[On the Sea – Approximately A Mile Off Gotham’s Shores]

The ocean stretched out like black glass, cold and quiet beneath the moonlight. Gentle waves lapped at the hull of a large cargo vessel anchored just off Gotham’s coastline. 

A few guards were stationed on deck, bundled in dark gear, scanning the waters with sharp eyes and tense postures. The rest of the manpower was positioned further back, waiting for the next phase of the operation.

Tonight’s job was clean and simple, receive the shipment, then pass it off to the transport chopper. From there, the goods would be flown directly to Janus Tower, the towering facade of legitimacy that Black Mask operated from. The skyscraper gleamed in the distance like a false promise, hiding the rot festering beneath its corporate skin.

A low mechanical hum broke the stillness. In the distance, the sound of spinning rotors began to rise, growing louder as a sleek helicopter approached across the waves, cutting through the cold night air. The wind churned with its arrival, sweeping across the deck in short gusts.

One of the deckhands raised a flashlight and flicked it rapidly in a pattern—green and red lights flickering in sync, signaling a clear spot for landing on the ship’s mid-deck. The chopper circled once, then descended slowly. The downwash kicked up a storm of loose tarps and dust as it touched down.

The side door slid open with a smooth hiss.

Only one man stepped out.

He wore a gray balaclava like the rest of the crew were instructed to for this job—no faces, no names, just shadows in the night. His flight suit was nondescript, tactical, and carried a quiet confidence in every movement.

“Just the pilot?” one of the guards asked, stepping forward, brows furrowed. The man with the flashlight came up beside him.

“Where the hell’s the rest of your crew?” the second guard demanded, narrowing his eyes.

The masked figure paused at the edge of the deck, his gloved hands relaxed at his sides.

“I’m afraid they’re all taking a little nap right now,” he said flatly, voice muffled but unmistakably laced with sarcasm. “Let’s get this thing wrapped up before anyone else decides to nap too.” He was being literal, the helicopter crew had been knocked unconscious and hidden inside the spacious chopper.

The guards glanced at one another, visibly tense. Their hands inched toward their weapons, suspicion thick in the air like salt spray. (Pun intended for the salty sea breeze)

“Easy,” the pilot added, sensing the shift. “Black Mask changed the plan last minute. You know how twitchy he gets. Didn’t want a whole team drawing attention, so he sent me solo.”

The two guards hesitated, exchanging looks.

“Never met the guy,” the one with the flashlight muttered. “But we’ve heard enough to know he’s a crazy son of a bitch.”

They eventually lowered their hands and turned toward the hold.

“Fine. Let’s get this done,” the other said, leading the way to retrieve the shipment.

Minutes passed.

High above, slicing silently through the clouds, the Batwing emerged like a predatory bird. The jet hovered momentarily before two figures dropped from its belly—Batman and Nightwing—landing on the deck with precision.

Nightwing adjusted his escrima sticks as he landed, glancing around the deck. The cold sea breeze whipped his hair slightly as he took in the scene. “No Robin tonight?”

Batman’s boots made a soft metallic clunk as he walked forward, eyes scanning the deck.

“He’s got a science fair at school tomorrow,” he replied, his voice as level as ever.

Nightwing gave a crooked smile, already crouching beside the downed helicopter crew. “Looks like we just missed him,” he said, checking pulses. “They’re alive. Knocked out cold, but alive.”

Batman remained standing, his expression unreadable beneath the cowl. The unconscious bodies sprawled around the chopper said everything, this wasn’t an ambush. It was executed with acute efficiency.

“Stay sharp,” he ordered, moving toward the staircase leading below deck. “Let’s clear the rest of the ship.”

They descended quickly, the echo of their boots bouncing against steel walls. The interior corridors were dimly lit with flickering overhead lights, and the faint creak of the hull shifted with the waves.

They found more bodies. Same as above. Knocked out, not dead.

Nightwing crouched to inspect one, his brow furrowing. “He did this clean. No fatal hits, just pressure points. Intentional.”

Before Batman could reply, a faint thumping sound started to rise from outside—rhythmic, growing louder.

“What’s that?” Nightwing asked, looking up.

Batman’s jaw tightened, and he turned without a word. They bolted back topside, emerging into the wind and noise just in time to see the helicopter rising off the deck.

Now airborne.

Behind the glass cockpit, the masked pilot had removed the gray balaclava—revealing the familiar red dome of the Red Hood.

He gave them a slow, lazy half-wave. Clearly mocking them with a smirk beneath his mask.

Batman reacted fast. He reached to his belt and hurled a disc—sleek, silver, and glowing faintly blue. A mini-EMP, designed to shut down the chopper’s electronics instantly. It flew with perfect precision toward its target.

But Red Hood had already anticipated that move.

He tilted the chopper hard to the left with impeccable timing. The spinning rotor blades caught the disc mid-air, shredding it before it could reach the fuselage. Bits of sparking metal scattered into the dark waters below.

“See you around,” Red Hood said into the mic, grinning beneath the helmet as he pulled the stick and climbed into the sky, veering back toward the Gotham skyline.

