Tim Drake was sitting in the Batcave, the rain drumming a steady rhythm on Gotham. The Batcomputer was active as he studied an ocean of information. A bluish tint of the damp, brushed hair was cast by the screen's glow. Grimacing slightly into his cup, he took a sip. It's cold flavor pausing him before he typed deliberately fast.
Batman stood behind him, his cape slung down so it draped heavily on the top of the earthy style concrete floor. There was no sound in the silence but the occasional beep and drip drops of the Batcave. Suddenly, Tim uncovered a pattern in his eyes, & his pulse quickened. He declared, turning to Batman, "Got it."
Batman motioned for him to elaborate despite already digesting the information before him. "The Black Mask seems to be shifting cargo from one warehouse to another, trying to get away from GCPD like a game of chess."
Batman was in a deep murmur in the stillness and acknowledged Robin, impressed. Closely, he moved over to keep observing the screen over Tim's shoulder. "Why don't we... " Shaking his head, he paused squinting at the map. He turned his head and pointed towards an area of Gotham's industrial region. "It's secure, but it's our strongest lead."
And then Tim was in action, looking at blueprints to see where access points might be. "But the east service entrance isn't heavily guarded," he noted, navigating images on screen. "It allows us to approach stealthily without alerting anyone, per se, using the Batmobile."
"And inside?" His tone probing, Batman asked. His mentorship included testing strategy and critical thinking.
He glanced just enough at his mentor, then back at the screen. "We split up," he advised. I will sneak through the ventilation shafts to get to the control room. Entering through the main entrance is your best diversion, and best way to create attention."
His eyes reflecting with the aperture of the screen, Batman nodded. "Can you really manage the vents?"
Tim could not expose his ability of understanding the world through Mathematics. That's his hidden strength, his secret power. He tapped the blueprint. "The vent has been a calculated maze that I've studied quickly. It's all about angles and probability. With accuracy I can chart the optimal route."
Tim was so confident that Batman raised an eyebrow, but took no issue with it. "And what about the obstacles to overcome?"
Eyes reading the ceiling as if Tim could picture the ventilation paths, Tim slowly reclined. His voice steady, voice analysed, he assured him, "The spaces accommodate my size and my manoeuvrability. I will use my grappling hook to turn and make them not see me. It is the cameras and laser barriers that will be difficult, but I do know their locations and movements. When precisely timed and being stunningly skilled I can navigate successfully."
Again his gaze showed a flash of pride and he nodded. "Remember Robin," he spoke solemnly, "stick to the strategy and communicate."
Back he nodded, a mix of enthusiasm and uncertainty in his chest. He donned his mask and tightened his utility belt and vowed. "Always."
The rain rained harder into sheets outside as they went to the Batmobile. The sleek vehicle lolled to life, shining with the giant colorful luxury the city had melted into, and the gritty streets behind slid back in a rainbow binocular vision as the vehicle gained momentum. He entered the coordinates into the Batmobile's navigation as they went through the city: the map rolled out on the windshield. The engine thrummed and his heart pumped. The coming of the mission was not too much to ask.
Tim thought about the ventilation design he had memorised and finally, as they drew near the factory warehouse, he was nervous. Under his gloves, he imagined the cool metal, the acoustics of his movements in narrow corridors. The rain had calmed down to a gentle patter by the time they made it to the service entrance and the Batmobile was in stealth mode.
Tim knew it was time and Batman nodded. The damp Gotham air met him as he climbed out. He took a deep breath listening to rain and sirens far away. With agility well beyond his years had he climbed the building, grapple hook maintaining its hold against wet facade.
The shadows enveloped him as he slipped easily into the vent system. His boots walked fast over the sound, his mind calculating, calculating that guided his eels. Every turn and twist was another variable in some complicated equation, something Tim was used to.
His earpiece crackled with voices that grounded him. "'Batman to Robin." The tone was exactly like Batman. "I'm in position. Disabling the power."
