Dressed like a young aristocrat, Tim Drake stepped out of Wayne Manor into the drizzling night. The rain washed over the city in soft curtains, and somewhere in the distance, gunshots echoed across the rooftops.
As the third Robin, Tim wasn't as lost as Nightwing seemed to think. He wasn't anyone's replacement — he didn't need anyone's permission. He had his own way of doing things.
He took the long way around and slipped into the Batcave. Nightwing doesn't have the nerve to take that final step, he thought, studying the equipment rack, eyes moving across the suits hanging there. But I do.
Gotham didn't care who was under the cowl. It only needed the symbol.
He suited up quickly, pulled on an older Batsuit, and shot out of the cave on a motorcycle.
The way Tim saw it, the solution was straightforward: take down Jason, put him behind bars, then use the Batsuit to put the fear back into Gotham's criminal underworld, stabilize the city, and concentrate his efforts on finding Bruce. Clean and efficient — the best path forward.
So that was exactly what he set out to do.
The motorcycle moved silently through the streets, carving smooth arcs through the dark. His first priority was finding Jason Todd — the second Robin, the one who had died and come back different. Tim had never actually met him. By the time Tim joined the Bat-family, Jason had already been resurrected and was long gone from Gotham. To Tim, the name had always been more of a cautionary legend than a real person.
Is it here? Tim manipulated his wristwatch display, sifting through data. Unlike his predecessors, Tim trusted technology. He'd spent time studying the alien tech flooding Earth's markets, and unlike Bruce, he didn't approach it with wariness. Tools were tools, whether alien or human-made.
The motorcycle came to a quiet stop. Ahead: an abandoned factory, shuttered when Thea's mass-produced alien technology had wiped out half of Earth's traditional manufacturing sector. Some companies had adapted in time. Others were already history — swept away in less than a month.
This factory was the latter. Tim didn't care what it used to make. What mattered was that Jason Todd was somewhere beneath it.
He slipped carefully across the factory floor.
Behind him, the earth shifted. A massive crimson plant unfurled soundlessly from the soil, layers of petals blooming open one by one. Two beautiful women peered out in the direction Tim had disappeared.
One had a cascade of red hair and a deep-green catsuit. The other wore a short-sleeved blouse, pencil skirt, heels, and glasses — the image of a sharp professional.
It was Poison Ivy and Secretary Masie, watching from the shadows.
Thea had predicted that without Bruce, the Bat-family would be rudderless. With Tommy and Laurel also wading into this mess, she'd sent Ivy — Gotham's own — to keep a quiet eye on things.
Masie had been at Ivy's place with nothing to do, so she'd tagged along. Between constantly being around Thea and Ivy's... particular influence, the once-straight secretary had been thoroughly turned.
"Why is this city such a mess?" Masie asked, eyebrow raised at the distant gunfire. "The whole world is running nonstop right now, and Gotham still has people firing guns in the street."
Ivy gave a light shrug. "No idea. Come on, let's see what's happening."
A cloud of pollen billowed from the plant behind them — Masie recognized it as something to blur the eye — and both women strolled casually after Tim.
Tim had no idea he was being followed. A trained soldier of Thea's caliber had no trouble tracking the trail he'd left. They descended into a vast underground space, voices drifting up from below.
"I can't believe it — you actually built your own Batcave. Jason Todd, you had no right to... no, you stole that cowl."
A barrage of heavy impacts followed, the sounds bouncing through the thick underground like muffled thunder.
"You shouldn't have come here. This isn't your masquerade." A low, cold voice answered.
"I'm not playing games, Jason. I'm here to arrest you. I won't let you drag Bruce's name through the mud."
Then they were fully at it — fists, feet, the works.
"Tsk." Ivy watched with detached amusement. "Men, fighting this hard over a name."
Masie wasn't as dismissive of men as Ivy. She produced her Indigo Tribe ring, channeled its light to project a clear view of the fight below, and watched with genuine interest.
She had traded blows with Lady Shiva for dozens of rounds. Her eye for combat was in a different league from Ivy's.
"Tim's impressive," she said, studying his movements. "His physicality and his tactics were in perfect sync — speed, precision, split-second decision-making. You could see why Batman chose him."
Ivy, honest enough to admit she wouldn't have been much without her mutation, glanced sideways. "You think he wins?"
"No. He loses." Masie's sharp expression faded as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by her usual placid smile. "Jason isn't holding back at all. One side is going all-out. The other has a limit he won't cross. The outcome is already decided."
She had spent years as Lex Luthor's bodyguard. She read these things quickly.
Tim had come in with the intention of ending this fast. But he couldn't bring himself to go for the kill shot against his own predecessor. Jason, by contrast, had no such restraints — every hit was deliberate, bone-deep, merciless.
When Tim realized his mistake and tried to shift tactics, it was too late. They had both trained under Bruce; the style had variations, but the core vocabulary was the same, and Jason knew Tim's moves better than Tim knew his. Jason had spent years after his resurrection wandering the world, absorbing fighting systems from every corner of the globe, hammering them together in actual life-or-death fights. His skills had grown beyond anything Tim had a reference for.
A sharp mind wasn't enough to change the outcome.
"Your eyes are full of fear and confusion," Jason said. "The one disgracing this suit is you."
He clenched a Batarang and drove it into Tim's chest, then walked away.
"Pathetic." He pulled off Tim's mask. Beneath it was a young face coughing up blood. Jason turned and left the field.
Tim felt himself growing cold. Multiple fractures. Blood loss was dragging his consciousness under. He knew he'd failed completely.