ONE MONTH LATER.
The TV screen glowed in the corner of a dark bar in Gotham's East End — static crackling for a brief moment before the image stabilized.
"In breaking news: Gotham City's newest vigilante, known as Darkwing, has continued the work once carried by the late Nightwing. While police haven't confirmed his identity, eyewitnesses describe him as 'a shadow with a sharper bite.' In just four weeks, he's dismantled two major crime rings, including last night's brutal takedown of Black Mask's narcotics operation in the Bowery."
The anchor continued, "…Though the GCPD remains hesitant, public opinion is shifting. One local resident had this to say—"
The bartender clicked the screen off.
In the shadows of the booth, a man sat in silence. A half-finished glass of scotch swirled lazily in his gloved hand. The cracked lenses of his mask caught the dim light.
Dr. Jonathan Crane — the Scarecrow — smiled.
"Darkwing…" he whispered, tasting the word like a chemical on his tongue. "Fear reborn in another form."
He leaned back in the shadows, thoughts already turning. "Let's see what you fear, little shadow."
Wayne Manor – Batcave Elevator
"—I'm just saying, your aim was off last night," Rex teased, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the armory chute. "You missed that guy by, what, six inches?"
Red Hood, helmet under his arm, rolled his eyes. "He ducked. Maybe if you didn't knock him toward me like a baseball, I'd have had a clean shot."
"Oh, blame the new guy," Rex said, mock offense. "Typical ex-sidekick behavior."
Barbara's voice cut in from the upper walkway, where she leaned on the railing in casual jeans and a tank top. "You two argue like frat bros with daddy issues."
"Guilty as charged," Jason replied with a grin, hopping onto the rail and glancing at her. "You gonna keep mocking us or join in next time?"
Barbara smirked. "Depends. I don't look as good in black and red as you two."
Rex leaned against the wall, throwing her a half-smile. "You look good in anything, Babs."
She raised an eyebrow but didn't deny it. "Careful, Darkwing. You're starting to sound like Grayson."
Jason coughed theatrically and muttered, "Yikes."
Footsteps echoed behind them.
Bruce Wayne, dressed in an expensive charcoal suit, descended into the cave with the grace of a man who'd been rich and dangerous far too long.
He didn't waste time.
"We have an event," he said. "The mayoral election gala. Every major crime family is sending a representative — and Falcone's backing one of the candidates."
He glanced at the two younger men.
"We're going in as obnoxious billionaire heirs. Loud, immature, too drunk to care."
Rex blinked. "Wait, we're playing spoiled brats?"
Jason grinned wide. "Finally, a mission that plays to my strengths."
Bruce ignored them and walked to the wardrobe chamber, already opening a case full of designer suits.
"Blend in. Smile too much. Say stupid things. And keep your comms live — we're listening for whispers, threats, leverage. If Penguin, Two-Face, or any of the League have plants there, we'll know by midnight."
Rex tilted his head. "And what if someone recognizes me?"
"No one's looking for a rebranded vigilante in a gold-thread suit holding a champagne flute," Bruce replied. "Be charming. Be annoying."
"Be rich," Jason added.
Barbara leaned over the rail again. "Try not to hit anyone with a wine bottle, Jay."
Jason nodded. "No promises."
Rex adjusted his collar, looking into the mirror near the cave lift. The man staring back wasn't the same Rex Mallory from Chicago. This one had blood in his past and steel in his future.
"Darkwing," he whispered again, almost to himself. "Now playing billionaire douchebag."
He looked to Bruce.
"Let's make some noise."