Nightwing's Quirked Adventure

Chapter 11

After ensuring that Eraserhead had truly left the scene Dick took a deep breath, that was a very close call. If he hadn't spotted this building out of the corner of his eye then they would've been left wandering the streets until the man got suspicious and he would have no choice but to confess. Yeah no, not ideal. Surprised but thankful that no one had come to the door questioning why a teen and a man had casual conversation outside their home, the dark haired teen walked back down the stairs away from his mock-house and off to his temporary one.

~~~~~

A good half an hour later Dick had returned home loot in hand and slightly worse for wear, the men didn't pull any punches. But not one to let a few bruises deter him, he stashed his bag and newly purchased food under the floorboard once again, switching it out for his suit instead. The rough kevlar felt comforting on his skin. After the day he had, the teen was more than ready to dawn the mask and forget about 'Dick Loyd' or 'Dick Grayson' and to just be Nightwing, ass kicking hero to those in need.

Swiftly dressing himself in the suit he charges towards one of the restaurant's semi-stable walls, using the momentum from the motion to flip around and push off an adjacent wall. He successfully shoots his leg through the restaurant's makeshift skylight. With a loud shout of joy Dick begins his nightly patrol.

~~~~~

The wind was dry tonight, it's been a good while since the last rainfall. Dick took a deep breath savoring the taste of familiar yet vastly different smog. The pollution here, while arguably better than Gotham, lacked the same bite; that sense of home. Man, he was really getting desperate for home if he was comparing air pollution, who even does that? Nightwing apparently. With a snort and a shake of his he once again stilled his body as he stalked the criminals who were entering and exiting the warehouse before him. At least the criminals in both worlds possess an unhealthy addiction to mortar brick warehouses. The soft rumbling of an engine broke Dick's contraction. A dusty white truck drove down the cracked asphalt swerving around a decent pothole before coming to a stop before the warehouse's large, dented, sheet metal doors. Two men jump out of the truck, shutting the doors behind them. One of the men with a large scar across his upper lip knocked rhythmically upon the garage door while the other turned towards the back of the truck and unlocked the latch door.

Scar man's knocks were answered with a matching set themselves and not even a second later did the warehouse door roll up and another few people exit. Out of the new people two men went to help the other two unload whatever cargo the truck contained while the last person, the leader, watched her goons work. After a few of the wooden crates had been unloaded the woman with hair that appeared to squirm, gracefully grabbed a crowbar and pried open the wooden lid. From his vantage point Dick was just about able to make out what looked like illegal machinery, mostly gun parts but there were a few items that he did not recognize; probably support items.

At least his informant had been correct. This up-and-coming gang have recently switched suppliers providing them with all their technologic desires. The leader gave a stiff nod towards the delivery men and a swift snap of her fingers the men started packing up; that's his cue. With a deep inhale of air Nightwing jumps the gap between the two buildings silently sneaking onto the warehouse's lip. He spots one of the delivery men standing off to the side. He launches himself feet first, down onto the unsuspecting man. He relishes the familiar feeling of weightlessness before he kicks the man's head; knocking him out cold. Luckily the others present have yet to notice his shadowy figure. Another man stood just behind the leader, out of sight from the others.

Slinking along the wall waiting until the man could not see him, Nightwing delivered a swift nerve pinch. The man went limp in his arms. He dragged the man away and half-heartedly hid him behind some already delivered crates. Two down five not so sneaky criminals to go. With a silent twist of his heel he turned to face the rest of the people. The woman faced away from him directing the last of her minions while one man stood guard and two others, one being scarface, rolled in the last of the crates. There was no way for the vigilant to take them all out silently like he had done with the other men. With that in mind he flung himself at a goon when he came close enough to his hiding spot.