He offered a silent nod. Even as the focused calculations boiled his thoughts, he murmured, "Advancing to the control centre." The temperature rose, mechanical vibrations and generator hums was present as he made his way to the heart of the facility. He sweat down his face but still had resolve.
A red glow cast from a laser grid lay ahead. He stayed till he timed his breath to the pulse of light, and then leaped, landing noiselessly on the other side. The rhythm of the beam really showed Tim's precision and he smiled under his mask because yet again he had outmanoeuvred Gotham's hidden challenges.
He could see only a few more vents before he got to the control room, and the air was thick with excitement. He read the vibrations, calibrated the steps and the tension. Guards would be down there, minds alert at the commotion below. Slowly he prepared for an ambush approach, settling himself into proper stealth, and ensuring a calculated takedown.
Tim stopped to listen as he reached the last vent before his objective. Within the sound, he heard two guards—one heavy footed, the other light footed conversing; one deep, the other a bit deeper. Action was required now. Tim's cape whispered in the dim room as he dislodged the vent cover and descended. He turned and startled a few of the guards but they reacted too slow.
He hit the first guard with a swift gasp and a hard hit, and his baton clattered away. The second had a gun but Tim was already moving. He vaulted over a desk and dodged the shot, staff striking with mathematical precision to disarm the man in a smooth motion.
Tim surveyed the control centre, ears attuned to the rhythmic pulse of the rain; the guards were incapacitated. Batman's voice finally broke the silence. "Robin, report?" he was composed, as usual.
"Control centre's ours," Tim scanned the several displays. "I am within Black Mask's network."
Batman replied, "Good work. Front's cleared and secure. Any trace of him?"
Tim pored through the screens, making sense of the chaos. He was intent on the task, and stated no physical evidence. "He is unpredictable and keeps shifting the operation around."
Batman's urging echoed in his comm and it also echoed of a distant explosion. Batman said, 'Keep digging. I'm dealing with some unforeseen issues here ."
Tim nodded, turning his head looking at the displays again. Choreography of deceit, betrayal, figures and visuals swirled before his eyes. The details were sifted through, his intellect seeking the sequence to Black Mask. Something caught his attention, a sudden disturbance—a rough disturbance in the systematic disarray. For a moment, finding focus, he directed his eyes to a screen displaying a silhouette in a momentary white blur flitting through the dimness of a nearby storage facility.
"I'm back in the duct," said Tim, reentering as quickly as he could. He retracted his path, a mixture of formulas and geometric principles in his head, retracing his path to the service exit. As he emerged just in time he saw Batman battling and beating the final adversaries, a dark swirling of his cape engulfing him. Tim glanced up, and the Caped Crusader noted him with a brief nod, and together they ran for the egress.
Robin lifted his head as they neared the Batmobile which roared to life, its beams carving through the darkness. His brain was a maelstrom of computation predicting how long until he got to the next facility and how likely it was to be a trap. The rain had diminished, when they raced in the urban landscape which was a haze, imparting an otherworldly atmosphere to the city, their mission's intent.
He kept his gaze on the GPS as it directed them on to their objective. The chest tightened as digital readouts became more definitive, marking their final moves that led toward Black Mask. Batman's voice was still solid despite the surge of adrenaline. "We're about five minutes away," he told Batman.
The Dark Knight focused ahead of him, looking at the obscured path before him. His voice was firm as he growled, "Get ready for anything."
It only took Robin's fingers to fly across the Batmobile's interface for defensive protocols to be activated. As they neared the depot, the air formed tension of what would come next. The GPS beeped to confirm their arrival and Tim's pulse quickened. "We're on location," he announced.
Careful instead of hurried, they stopped a block away from the destination. A giant of shadowy metal loomed in the obscurity, the warehouse. The sound of their footfalls on the wet surface cut away sharply from the surrounding stillness.
The fringe caught Batman's eyes when they neared the warehouse, he whispered to Robin, "Adhere to the plan. We're arriving through the loading bay. I got the left, you're the right. We'll divide inside."
