverty couldn't aptly describe their situati-" 

"Alright, alright, I get it!" Jon interrupted as he snapped his book shut. "You're smart and I'm dumb, no need to rub it in."

"You're not dumb Kent." Damian sighed, his attention hardly shifting from his task. "You just need to apply what you're learning. You're receiving one of the best educations in Metropolis and you're at most an average student when you can be far much more."

"Well not everybody had the advantage of being raised by a cult of Assassins bent on domination through various means." Jon retorted as he flipped himself upright on the sofa and stretched his arms behind his back. "Not everybody was given a complete history of world economics, politics and all that stuff."

"If you'd prefer, I can arrange you to spend a month or two with the League of Assassins so you can receive a full taste of the education I endured." Damian replied with a small hint of a chuckle. "If you don't mind having broken bones every other day from the rigorous physical exercise program they offer." Jon laughed a small laugh as he stood from the couch and crossed over to where Damian sat, leaning casually on the back of the arm chair Damian occupied.

"That'll be a hard pass thanks." Jon chuckled as he fiddled with Damian's spiky hair with his finger, earning him a curt swat from Damian. "I'll have to turn down the prestigious scholarship to the Academy of Assassins." He looked up at the computer Damian was working on and took notice of the pictures and files Damian was sorting through. "What are you doing anyways, I thought we were supposed to be working on that economics paper."

"I'm transferring a copy of the criminal database from the Batcave computer to here so I don't have to keep using the database in Gotham. Father has most of the higher priority rogues under a series of firewalls and encryptions but some of the minor players such as thugs and members of the major crime families are relatively easy to get access to."

"So nothing to do with school." Jon concluded. "Got it."

"My paper has been done since it was assigned." Damian responded blankly. "I finished it while Gossamer was blathering on about the difference between Charles Dickenson and George Orwell."

"And why are you copying these files?" Jon asked, pushing himself off the back of the chair and rocking Damian slightly as he did so.

"Because mafia families spread far beyond Gotham." Damian continued. "Plus it will help for us to widen our own database if we're going to continue operating in both Metropolis and Gotham." Jon watched the screen as a large picture of a man with light brown hair and a mean scowl across his face. The picture hardly stayed on the screen for a moment before a large red square stamped across his face with, in bold letters, 'Deceased' and Damian moved the file to the side.

"Who's that?" Jon asked curiously as Damian ran his hand through his hair.  He gave the keyboard to the computer a click and the screen went dark.

"Some low level thug who died a about three weeks ago. Autopsy reported heart attack. Heavy smoker, not in the best of health." He breathed as he turned in his chair and stood up in front of Jon who took a slight step back. Damian gave his arms a large, relaxing stretch behind his back; his arms wide in the air. Jon took the quick opportunity of Damian's open body to lean in and steal a quick peck on Damian's unsuspecting lips. Damian took no step back but instead looked at Jon's doe eyes with a look of slight amusement. He gave Jon a slight, playful push with his hand, moving him back a foot away from him.

"I couldn't resist." Jon smirked with a toothy smile. "The temptation was too powerful." Jon took a subtle step closer but was halted by Damian's outstretched palm on his chest.

"Keep it contained lover boy." Damian quipped, a rarity from him. Damian moved his hand off his chest and gave him a small pat on the shoulder. "Suit up in five minutes Kent, we're going on patrol." Jon raised an eyebrow at Damian who removed his hand from Jon and turned to walk away towards the Fortress locker room.

"I thought you only operate in the dark!" Jon called as Damian continued to stalk down the fortress. "Since when does Robin work in the day??"

"Batman is the night!" Damian shot back, not turning to look at Jon but instead gave a dismissive wave. "But Robin's are just as much daytime fliers as well as night fliers." He turned a corner and disappeared from Jon's view, his footsteps clapping down the halls. Jon gave a small shake of his head and followed Damian's footsteps down the hall towards the lockers to change himself.

     It was a different sight in Superboy's eyes; seeing Robin out in the daylight. His red and green costume that is usually shadowed in the veil of darkness now vibrant and visible from the bright sunlight of Metropolis. His black cape still billowing behind him as he perched himself on the edge of a tall building the two were positioned in, his hood still drawn up over his head and covering the white lenses of his dark green mask. Superboy on the other hand looked like a younger version of his father: his Blue jacket with the House of El coat of arms adorning the middle, a red cape sewn on his shoulders. Beyond that, he only wore a pair of jeans with holes in the knees and a pair of red sneakers haphazardly tied in a loose knot. The duo stood calmly on the rooftop, the Metropolis air blowing gently through their hair and capes, making them flow heroically behind them. Superboy sat crisscrossed on the ledge while Robin took a knee: surveying the area with a pair of binoculars and a earpiece in his ear.

"So...what are we looking for today?" Superboy asked as he uncrossed his legs to let them dangle from the ledge. "Mugging? Store robbery?"

"I'm tuned in to the Metropolis PD radio." Robin replied, listening intently to the chatter on his ear piece. "Lucky for us, there's a high speed chase ongoing about twelve blocks away from us due east."

"And you chose this roof for a reason that involves that didn't you." Superboy deduced, looking around the area below them.

