Secrets Aren't Meant to be Kept

Haunted

The smell of the gun powder resonated with him more than the sound of the gun. And the weight more than the smell. Nevertheless, the image of Blockbuster, laying dead in his own blood, would be ingrained in his memories after the smell of the powder faded away and his hands became free of the gun. The image of Blockbuster shot by the gun in his hand would play forever in his mind.

"You did it." His partner, Catalina, whispered in his ear. "You killed Blockbuster."

He didn't response. He just gazed at the blood flowing like a river toward his feet. It was the sound of the sirens that pull him back to reality.

"We need to go." He said to Catalina, who was dancing with joy around Blockbuster's body. She didn't pay him any attention and continued to dance and chant: "Nightwing killed Blockbuster. Nightwing killed Blockbuster."

Annoyed, he placed the gun in its holster and grabbed her. "I said 'come on'. The cops are coming." She listened this time, and the two took off into the night sky, jumping on roof tops and scaling up walls.

They were closed to their apartment building when a loud boom was heard. The force of the boom caused him to fall on another roof top, blacking out for a moment. Once he came to, he turned to check on Catalina.

Eyes widen with horror as he observed the scene before him. A forearm and hand were slowly being melted away in a green slime.

It was all that was left of her.

Boom

Boom

Boom

He could hear the sound all around him. Green slime was everywhere he looked; it consumed the city.

He coughed as he tried to breathe. However, the more he inhaled, the more he suffocated.

His vision became blurry and his head pounded, yet he continued to push forward, trying to get away from the green slime. But he was failing. Miserably. It was catching up to him fast. He was slowing down with each step as his energy and air became scarce.

Soon, he fell and watched with dread as the green slime crept toward him, just like the blood of Blockbuster. But before it could reach him, a hand grabbed hold of him, saving him from the green slime. The new pair moved to another rooftop, which was far from the slime's reach.

He was on all four, breathing heavily and taking in cleaner air. Once he regained his breath, he stared up at the man that save him. A man that wore all black and grey, except for the orange on one side of his face.

"Slade!"

"Yes, it is me, little Robin." The masked criminal crouched in front of him.

"You did this," he yelled.

"No, dear Robin," Slade chuckled. "I didn't; you did. You did this."

"I didn't do anything. This is your fault, Slade. I will prove it and take you down. "

"Like you took down Blockbuster." Nightwing froze. "Yes, Robin," Slade whispered in his ear. "I know what you did. I know your little secret. And there is a price for keeping a secret. You owe me. "

"I owe you nothing," he spat.

"But you do, and I'm planning to collect." Nightwing's world went dark once more.

Coming to again, he was chained to a bed screaming for his release. But his only answer was someone injecting a needled into his arm. It was time for the next experiment.