Tim's mind raced with the complex layout's schematics. "Acknowledged," Tim said with a cool and firm voice. He had learned his act, walked the proper paths and knew the exact order things would go down.
The entrance materialized before them, an ominous entrance through the flank of the building. Robin watched as a very subtle shadow formation portrayed a surveillance device and he signalled to Batman who lobbed it with a batarang in haste. Each movement mortally precise, Tim was vigilant, straight as a line they moved, advancing.
There was no real décor, just a network of containers and stands, all steeped in sick wet cardboard smell and a slight hint of dread still hanging about. His movements were slow and careful and his heartbeat matched, each step a slow advance. The sounds of those muted voices were there in the distance. The muffled rustle of shoes, the occasional metallic tink. The background to Gotham's illicit activities.
"Robin," Batman's voice filtered through, "Main control found blocked by a reinforced, unattended door."
The situation became more clear. Tim stiffened his resolve. He assured, voice leveled. "I will arrive shortly."
He rushed through the labyrinth with little sound on the moist floor. His resolve was confronted by shifting shapes deceptively, but nothing more. His mind mapped a space between what could and what would happen, he was elegant like a swan on water.
Shivering against the machinery's tremors, a makeshift Gotham sound against its nocturnal melody, he neared the command hub. Visible descent, cape snapping taught, regal. The door offered no defence, an invitation for the surrounding disorder. He breathed steady and nudged it ajar, light from within blinking.
In the command centre the displays and lights buzzed depicting Black Mask's vast operations. Under Tim's eyes the streaming data was processed at uncanny speeds. A visage flickered across a display, featuring black mask's grin, an awful reminder of their quarry.
But his thoughts crystallised with his vision for the control zone: escape paths, potential hazards all mapped out in a flash. Suddenly the stakes were entirely increased with the imminent meeting with Black Mask. Vigilance was imperative.
He murmured via comm: "Batman, command centre in sight. No opposition within. Proceeding now."
The control hub's luminance was as bright as a beacon in the gloom of the warehouse, screens glowing on spiderwebbed consoles above racks of dust. Amid Gotham's discord, the systems hummed a good humoured rhythm. Roin moved with feline agility, his positioning perfect not to betray himself with the sound of loose floor boards. Electric tautness churned the air.
He continued to approach the interface, until he heard a sound, forcing him to turn with a defensive posture, staff in hand. Eyes reflecting the electronic glow padded in a stray feline. Relief breathed out, now he found himself again focusing.
Tim whispered, scrutinizing screens as patterns crystallised, "Engaged." Robin had pinpointed Black Mask's location. The man-child continued to state with his voice taut with the combined determinism and fought tension, "Confirmed position in the northwest section, third tier."
Immediately the reaction was Batman's. "Advancing. Monitor the systems. Alert me to any deviation."
Tim focused on determining where Black Mask was. The pacing villain was clearly nervous as he scanned. Batman was a second closer to Black Mask and Tim's tension grew tighter.
Tim stood poised thinking of all the possibilities whereas time lengthened. This enigma was the space, and he was a crucial part. The layout was a mental map in his head, but Black Mask's skill for manipulation left it unclear.
Batman's determined tread echoed back from the facility, wherein a distant slam appeared. Tim's grip on his weapon got firmer. "Approaching." Batman's voice reasserted itself, dual meanings with warning and encouragement.
Tim kept staring at Black Mask with his frequent frantic behaviour on the feed. He occupied a realm of chaos, but he didn't know that the trap had been shut.
Batman rumbled nearer and nearer through the charged atmosphere. Tactical considerations & calculations worked through his mind.
Batman's voice intoned, "Robin, third tier reached. Engaging Black Mask."
Tim's heart was like the encroaching sounds of Batman as he watched the surveilance. In a tense acknowledgement, Tim responded watching as Batman neared the adversary's corner.
The flicker of the screen revealed Batman about to get swamped with something swift, silent. With some risk tolerance, he knew his mind well enough to think through potential scenarios of moves and possible outcomes. "Batman, alert!" The voice of Tim surged with anxiety.
