1(800) Adoption Papers NOT needed! Its a two for one special! ( 1POV Version )

"Mother knows best"- lies

Morning light comes too soon.

Patrol had only ended a few hours previous, leaving the rest of the manor to sleep. The dark clouds and smog of Gotham staining the sky are just starting to break, painting the world in a muted gray. Pennyworth can be heard somewhere on the floors below moving about – when does he sleep – getting ready for the day. Alfred the cat and Titus are nowhere to be seen, so what is that infernal buzzing sound? Better yet, where is it coming from? I search for my phone, expecting that to be the culprit, but it's silent on do not disturb. The only message is a cat picture from hours ago, nothing that would be going off now. So it isn't until I rise from the bed that I get an inkling. I can feel it vibrating under my feet, under the floorboards.

But that shouldn't be possible.

The only things down there are old keepsakes. Weapons, photographs, memories I can't yet part with from the league. Some things unknown to Father, to my gaggle of siblings. I pry off a couple of floorboards and search through my keepsakes. I handle each one with care until I see something I never thought I would see active again.

Something, an item, hid from even Mother.

I inspected it, thinking it could be a trap, a replica made by Grandfather. Maybe Drake found the stash and decided to mess with me, but there's no mistaking it. There is only one other like it. Made from scraps and individualized in a way only an Al Ghul could muster. Painted black with two stylized D's written in a small script. With our own rendition of the league insignia, a symbol for us both, is a two-way communicator, a receiver for each of us, equipped with anything we could need.

A communicator that has been unused for years.

One that is sending out an SOS.

It shouldn't be possible. The only one who would know the right code besides me would be him . And as Todds' show said, " two can keep a secret if one of them is dead." There shouldn't be any question about it; Mother verified his death. Its activation, now, shouldn't be possible; we vowed to take those codes to our graves. He wouldn't let out that information easily.

But it's buzzing; its lights are flashing, asking for help...

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as I set the communicator aside before packing up the rest. I hesitate as my eyes linger on photographs, showing rare smiles,  before hastily putting them back in place and laying down the floorboards. Then, picking back up the communicator, I see on a small screen the racing shorthand, " SOS VID," followed by yesterday's date.

When messages go out, they are normally silent, using a small series of vibrations to let us know what's going on, but if the message remains unanswered for more than an hour, it will be followed by a beeping that gets louder as time goes on. This system worked for the two of us. We kept them on us at all times, but now with the communicator no longer in use, this could be an issue. I have to check the message; if it is truly from him, I can only hope that I'm not too late.

No one else can know. There is no point in getting Father, and the rest upset if it's not him. I'm going to have to do this in private. I glance out the window to see a brightening sky and the faint, far-off sound of birds chirping. I make my way out of my room and down to the cave, looking out for the others. It's still too early for breakfast. Nobody should be up this early after a late-night patrol, so I should be theoretically in the clear. Though there is no guarantee.

I make it down unbothered, not even intercepted by Pennyworth, and take a cursory glance at the cave. Nobody is down here yet; no one is in the medbay; the only other thing besides me is the actual bats.

So I start to get to work.

It's been a while since I've had to mess with the communicator, so it takes me a moment to remember where the memory chip is. Though once It's out, it takes no time at all for me to jam it into the bat computer and show the recording.