"The turnpike west of us is connected to the interstate that the chase is on." Robin proceeded to explain. "But there's heavy construction on there which means that the next exit they can take will lead them just off near Hero's Park. Which happens to be-"

"Two blocks away from the building we're on now." Superboy finished, concluding Robins train of thought with a smile. "Which puts us in a good position to intercept them." Robin looked over at his partner and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, a smile etching on his lips.

"And you said you were dumb." he praised as he stood up from his perch; placing his binoculars back inside the confines of his yellow utility belt. Superboy followed suit and stood up from his seat just as the sounds of police sirens started growing louder in the distance. Superboy peered towards the direction of the sirens and with the help of his enhanced vision; saw a grey coupe barreling down the road, three Metropolis P.D cruisers trailing close behind it with their red and blue lights flashing brightly.

"There." Superboy pointed out in the direction. "About a block and a half away." Robin gave a nod of confirmation as he took a small step closer on the edge, the tip of his toes hanging off the ledge of the building. 

"Remember what a 422 run is?" He asked Superboy, looking down the building which was a good 250ft high. Superboy clicked his tongue in thought for a moment, racking his brain through the different runs and maneuvers they practice together.

"A 422 run is where you engage the target vehicle, disarm any assailants and I bring the car to a complete stop." He answered slowly, hoping that the tactic was the correct one. In his defense, they practice different maneuvers and strategies to the point of obsession and Robin naming them all makes it harder for him to keep up with them all.

"Good job." Robin said without looking up. "You have a five minute window to stop the car before it creates bigger problems for the general populace and the police chasing them."

"How are you going to engage in them?" Superboy asked quickly, pre-fight jitters filling his body. "We're all the way up here and we usually do this on the gr-" Superboy didn't get a chance to finish his sentence for at that moment: Robin took a calm step off the ledge and fell into a plummet towards the ground. Superboy gave a small exasperated sigh as he leaned forward to watch Robin position himself into a dive, his cape flowing behind him in a flap of fabric. In a blink of an eye: He watched Robin extend his arms with his cape and enter a smooth, controlled glide towards the speeding car that was driving in his direction.

"Why do I bother asking." Superboy mumbled to himself.

     The Grey coupe screeched and careened as it passed and sped by other cars that turned quickly to get out of its way with the police hot on their tail. Three men sat in the car, each wearing a black stocking mask over their heads; two of them holding on to their seats for dear life while the driver kept his focus and grip on the wheel and road. The red and blue lights behind them flashed dangerously close as the police cruisers were starting to close the gap between them, almost getting bumper to tail end. One of the goons looked back at the cruisers to see the distance before turning around again.

"Man this job was supposed to be an easy 'In and out' deal!" He yelled as the car took a sharp turn to avoid a passing truck. "Why the hell are we doing this?!?"

"Because one of Falcone's boys are paying some pretty big bucks for this stupid ass file!" The driver shouted back, his eyes focused on the road. "We get this D.A docket to him, and we get paid 40,000 dollars!"

"But did we have to shoot up the fucking Metropolis D.A's office??" Another goon shot as he clutched a manilla folder across his chest. "It's always swarming with cops!"

"When you take a job from the Falcone's, its more about sending a message!" The driver snapped, his fists clutching the steering wheel. "Now shut the fuck up so I can focus!"

"Yo boss!" The goon in the back called out, looking out the back of the window. "The cops are backing off." He watched as the three cop cars started slowing down, putting distance between them from each other until they were a fair forty feet behind them.

"Looks like we're in the clear." The driver sighed with premature relief. He barely had a moment to catch his breath when a loud thud caused him to jump back slightly in his seat. All three goons looked forward at the sound and saw a figure in red and green crouched on the hood of the car, hanging on by the roof.

"Fucking Christ, it's Robin!" The passenger goon bellowed as he drew back slightly. Robin smirked at them from the outside: his cape whipping behind him as the car sped down the road. "Shake the fucking birdbrain off!" Roared the passenger goon, clutching the folder for dear life. The car swerved back and forth dangerously, its tires screeching on the road below but did nothing to shake Robin off the hood who had an ironclad grip to the vehicle. He drew back his fist and with a loud crash; rammed his curled hand through the windshield: spraying glass everywhere across the occupants faces. The wind ripped through the car, rustling the folder in the goons hands as he held onto it for dear life. Robin withdrew his hand and pulled a small pellet from his belt; tossing it into the car's open windshield where it rolled out of view underneath the drivers seat. Quickly, Robin pulled his grapple gun from his belt and fired it off into the air where the hook latched onto a passing tree; pulling him off the car in a flash of red, black and yellow. The occupants barely had time to put together all that happened before a loud bang issued from underneath the seat and the car was enveloped in a thick haze of smoke. Coughing and gagging, the driver violently pulled the steering wheel hard left, causing the car to careen off the road and tumble into the air. Broken glass and windows shattered around them as they rolled on the ground; the sound of metal violently screaming and screeching as it plowed along the way. But just as quickly as it began, the car suddenly came to a soft and gentle halt; its rolling and raging ceasing until the only sound was the engine hissing as it idled to its death. The driver, hanging weakly out of his shattered window managed to meekly look up to see what caused their sudden stop; only to see a blur of red and blue and a figure struggling to hold the car in place by its side. Superboy lowered the car from his chest and collapsed onto the ground, his breath heavy and stolen from him. He wiped his hair from his face and looked up at the car which was damaged, scratched and dented all around the body; its occupants groaning in pain on the inside. By the time Superboy got to his feet, Robin was already standing next to him, observing the car before them.

"Nice work." Robin smiled, giving Superboy a pat on the shoulder. "Minimal damage to public roads and no danger to pedestrians." Superboy looked over at Robin with a slightly annoyed expression on his face. He took a great inhale of breath before resting his hands on his hips.

"Next time, let me know what you're going to do." He complained plainly. "I'm not a mind reader and I can't tell what you're thinking.". Robin clicked his tongue idly as he strolled past Superboy towards the wrecked car where the three occupants were slowly coming to and dragging themselves out of the broken windows of the wreckage. He and Superboy approached the car where Superboy grabbed the handle of the drivers door and with a mighty tug; pulled the door off the hinges with ease. He set it on the ground while Robin bent down and pulled the driver from the car, holding him steady and leaning him on the side of the car.

"Get the passenger out." He instructed Superboy who gave a nod of his head, walking to the other side of the car. "I'll see what this one has to tell me." Superboy, opting to open the door this time instead of ripping it off, picked the passenger off from the ground and stood him against the car; taking notice of the crumpled folder still clutched against his chest. The goon, groggy and disoriented, gripped the folder tightly to his body as Superboy reached to take it from his grasp. Behind the wreckage, the distant sound of police sirens started to grow louder as the three patrol cars from earlier began drawing closer to them.

"Hey, Robin." Superboy called out. "This guy has a folder on him. Seems important enough he needs to safe guard it."

"That's probably what they were after then." Robin shot back, looking over the drivers shoulder at Superboy. "Take a look at what it is, then we can turn it back to the police." Superboy nodded in compliance and gripped the folder with his free hand. He gave a small tug but before he had a chance to apply a meager amount of force; the man holding the folder gave a sharp and sudden grunt of pain. His knees buckling beneath him and he dropped to the ground; groaning loudly and gasping heavily for air. Superboy dropped to his knees with him, no longer worried about the folder as the goon let go of it instead to clutch the area where his heart is with his hands. His groans grew louder as he gripped his shirt tightly, as if to rip it off his body. Superboy lowered him to the ground on his back: his face growing more and more panicked.

"ROBIN!!!" He shouted urgently as the goons eyes behind his mask started growing bloodshot. "I NEED HELP NOW!!!!!". Robin, hearing the urgency in Superboy's voice took no time in reacting. He let go of the driver and quickly vaulted over the car hood in a smooth side flip. He reached Superboy's side and lowered himself next to him where the man's breaths were getting more and more shallow. He reached over and quickly pulled the stocking off his head to reveal his face was beet red and tears streaming down his cheeks.

"What happened?!?" Robin questioned urgently, quickly casing the entire event. Superboy shook his head and felt a tear running down his own cheek.

"I don't know! One minute he was fine, next thing I know is he's like this!" Superboy replied, hardly keeping his own emotions contained. "What do we do?!?" Before Robin could reply; the man in Superboy's arms ceased his groaning. His eyes fixated upwards in shock and pain but no longer moving. Superboy's face drained of its color as the man fell limp in his arms; his hands that once were clutching his chest now falling slowly to his sides. Superboy gave him a gentle shake where his arms fell fully to his side and a final breath slipping from his lips. "Hey...Wake up.." He whispered softly, shock making itself at home in his chest. Robin looked over his shoulder and saw the three police cruisers pulling to a stop behind them. He quickly pulled a small device from his belt and held it over the now deceased man's face. There was a flash of light akin to a flash from a camera and Robin slipped the device back into his belt, not before scooping up the folder and its contents with his hands and over looking the pages. Superboy sat motionless with the man in his arms, still shaking him as if it would revive him and bring him back from a place there is no return from. Robin set the folder neatly back on the ground and grabbed Superboy by the shoulder.

"Listen, he's gone and we need to go. Now!" He whispered to him soothingly but urgently. Superboy remained motionless, still staring at the empty eyes of the man in his arms; his face devoid of emotion. Robin gave a small grunt of annoyance as he turned Superboy's head to face him. "Look. He's dead and there's nothing we can do about it." He pressed on as Superboy gave him a blank stare. "If we stay here, they'll think we had something to do with it. Now pull yourself together and lets go!" Superboy gave a numb nod of his head and he looked back at the deceased man. He gently set him on the ground and stood up with Robin who gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Come on, we can figure this out later." Robin mumbled as Superboy wrapped his arms around Robins waist. By the time Superboy lifted off the ground with Robin; the police officers had converged on the scene, the remaining two goons getting to their feet and raising their hands above their heads. With his super-hearing: Superboy was able to hear an officer say "We need EMS on scene now, there's a body non responsive.", unaware that he was in a place beyond the help of Emergency Medical assistance.