Yet events overtook them. Deathstroke showed himself out of the shadows, the form emerging to reveal an aflame eye and armed. Deathstroke jeered, "Finally found," Icily and derisively.
Tim began to scramble up a list of possible occurrences. Before forming in his thoughts, silence flung against the comms. Dread took hold. "Batman?" His voice strained with agitation as he was pressed.
An intense combat merged with the occasional crack of weapons, but this only added to the silence. The screens flickered from one to another as Tim monitored his mentor, tightening his grip on his staff. Each scenario was more desperate than the last one.
Tim couldn't remain idle. Black Mask must have had another escape route, he thought, in the corner of the room. Without wasting tim, Tim sprang over the control panels leaving his cloak to play the dark shadow as it trailed behind. He had to believe Batman was strong enough to stop Deathstroke long enough to take on the criminal villain.
Tim was slender, and the vent was narrow, he slid through with unexpected ease. Crawling deeper inside the metal, the echoes of the battle above were replaced with the cold, damp feel of it. He was delving his mind to finding the quickest way to the 3rd floor, watching for traps or obstacles.
"Batman, what's the status?" There was only static for a response on the comm line; Tim's voice was strained. He pushed aside the worry and felt the echoing silence twisting in his gut. He had tasks to complete.
The third level was where Tim appeared from the vent, digging a crouch. The air crackled and was thick and dusty with Batman and Deathstroke's conflict, a reminder of any other secret threats. He saw the door to Black Mask's office slightly open ahead. His heart sounded like it was beating in his chest, hitting every second harder.
Tim took a deep breath and advanced each step carefully. He scanned around him for danger. A maze of noise sounded and shadow hissed, but he edged his way through it with the delicate precision of a mathematician working through a complicated puzzle. The combat clashed closer, a blood tinted dirge of metal and anger assaulting the air.
As Black Mask's frantic voice barked into a phone, Tim overheard him. "The shipment's compromised! Evacuate now!" Tim felt a thrill from desperation in his words. Victory was near.
Tim analyzed the possibilities: Black Mask would be out for them if he knew about the breach. Speed was essential. His pulse quickened as he peered through the doorway crack and he saw the setup of the room. It was a bastion of extravagance when compared to the squalid warehouse from which he had just emerged from. The scene was a grand one, a grand desk dwarfing the room, bookshelves in the spines carrying Gotham's darkest secrets.
The mask was reflective under the dim light where Black Mask paced. There, Tim noticed a button on what he suspected was an alarm or escape function. He thought quickly, he had seconds before reinforcements could arrive. Action was critical.
Tim counted down silently before kicking open the door. Hand hovering over the button, Black Mask's eyes widened in surprise. Tim was strong and assertive when he said, "Hold it." The crime lord raised his hands slowly in submission.
Satisfied, Tim scanned the room for hidden threats, before turning his attention back to the person in front of him, Black Mask. Tim declared. "It's over." A smirk pinged across his mask.
The crimelord sneered. "You think this is victory?"
His staff struck Black Mask so fast it pinned the man's hand to the desk and Tim said what he had to. He threatened, "You are under arrest." he said mightily "We will do this the easy way, call off your men."
Black Mask's smile did not waver. He taunted a voice drenched in disdain, "You're just a one dimensional child hero playing hero." But his eyes darted in fear.
Tim's smirk widened. "Perhaps," he replied coolly. "But I'm a child about to ruin your night." Reaching to his communicator, he was about to alert the GCPD.
A shadow cast itself over the desk leaving Black Mask's grin replaced with a snarl. Black Mask muttered, voice icy, "You're not alone in having allies."
He pivoted, his staff held defensively. Deathstroke's face appeared, his twin gleaming blades appearing ominously. Mind raced with new strategies for Tim's eyes to narrow.
Deathstroke rumbled, his voice was that low and menacing. "Seems I'm not the only one keen on surprises."
"Where's Batman?" The gaze was locked on the adversary and the voice taut as Tim demanded.
