Young Justice: Aftermath Chapter 4- Nightwing

BLÜDHAVEN
April 1, 21:16 EDT
TEAM YEAR 7

    “Just another night,” Dick reassured himself as he grabbed his black costume from the foot of the bed, slipping the skin-tight leather suit on. He stared at the bright blue insignia on the front, not even sure who “Dick Grayson” was anymore. Ever since Joker had attacked Gotham, nothing had been the same. He’d drowned himself in his work, merging himself with his Nightwing persona until they became one and the same.
    Dick reached for his cell phone, typing in a familiar string of digits that he’d easily memorized over time. The phone rang six times, each one a dagger in his chest, before it released a clicking noise. He sat up hopefully, thinking that the phone had been answered, but was disappointed to find out he’d gone to voicemail.
    “Hey, this is Barbara,” the voice on the other side spoke. “Sorry I couldn’t get to the phone. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back as soon as possible!” The dreaded beeping noise came next, signaling Dick to leave a message, but he just sat there in silence for a moment before shakily ending the call with the bright red “END” button. He fell back on the bed, cupping his hands to his face and letting out a deep breath.
    Dick turned his head to a chair in the corner of his apartment, noticing his regular clothes or “civvies” as he referred to them. His frown changed to a very slight smile, and he grabbed the clothes, determined to do something for himself for once.

CLUB NEON
April 1, 21:53 EDT
TEAM YEAR 7

    Dick’s motorcycle came to a halt in front of the flashy, neon nightclub as he admired the bright outside. He hopped off, straightening his leather jacket and strutting through the doors, winking at a small gathering of girls by the entrance. He continued his strut towards the bar, and then took a seat next to a slim, blonde woman.
    “Mmm,” she said, taking a look at Dick and scanning him from head to toes before turning back to the bartender.
    “Shot of liquor,” she told him, barely managing to get all of the words out. Dick pulled out a bill, slapping it on the counter in front of her, forcing a giggle out of her. “Is this some sort of creepy pick-up?” she asked with a laugh. Dick pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket, flashing all the bills. “Oh, so you’re that guy.”
    “I’m just looking for some fun,” Dick responded, immediately realizing how creepy it sounded.
    “And again.” She smiled her drunken smile at him, guzzling down another shot.
    “Two more,” Dick ordered the bartender.
    “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said to him.
    “I’m not. They’re for me,” Dick stated, sucking down both of the shots and shaking them off. “Let’s get out of here.”

BLÜDHAVEN
April 1, 22:19 EDT
TEAM YEAR 7

    “Whoo!” The girl from the bar fell backwards in bed, her hands reaching to the top. Her breath was heavy, as was Dick’s, and they plopped back, barely able to even move. “That was great,” she commented to him, forcing a smile across his normally stolid face. That had easily been the best moment Dick had had in a very long time, but he felt slightly guilty.
    She dumped me. Not the other way around. He reassured himself in his mind and shook off the guilt, simply enjoying the moment. “Ready for round two?” He smirked at her, but their conversation was cut short by a loud beeping coming from within the closet. Dick didn’t dare say anything, but he knew what he had to do. He leapt out of the bed and snatched his Nightwing outfit, slipping the skin-tight suit on again, but this time fully intending to get involved in some action.
    “Uh, what’s going on?” She wrapped the soft, white sheets around her abdomen and hopped out of the bed, trying to see what he was doing as he ran into the bathroom.
    “I have to go now,” Dick said bluntly, zipping up the back of his suit and attaching his Eskrima stick holster to his right thigh. “People need help.”
    “Are you-?” She was cut short by Dick flying out of his apartment window and gliding to the ground. He did a double somersault, landing perfectly on the seat of his motorcycle and kicking it into gear. It was only then that the girl realized the Nightwing insignia on the side of the back. She flung herself back on the bed, wondering exactly what had just happened.

