TheForgottenSheikah: Hey guys! I'm so excited to be here again. :) It's taken longer than I would've liked to write this but my own baby Batman and life has been coming first. This is just a prologue and later in the week I will put up the first chapter. I will aim to update once a week. Expect long chapters as I've taken a personal challenge to write at least 2,500 (minus prologues) words per update.

Timeline is between Arkham Asylum and City (because Rocksteady's makes no bloody sense anyway.) Dick is Nightwing and Jason Todd is the current Robin. Barbara is still Oracle. Here we go loves!

I hope you all enjoy the sequel as much you did the previous!

I want to be better.

Dark waves slapped against the barnacle crusted pillars of the Gotham port. Using the cover of the night and rolling fog to their advantage, greasy haired men armed with auto rifles confidently walked through the docks. Regretfully the power of the night bestowed belonged to others. Feather light footfalls stalked about the unsuspecting miscreants.

He can help shape my body, piece together my soul.

These men were a small group connected to a much larger operation. Make them talk he said. An order issued. They obeyed the command, eager to show what they were capable of. Two shadows moved through the darkness, ever watching, scrutinizing every move the goons did. Once the rumored deal began they would make their own move.

More figures appeared from the looming crating building that conjoined to the docks. No faces recognizable to the eye yet some names popped up, flashing red indicating past criminal activity. Confirmations were whispered on the wind. There was no visible marks of loyalty, if there were any. So far, mere dealers, no sign of greater contacts. They shall wait.

No longer brittle but strong.

Heads bowed forward, ears bent towards the huddle of men. The ability to hear on conversations up to thirty feet was thanks to the expensive tech unlike popular theory of supernatural gifts. Every word was crystal clear within the tipped ears of the cowl. Brushes of personal life, sports and a telling on one's recent jail visit. Nothing attention grabbing or substantial to report or insight a drop down. A dull spit of talk. Patience inwardly began to irritate them. Backs arched and muscles coiled, ready to spring into action at any second.

Finally the single word, a name, the push they needed was spoken.

Penguin.

Bright green eyes lit up with excitement as they bounced of the rooftops with a holler, alerting their partner to follow. Heads snapped in every direction until it was too late to look up. Kolvar knuckles crunched into stubbled jaws, knocking some teeth to the floor. Talon sharp gloves slashed out, raking across tattooed chests. Each fallen to various techniques of dispatch. All minus one little rat. A scrawny white male suffering a busted lip and blacking eye. He crawled, whimpering for mercy from the encroaching fear made of shadow and flesh.

Colors of a robin took up the light in his eyes. A harsh fastened onto his bloodied shirt.

"Where's the Penguin?" A deep voice, not as grave as the Bat's yet just as effective.

It wasn't the colorful lackey of the Bat that had the man praying to whatever god would hear him. The waif shadow lurking behind Robin that unsettled his mind, his soul. Each description differed on the newest solider of the Batman from mouth to mouth. Some said it was a ghost, a poor innocent murdered by the Bat that had come back to haunt the streets of Gotham. Others said it was alive, showing of the clawed scars and fresh bruises. A few even scoffed at the idea, claiming everyone just gotten hold of a bad batch. But always this description remained identical.

It stood there motionless, observing, never uttering a word. Faceless yet somehow boring into his very being, a silent judge.

She was strong.

Waylon Jones stomped throughout the cramped compound of his current job. He had been sought out, for his height and strength of course. What else? No one gave a damn about anything else. Look fuckin' scary and beat the hell outta anyone dumb enough to walk in. The clowns either took pity on him or just wanted to use him. Either way, he'd care less. As long as Waylon got paid. He despised the pale faced psychos. But the girl, Harely, wasn't that bad on a good day. One. Single. Purse joke and he was gone. An entire life time of boot and wallet jokes and threats was enough.

Jones was assigned to watch over crates filled with a supposed antidote for the Clown Prince. Not all the drugs in the world could help that sick bastard but the woman just kept harping on the clowns to be careful with the boxes.

"You break anything, it'll be your heads boys! My puddin' needs you good for nothin's at your best!" Did the stupid clown even know which crate held the so called antidote?

Wood shattered against concrete making Harely Quinn squall. "What'd I tell ya?!"

Good fucking God, if he has to hear that whiny pitched voice screech or fawn over her Joker one more time he would lose his shit! Five years passed since Croc made his debut here in Gotham and Blackgate wasn't a great start. It wasn't just his defeat that haunted him either... The Bat thrown his ass in the zoo called Arkham one too many times. It put a hindrance on his rise.

Especially all this bullshit being said about another flying rat added to the weight on his shoulders. Waylon had yet to see this kid for himself. He hadn't the displeasure of being beaten, shocked or froze to the point of unconsciousness. Probably another smart mouthed punk with too many gadgets to play with. A norm of two Bats was bad enough...

A tuff of black hair caught his peripheral vision. His guts twisted painfully, making him glance at the passing figure. The person was definitely small -everyone was compared to him- but they weren't thin or pale. It was just a guard. Another misguide of senses. Sentimental crap made his mind play tricks on itself.

She was dead. The end.

Hissing through his razor sharp teeth, he stormed off. Waylon was going to finish his rounds and get this job done and over with. Faster this was wrapped up, the quicker he got paid and could get the hell outta here!

The wind blew in from a broken slot in the window, a scent trailing with it. Salt water, oil, gun power, all mixed with something familiar. Venomous eyes narrowed, glowing to one sparing a look, his jaw set firm with fury.

"Batman!"

TheForgottenSheikah: So it begins dearies ;)