It was a chilling smirk on the part of Deathstroke despite being hidden behind the mask. Tim could see that he had swords aimed like accusing daggers at him, he responded: "Busy. He'll be with us soon enough."
Tim's calculations ran wild. He wasn't dumb enough to attempt facing Deathstroke on his own without backup. However, asylum for Black Mask was off the table. He needed to buy time. "What do you want?" he pressed, voice steady.
Behind the mask his eyes glinted, but Deathstroke spoke casually: "Oh, you know. I had a chat with your mentor. Quite the opponent he is. But our fight isn't finished. Now for you Robin, I've always liked prodigies as much as you. What's it like being a piece in someone's game?"
Several seconds passed before Tim refocused, then turned his voice firm. 'I'm not a pawn,' he said. "I'm Robin."
Deathstroke's grin broadened. He shook his swords in a hypnotic, mindless dance and only said, "Ah, the illusion of control. You are what makes you entertaining."
Tim strategized feverishly. Black Mask had to be forgotten for a bit as Deathstroke was about to engage him. "What do you want?" His voice unwavering, he repeated.
Deathstroke smiled coldly, his swords never skipping their deadly dance, "You know it. Chaos, what everyone wants here."
The fight was imminent, and Deathstroke wasn't into more discussion. His swords hissed like a serpent, stabbing them through the air. He met steel with his staff and the impact rang through the room. For a pure fight, he couldn't beat Deathstroke, as the mercenary had such power. But Intellect even the field.
He manoeuvred around the desk, pulling it as a shield, angles and strategies in his mind. Everything was done on purpose, every step a piece of a complex equation designed to lock up this bad guy. Black Mask's hand itched to press the escape button, amused yet fearful that someway, somehow Robin could come out on top.
"You are talented." Deathstroke commended, swords a silver blur. "But not enough."
Tim felt the blade nick him showcasing the power difference. He was outmatched physically, yet he had foresight. He spun and slammed Deathstroke's head. The mercenary blocked deftly, but enough time passed as it bought him a moment to retreat.
Inching toward the button, Tim looked up at Black Mask, "You're not leaving" he declared.
"Oh, truly?" Black Mask mocked, feeling as though Deathstroke can handle Robin. "You're a bit off, boy wonder."
Planning his way was Tim's head a tempest of daring plans. He had to stall the crime lord, but he needed to engage the mercenary. "Why collaborate with him?" jabbing at Deathstroke, he demanded. "What's your motivation?"
Ominously, the swordsman chuckled. "For example," he said, "we've both got an interest in... changing Gotham." Tim raised his staff and sparks started up like fireflies in the dim room as his swords clashed with him. "But enough talk. Time to conclude this."
The man was assured of Robin's defeat but Robin excelled at unpredictability. His brain was his weapon. He needed to distract, have focal pressure, and figure out how to remove Deathstroke. There were eyes darting around seeking leverage, but none to be found.
And then Tim's mind accelerated. He understood the patterns of combat: equations and probabilities of a tapestry. Every time their weapon's collided was a puzzle, every step is a survival calculation. The chaos, his heart thudded a rhythm for the precision of Tim's actions, his breathing steadied.
He saw a flash of metal, there in the corner of his view, a loose bar masked by darkness. This emerged as a dangerous strategy, as a daring play. "Your mask…" Robinnever took his eyes off of Deathstroke. "I think it's slipping."
Slade's eyes flicked to his face covering, then the blades of Deathstroke was suspended in mid swing. A little lapse, but enough to get Tim what he needed. He got to the side and grabbed the bar. His swing targeted the mercenary's skull. While the mercenary was quick, Deathstroke's reactions were uncharacteristically fast, but Tim's timing was perfect; he'd known how it would happen to each microsecond.
The impact rang with a dull ring and for a moment Deathstroke stumbled. Tim took advantage of this and leaped at Black Mask striking him with a deadly blow. Uneven breaths interrupted the silence of the room.
That calm was brief. The window shattered and wind rushed in as Batman crashed in through, his cape casting his dark silhouette over everything. "Well done, Robin." He complimented him, simultaneously pleased and in a hurry, his tone a combination of the two.
Tim looked over at his mentor and the bruise across his knuckles and ironed resolve in his mask. The Dark Knight wasn't one to show weakness, despite the signs of combat. "Thanks." Tim responded, his adrenaline was completely high "but we're quite far from being done, though."
Deathstroke daze shook off and his swords fell through the air, a whirling tornado of extreme precision and sheer fury. Batman was prepared. His blows were met with controlled power upon the lethal assault of Deathstroke, and with an accuracy almost too precise to be precise.
Tim watched the bloody duel and his pulse quickened. His role was not to intrude, he just needed to make sure Black Mask was secure. He snatched up a zip tie and turned away from the fight, binding the crime lord to a chair. Black Mask groaned but didn't fight back as he was consumed by the battle.
Batman's movement was power and precision, each movement calculated to knock his opponent off of his feet. While the more agile Deathstroke was constantly trying to catch up with Batman, who was faster and more experienced, he was constantly avoided by Batman, who dodged the arc of his swords.
Tim's urgency peaked as sirens began to wail in the distance getting closer with each heartbeat. Though the police were on their way, they needed to finish up quickly.
Batman's punches were so intense and his strikes were so surgical. The encounter escalated and Tim watched it all captivated. Deathstroke was, while dying, quick, but outpaced by Batman's super agility.
Batman gave a battle cry, and punched Deathstroke so hard in the chest that the mercenary stumbled backward. Tim quickly took the opportunity and jumped over the desk, lashing out with his staff into the back of Deathstroke's neck. His weapons clattered aside as he fell.
While victory looked feasible it was easy to lose. He nodded to Batman who nodded back to him. "Call in The GCPD." Batman told him.
Tim started up the line of communication to the GCPD. "Gotham Police. This is Robin. The warehouse situation is now manageable. Apprehension is in progress.."
Spent energy tuned in as the room was a silent witness to the aftermath, tensed up. Batman stood triumphantly over Deathstroke, heaving heavily upon his chest. The mercenary's eyes, though still burning with aggression, reflected a begrudging respect.
"It is over, Slade," Batman said firmly. "Your time as a hired killer and overhyped guard ends here."
Deathstroke's eyes narrowed, and Tim sensed there was a flicker of something more there, a shadow of regret, perhaps. He didn't have the time to process that before Deathstroke attacked once again-his blades swift, lethal.
However, Batman was ready for him. With the smooth motion of a predator, he countered the attack with a few well-combined punches and kicks. Back he recoiled, his shining swords disappearing behind his dark figure.
Both fighters showed wear & tear, but not beaten, was Batman's suit as his eyes remained fixed on the very place he had last seen Deathstroke. Tim knew that as a merc, Deathstroke was good at getting away, and he wouldn't be so easy to catch.
With the sirens reaching deafening levels, Tim knew urgency dictated their departure before authorities witnessed the state that Batman was in currently. "Batman," he urged, tension clear in his voice. "It's time to go."
Batman nodded, eyes remaining on the still figure of Black Mask. With effort, he picked up a left-behind sword from Deathstroke, looking over at Tim. "Keep this," he said, and flipped the weapon over to him. "We may need it."
Tim caught the weapon uneasily, knowing it was lethal in nature. He nodded as he secured it into his gear. "Understood."
They turned into the darkness, silent as ghosts. Tim's heart was still pumping wildly from the whole ordeal, and he clasped the sword tightly, not willing to let go of just how close it had all been. He followed Batman, who was also silent; his boots barely made a whisper as they re-traced their steps toward the Batmobile. Sweeping sirens daubed the scenery with throbbing shades of blue and red.
The way back was hazy, most of it combining speed with tension. Tim clutched his staff firmly, his mind rehearsing most of the events of that night. The Batmobile sliced through the night, its engine growling so loud for the Dark Knight. The wind whipped across, fresh with the scent of impending rain-odd in contrast to the chaos they left in their wake.