BLÜDHAVEN WAREHOUSE
April 1, 22:42 EDT
TEAM YEAR 7

    Dick stared at his handheld crime fighting assistant, a small arrow-shaped figure appearing as him on the screen and pointing him in the direction of the call for help.
    Why would anyone else be here in Blüdhaven? Dick thought to himself, wondering why any of his team members would show up in the horrid Blüdhaven, let alone get into a serious issue there. “Hello?” he shouted into the warehouse, the echo bouncing off of every wall and making his voice immensely louder. He got an ominous feeling, so he pulled out his Eskrima sticks, setting them to prepare an electric jolt in case of an ambush.
    Rustling could be heard from behind one of the boxes, and Dick figured it would be best to check behind and see if it was one of his teammates or perhaps whatever enemy they had been facing when they had called for help. He pushed piles and piles of boxes out of his way and made it over to the other side of the warehouse, becoming incredibly cautious at that point.
    “Meow,” a call came from behind the box. Dick lifted the highest box up to see just a stray cat, trapped in the warehouse. It screeched at him on sight and bolted for the door in an attempt to escape, leaving Dick curious about what the situation was with the emergency call. Before he even had a chance to react, a bullet hit the ground directly in front of Dick’s feet, prompting him to jump back and prepare himself for an onslaught.
    “Sorry, forgot you don’t use guns,” a figure said as it emerged from between two towers of cardboard. His familiar split mask with a single eye hole instantly made Dick aware of the attacker. Deathstroke. In his palm was the communicator the team would use in case of an emergency.
    “How did you get that?” Nightwing prodded, fearing that Deathstroke had killed one of Dick's teammates and taken their communicator to alert Nightwing and drag him into a trap.
    “Relax, I didn’t kill anyone for it.” Deathstroke threw the communicator to the ground, smashing it with his powerful foot and grabbing a sword from its sheath around his waist. Charging, he effortlessly threw the weight of the sword around in fluent motions with Nightwing attempting to block each one with his dual sticks.
    “Who put you up to this?” Nightwing asked.
    “Now that wouldn’t be fair,” Deathstroke responded, flipping the sword around and knocking Nightwing back with the handle, preparing to deal a finishing blow. Nightwing was prepared however and wrapped his feet around Deathstroke’s legs, twisting them and causing Deathstroke to lose balance. In the half-second Deathstroke was falling, he grabbed a gun from his side, and fired it in Nightwing’s direction, who barely dodged it.
    Nightwing managed to get the upper hand for a mere second, grazing Deathstroke with his electricity-powered Eskrima sticks and releasing a high voltage on Deathstroke which stunned him long enough for Nightwing to backflip several times and land on top of a stack of boxes. Deathstroke mimicked his movements, also ending up on top of a pile of boxes, forcing them into an elevated match.
    “Just like old times,” Nightwing stated nostalgically, toying with his enemy instead of giving in. The two of them launched themselves at each other, flinging their swords and sticks around effortlessly. They were performing an aerial dance, their sword movements as fluent as that of an incredibly well-trained dancer. Just when it seemed they would not be able to outmatch each other, Deathstroke gained a momentary upper hand, grazing Nightwing’s leg with his sword while in midair, throwing him off balance.
    As he hurtled towards the ground, Nightwing slowly slipped into the darkness and eventually went completely unconscious before hitting the ground with a thud.

UNKNOWN LOCATION
April 1, 23:16 EDT
TEAM YEAR 7

    “I assume the deed is done?” A circular table sat in the middle of a darkened room with each seat occupied by a mysterious and shadowed figure. In the very center of the council-like group stood Deathstroke, sheathing his lethal sword.
    “I have delivered the target as requested,” Deathstroke answered.
    “Perfect. My associate will discuss compensation with you,” the apparent leader responded. One of the many council members arose and led Deathstroke out to another room, leaving the shadowy figures together.
    “What now?” one of them asked.
    “Simple,” the leader responded. “We activate him.”