Nightwing clenched his fists. “We can’t let him get away.”

Batman said nothing. His focus had narrowed. He reached for his belt and tapped a control. A faint chime echoed from the Batwing hovering above. Responding to his command, it slowly descended and locked into position above them, the hatch opening mid-air.

The boat rocked gently beneath them, but Batman and Nightwing leapt aboard with practiced ease.

The chase was on. The Batwing tore through the cold Gotham air, skimming just above the crashing waves as it chased the stolen chopper.

The red glow of the city’s skyline shimmered across the surface of the water, casting a menacing gleam beneath the clouds that threatened rain. 

Inside the cockpit, Batman’s hand hovered over the console. With a quick flick of his finger, a compact disk-like device launched from a hatch under the Batwing’s chassis. 

The projectile zipped through the air, striking the side of the helicopter with a mechanical hiss. It latched on tight, blinking red once… then twice… before discharging an electrical pulse that drained every motor, wire, and circuit within seconds.

The helicopter jerked mid-flight, the rotor blades stuttering and sputtering before freezing in place. Gravity took over, yanking the chopper down like an angry god swatting a fly out of the sky.

“Damn you, Bruce,” Jason muttered under his breath, voice muffled by his helmet. His grip tightened around the controls as the chopper spiraled. “Gotta say… this is one hell of a family bonding experience. Then again, we’ve always been dysfunctional.”

Through the rapidly closing windshield, he spotted a massive power pole looming in the distance. Live wires buzzed like agitated wasps in the wind. Just before impact, he launched himself out of the dying chopper, jacket fluttering behind him as he sailed toward the electrical cables. 

With a gloved hand, he snagged one of the thick cords, tearing it free in a spray of sparks that lit up the night sky.

The helicopter slammed into the rocky shoreline a second later, exploding into a smoky blaze.

Gripping the wire like a trapeze artist, Red Hood swung himself across the sky in a wide arc, the current surging through his insulated gloves and boots. It was dangerous. It was reckless. But it worked. 

He released mid-swing, twisting in the air before landing on a nearby rooftop in a shoulder roll that dispersed the impact.

Batman watched the entire maneuver from the Batwing with cold, calculating eyes. “Stay sharp,” he ordered without looking. “He’s not just skilled. He’s fast.”

“I’m always sharp,” Nightwing replied, leaning over the console, visibly impressed by the aerial gymnastics. “But yeah… he’s making us look like mall cops.”

They dismounted the Batwing, landing softly on a nearby rooftop. Gotham below them was darker than usual. The grid had gone out across multiple blocks, thanks to Jason’s impromptu power cable stunt. 

Entire neighborhoods now lay in pitch-black silence. The only lights came from flickering backup generators, headlights of confused drivers, and the occasional phone screen held high by curious onlookers.

“Where is he?” Nightwing asked, scanning the rooftops, his eyes darting between buildings. “He’s gotta be close.”

Batman activated his thermal vision binoculars. A few seconds later, he spotted a single heat signature, agile and constantly in motion—leaping from rooftop to rooftop with almost joyful precision, as if the entire chase was some kind of nighttime playground obstacle course.

“Over there,” Batman pointed. The chase was on.

The trio sprinted across the rooftops, vaulting vents and AC units, scaling ledges with fluid, practiced movements. Red Hood made it across a wide rooftop gap and crashed through the frame of a building still under construction.

Steel beams, tarps, and scaffolding made for a maze-like playground as Batman and his son stormed in behind him.

They chased him past buckets and building materials, the echo of their boots reverberating through the unfinished interior. Suddenly, Red Hood dove straight through an open window.

“What the hell?” Nightwing muttered, breath hitching.

They reached the window just in time to see Jason flipping through the air, back facing the ground, like some acrobat with a death wish. Mid-fall, he pulled a small canister he had grabbed from the building mid-chase. 

A welding gas capsule—tossed it upward, then, in the same breath, drew a sidearm and shot it.

“Get bac—!” Batman’s warning was cut off by the explosion, which ripped through the air in a fiery burst. The shockwave forced them both backward into the building. Dust and glass showered around them.

“He’s good,” Nightwing grunted, rubbing his shoulder.

“Nothing we haven’t seen before,” Batman replied, already moving.

They leapt back out the window, grapple lines shooting out to connect with the next rooftop. They spotted Jason a split-second later, darting through the darkness, just a flickering red blur now.

Down below, Gotham slept. Clueless. Powerless. Unaware of the battle unfolding above their heads.

On the next rooftop, Red Hood landed and readied to leap again, but was met with a surprise. Sliding across the gravel, knees bent and sword drawn, Robin swung low, aiming to cut off Jason’s escape—literally.

Jason vaulted mid-swing, flipping over the blade with an effortless twist, landing right at the edge of the building. His boots barely scraped the ledge.

Using the momentum, he twisted back and launched himself toward the uninvited guest, driving a fist into Robin’s face with brutal efficiency. He used just enough strength, or else he would have broken the kid’s jaw.

