The quiet hum of Chicago's midnight time was a familiar backdrop to Batgirl's patrol, but the low-frequency ping echoing in her cowl's HUD immediately broke her rhythm. An emergency signal, originating from a block near the central precinct, was pulsing red.
She vaulted over a rooftop ledge, fire escapes blurring beneath her boots as she closed the distance. The pinned location was a high-tech jewelry store tucked away in the commercial district.
As she drew nearer, her cowl's diagnostic display glitched, painting the storefront in a static grey haze. A local signal jammer—industrial grade—had localized the shop in a dead zone, completely blinding local authorities.
Whatever was happening inside was meant to stay off the radar.
Reaching the roof, Batgirl bypassed the locked hatch with a quick bypass tool and dropped quietly onto the upper landing of a grand interior staircase. The air smelled of ozone, copper, and warm electronics, but the expected chaos was absent.
Below her, four heavily armed robbers lay sprawled unconscious across the polished marble floor, their high-caliber weapons scattered just out of reach.
Standing in the center of the room, casually rolling his shoulders, was a young man in an athletic black and blue costume, a sharp domino mask concealing his eyes. Judging by his lean, muscular frame and posture, he was barely in his early twenties. He had dismantled an entire armed crew single handedly.
Batgirl felt a brief flare of professional respect, but caution quickly overrode it. In this line of work, an unknown vigilante was just an unsanctioned threat waiting to happen.
"Who are you?" she asked, dropping her voice into the sharp, authoritative rasp designed to freeze criminals in their tracks.
The man in black and blue paused. He turned around slowly, his movement fluid and devoid of tension. Looking up at the staircase, his lips pulled into a bright, easy smile.
"Hello there."
***************
Silence remained upon the showroom. The quiet hum of the air conditioner provided a stark, comical backdrop to the dramatic standoff. Standing on the stairs, draped in her iconic suit, Batgirl's expression remained entirely frozen.
"Uhhh... Konnichiwa?" Dick tried in Japanese, shifting his posture with a playful tilt of his head.
Nothing.
"Okay, tough crowd," he muttered softly before trying again.
"Nǐ hǎo?" This time in Chinese.
Batgirl maintained her stoic composure, but the sheer absurdity of the greeting caused a microscopic twitch near the corner of her exposed mouth.
To her annoyance, Dick caught it. His smile widened, a subtle gleam of victory in his eyes behind the mask.
Sighing at the wasted dramatics, Batgirl stepped off the staircase landing. She descended through the air with feline grace, landing softly on the marble floor in a textbook superhero landing, her cape flaring before settling around her shoulders. She stepped forward, closing the distance until she was standing directly in front of him.
"I won't ask again," she said, her voice stern. "Who are you?"
Dick crossed his arms, leaning back slightly on one heel. "Isn't it common courtesy to introduce yourself first?"
"I believe you already know who I am, considering your reaction moments ago," she replied flatly.
"Of course I know who you are," Dick said, his tone dipping into a smooth, shameless flirtation. "But it's always so much nicer hearing it straight from the source."
She offered a weary sigh, her patience wearing thin. "Fine. Batgirl. Satisfied?"
"Nightwing," Dick said, stepping into her space with a bright, friendly expression as he extended a hand. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Batgirl glanced down at his offered palm, then back up to his masked face. A guy who could clear a room of four armed men in under sixty seconds was not someone to brush off lightly.
"Come on, don't be shy," Nightwing added, keeping his hand held out. "I don't bite. Unless you want me to."
Batgirl sighed again—a habit she was developing entirely too quickly tonight.
Deciding to ignore the extended hand, she brushed past his shoulder, her boots clicking lightly against the floor. "Thanks for the assist, but I'll take it from here."
Tapping the side of her cowl, she activated her broad-spectrum scanner, sending a blue grid sweeping across the room to ensure no other threats were lingering. Stepping over to one of the unconscious robbers, she picked up a discarded rifle. The weight, balance, and composite plating were far too advanced for street-level thugs.
"High-end tech," Nightwing noted, stepping up beside her without a sound. "Way out of their price range."
He crouched nearby, picking up a small, sleek device that one of the robbers had dropped. It looked like a hybrid between a remote detonator and an encrypted tablet. Switching his own mask's vision mode to a high-contrast spectrum, Nightwing traced the internal circuitry until he caught a faint, etched mark on the casing.
"Hey. Take a look at this," he said, angling the device toward her.
Batgirl leaned over, switching her visor to micro-magnification. Tucked into the corner of the circuit board was a distinct logo: a bright, stylized 'G' enclosed in a square, composed of intricate clockwork gears and precise mechanical vectors.
Her jaw tightened slightly as she recognized the mark immediately.
She had a hunch regarding who was behind these gadgets. But the moment she saw that symbol, it became crystal clear for her.
And if this level of tech was filtering down to low-level crews, the city's underground market was about to become significantly more dangerous.
Suddenly, the night air was shattered by the distant wail of police sirens approaching the block.
"As late as always," Nightwing chuckled, shaking his head.
Batgirl didn't stick around to trade quips.
Without a word, she fired her grapple gun toward the ceiling, the line snapping taut as she shot upward toward the roof hatch, vanishing into the darkness above.
Nightwing blinked, looking at the empty space where she had been standing a second prior. A slow smirk spread across his face. "Oh, it is so on," he muttered, turning toward an upper ventilation shaft and disappearing into the shadows just as the police battered down the front doors.
*************
A dozen blocks away, Batgirl came to a stop on a secluded rooftop overlooking the river, her cape snapping lightly in the cool breeze. She paused to catch her breath, glancing back over her shoulder at the skyline.
She had managed to ditch the crime scene—and the guy. He was undeniably skilled, but he was also shaping up to be a massive headache.
She pulled the small stolen module from her utility belt, examining the gear logo in the moonlight. The implications were troubling. If these devices were being mass-produced, she needed to locate the source before the entire district was flooded with militarized tech.
AHEM, AHEM.
A couple of deliberate coughs sounded directly behind her and instinct took over instantly.
Batgirl spun on her heel, channeling her momentum into a razor-sharp, high-spinning kick aimed straight at her pursuer's chin.
SMACK. SHUDDER.
Her shin crashed against a solid forearm. Nightwing stood there, having casually raised a single hand to block the full force of her strike.
Relying on her training, Batgirl immediately used the impact to push off, executing a backflip to put five yards of distance between them. As she hit the ground in a defensive guard, her leg throbbed with a dull, heavy ache.
'Fuck. It feels like kicking a reinforced concrete pillar,' she grimaced.
Nightwing lowered his arm, unbothered, and offered her a cheerful wave. "Hello again."
Batgirl stared at him, her heart rate spiking slightly beneath her suit.
She had respected his combat fluidness earlier. But now, feeling the lingering sting in her leg, she realized the truth: his speed was backed by terrifying physical conditioning.
She shifted her stance, locking eyes with Nightwing as the wind howled across the roof.