“Whoa!” Nightwing caught Robin before he went tumbling off the roof.

“Robin!” Batman called, uncharacteristically shaken—yet stoic to some sense. “Unhand me!” Damian growled, pushing away from Dick’s grip.

“There’s no time.” 

Batman launched another grapple and zipped downward just in time to catch Jason’s next move as the others caught up just in time to see Red Hood perform another freefall. As he descended, Batman fired a steel cable at Jason’s leg. 

The cable whipped toward its target—only for Jason to twist mid-air, reaching behind his waist to draw a combat knife from the sheath tucked behind his belt. In one fluid motion, he sliced through the wire just before it could tighten around him.

“What the—!?” Nightwing exclaimed.

Batman’s eyes narrowed behind the cowl. That cable wasn’t standard gear, it was reinforced.

While they were still processing what Red Hood had just pulled off, they kept up the chase.

The next building ahead was too far to leap across. If Jason didn’t have a plan, they’d have him cornered at the ledge before he could even think about scaling down the wall.

Or so they thought.

Red Hood suddenly picked up speed—charging toward the ledge at full sprint.

“What the hell is he—” Nightwing started, but Jason leapt before he could finish.

He threw himself across a ridiculous distance at a terrifying height. There was no clear landing, and the gap was too wide–too insane to consider.

Actually, he was insane—there’s no denying that. Perks of the many things death and a whole lot of trauma would do to one’s sanity.

Even if he had a grapple gun, the outer wal/ of the next building was so worn down it would mess with the hook’s ability to catch.

But Jason didn’t even bother reaching for it.

Instead, he raised his knife in the air and angled his descent.

Red Hood slammed the blade into the building’s wall and used it to slide down the wall, sparks trailing behind him as he glided along the surface.

“He’s very good,” Nightwing muttered—then dove off the ledge right after him, fierce and fast like a hawk with its eyes on a target.

As he caught up, his suit deployed. Fabric stretched out from under his arms, shifting his gear into wing-mode mid-air. He swooped in, aiming to snatch Jason while he was still gliding. 

But Jason saw him coming.

He kicked Off- the wall and hurled himself at Nightwing in mid-air, both of them suspended at an unholy height above the city.

Nightwing braced himself mid-air and blocked the kick with his arms just in time—but Jason was already flipping off the impact, back toward the building he’d just leapt from.

He reached for another knife mid-fall, slammed it back into the wall, and kicked off again—this time toward the nearest wall to control his descent.

Nightwing was thrown off for a second, struggling to recover in the air, flailing slightly to regain his bearings.

Batman had already hooked his grapple to a solid ledge and was about to swing in to help, but he was too far behind.

Jason dropped through the roof of a shop below. A split second later, Nightwing slammed into the same roof with a rough landing.

By the time Batman dropped into the building, all he saw was Nightwing groaning as he got back on his feet. Red Hood was gone.

No sign of him.

But there was a sound. A quiet beeping, steady and ominous.

“Move!” Batman barked as his eyes locked on a bomb timer counting down above the shattered storefront.

They dove for cover.

BOOM!

Debris rained down as fire bloomed across the shop.

Batman shielded Nightwing under one of the store’s aisles. He grabbed Dick by the arm, pulled it over his shoulders, and helped him up through the smoke and rubble.

As they staggered out of the burning wreckage, a strange sound could be heard through the smoke—

The low purr of a motorcycle engine, revving near the train tracks up ahead.

There he was.

Red Hood, calm as ever, mounting a sleek red motorcycle. Posture relaxed.

Behind him, the distant roar of an approaching train echoed louder with each passing second.

Jason looked back once, helmet tilting. “You’re a little rusty, but you haven’t lost your touch, Bru—”

The train sped by, cutting off the rest of his sentence. By the time it passed, he was gone.

Batman wasted no time. He grappled onto the moving train, scanning the only car he could possible have driven his bike into. But Jason had vanished. Just… gone.

No bike skid marks. No gear left behind. No clues.

“We lost him,” he said quietly, stepping back as Nightwing and Robin caught up. “It’s insane to even think he made his way onto a moving train with a bike.” Nightwing chimmed in.

“Then how do you explain his disappearance? There aren’t any skid marks or trail to follow.” Damian replied as all three of them moved to disperse.

He walked ahead, arms crossed, knowing full well there was a lecture coming—and it wouldn’t be a short one.

Batman tapped a button on his belt, signaling the Batmobile to their location. 

“So… science fair, huh?” Nightwing asked sarcastically with a smirk tugged to the side of his lips. Batman gave nothing in reply, except from a brief glare.

“It’s been three years,” he said, tone low. “Still don’t listen.”

“Rebellious kid. Raised by assassins. And let’s be honest—you’re not exactly the soft and fuzzy type,” Dick replied.

Batman said nothing, just glared.

“Yeah. Never mind.” The Batmobile pulled up, Its sleek frame roared toward them, headlights cutting through the dark night, stopping with a mechanical hiss as the doors lifted open. They slid inside and drove back to the cave.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep