Nightwing #20 "Devil's Playground"

Written By Mick Edwards

Eastern State Penitentiary;

Behind age old walls stood the baddest man in the east coast. A criminal that stood on top of Bludhaven's underworld for a long time. His name is Roland Desmond, but to those whom knew his reputation. He was referred to as Blockbuster. With his massive hands gripped around the promethium bars, he looked around his surroundings. His small, and dark eyes glowing with hatred for everything that lives. Including the man who stood outside his cell. The twirling escrima sticks a clear reminder of past pains. A guttural sound escaped his lips, and he jerked on the bars causing them to creak, but they would not give way.

The masked man, the elusive pest that just would not die simply smiled, and taunted him; teased him with promises of pain. But, he could not get beyond the bars, nor could Desmond. So, they stood at a stale mate. That, Desmond believed is what Nightwing wanted. He heard Nightwing laugh, and it was light kind of laugh; filled with a touch of malice. He walked closer to the cell, but not close enough to be grabbed.

"What's up Desmond?" asked Nightwing.

Desmond leaned close to the bars, his breath smelling of stale bread, and overcooked beans.

"Hear me, boy," said Desmond, "when I get out of here, I will kill you and everyone you hold dear."

Nightwing laughed, and this time louder, as if he didn't feel the threat was serious. And then without warning he smashed Desmond's knuckles with his escrima stick causing him to recoil in pain.

"Argh, you sonnva bitch," said Desmond, as he nursed his aching knuckles. "You'll pay for that, I swear you will!"

"I'm not the one eating the slop provided by the penal system," said Nightwing, as he tapped his escrima stick against his shoulder lightly. "How is it in there, Desmond? Comfortable?"

Desmond snorted, "Why don't you come in here, and find out!"

"No thanks," said Nightwing, "I prefer the view I have from right here."

The constant tapping of the escrima stick against Nightwing's shoulder started to get on Desmond's nerves. He pushed, and pulled on the bars, but they would not give in to his great strength. Nightwing laughed, to mock, and torment him. The heavy pants for breath, and the sweat that glistened from Desmond's brow told Nightwing more about his nemesis then he had ever learned when they were at each other's throats.

He stopped tapping his shoulder, and began twirling his escrima stick again; Desmond's eyes followed it, but there was no fear to be held in them. Only rage, pure, and primal. Desmond licked his lips, and wiped his forehead as he sat on the re-tiled floor with his back against the wall. His eyes darting back and forth between the twirling of the escrima stick, and the masked visage of Nightwing.

"What did you come here for?" asked Desmond, "to GLOAT?"

The twirling stopped, and Desmond held his breath for a moment, but when nothing happened he released it. He glared at Nightwing who stood there silently, as if studying the former kingpin of Bludhaven.

"Say something," said Desmond, "SPEAK TO ME, DAMN IT!"

Nightwing smiled, and he squatted down so he would be in eye level with Desmond.

"Tell me," he said with his voice low, and serious. "Where did you first meet Dudley Soames?"

Desmond eyed him, and then drew back as a smile played on his own lips, "Having trouble with that little coach roach?"

Nightwing clenched his teeth, and his lip curled up. Desmond smile became wider, and a look of glee played over his face.

"The big bad vigilante can't even put down a simple con artist," said Desmond, "what is the world coming to."

Nightwing stood up, and began twirling his escrima stick again. But, this time Desmond knew the game. The smile remained on his face and he scooted closer to the bars.

"You come here hoping to play my temper, so that I will spill information on Soames," said Desmond, "what kind of idiot do you take me for?"

Nightwing remained silent, his face impassive as he tried to reign in his temper.

"That's interesting. Like me you let your emotions rule you," said Desmond, "obviously the bat failed in training you in--"

Desmond didn't get to finish his remark, as Nightwing had fired a grapnel through the space between the bars, and it wound around his neck, and back through the bars. He pulled tight forcing the air from Desmond's lungs. He tried to pull himself free, but the grip Nightwing had was insane for such a small man.

"It would be so easy for me to snap your neck," said Nightwing into Desmond's ear. "But I have a feeling you won't push your luck."

Desmond's eyes started to flutter as he began to pass out, and Nightwing let some slack into the wire to let Desmond catch his breath. He took in the oxygen in ragged, deep inhales and exhales. Nightwing never let go of the wire.

"Talk, or this time I won't hesitate."

"Go fuck yourself," said Desmond, "I don't fear death."

This time Nightwing lost it, and jerked harder with his foot braced against the bar. In his rage he could see his parents falling to their death all over again. Amy being raped by Brutale. The betrayal of his friend Oracle, but then something inside of him washed away that anger, and he let go. The cable dropped to the floor. Desmond coughed and hacked, spitting up phlegm as he tried to take in precious air.

Nightwing looked at his hands, those same hands that failed his parents, who made a mistake that cost an innocent Judge to be killed by Two-Face, and for Blockbuster and his gang to run Bludhaven for so long. He looked at Desmond who had collapsed at the floor of his cell, exhausted. Perspiration dripped down Nightwing's face.

The clack, clack sound of foot steps were fast approaching. Nightwing picked up his escrima stick, which he had dropped on the floor in his rage, and set it in its holster. Then sprinted down the hallway to the south wall that was still under construction. By the time the guards arrived, he was long gone.

---

Bridget combed back her wet hair, the droplets of cool water dripping down onto her face. She looked into the mirror, and felt the puffy bags under eyes from the lack of sleep she has got over worrying about Rickie. She leaned onto the sink for support, and took a deep breath, then exhaled. With her left hand she opened the medicine cabinet, and she held it open with her right. Inside she took out her make up, and face moisturizer. After applying both, she gave herself another look in the mirror, and then went into the bedroom to get her clothes. There was work that needed to be done on the second floor. A leaky pipe according to John Law. It was leaking over the roof of his bedroom, and disturbing his sleep.

As soon as she got her work clothes on, she opened the window, the summer wind hit in her the face. It was hot and dry, which meant today was going to be a scorcher. She put on her socks feeling the soft cotton against her delicate skin. And then slipped her boots on. When she walked out the door, she made a pass by Rickie's room. She could almost smell his musk in the air. She could feel the phantom sensations of his dark hair slipping through her fingers.

"Rickie," she said, as a tear stream down her cheek.

The door creaked when she shut it.

---

Soames ran a hand through his reddish blonde hair, which was covered in perspiration. A note book rested on his lap, and a pen was in his hand. He had written down what information he had gleamed from the feds that he had bribed about the Crime Prevention Squad. Most of the members were spooks with no profiles in any databases that he had access to. He called some old friends from up north, and they were mum about the whole operation. Which meant things were not looking good for his reign over Bludhaven. The phone in his hip pocket vibrated, and he pulled it out, and flipped it open.

"Hello?"

"Boss, it's Deathwing."

"What are you calling me for you idiot," said Soames, "I can't be connected to trash like you."

"Some one was in your house looking for you, she messed me up pretty bad, and killed Sharp."

Soames went silent, and Deathwing could hear his muttering of curses. When he came back on the line, he spoke in cold, and deliberate manner.

"Find this bitch, whoever she is, and kill her," said Soame," and take as many men as you need."

"I understand," he said, "what do you want me to do about the Sharp mess?"

"Nothing, I'm coming back to Bludhaven," said Soames as he licked his lips, "Get word to Giuseppe that I want a meeting."

"It's done."

Soames hung up the phone, and put it back in his pocket. Aleta came out wearing a very conservative attire that revealed none of her charming attributes. Beyond her stood Scarlet whose breasts nearly hung out of her bikini top, and her bikini bottom was practically none existent.

"Get some clothes on, Scarlet, we are going back to Bludhaven."

"Now?"

"You heard what I said!"

"What do you wish of me?" asked Aleta, as she offered him a hand up.

"What you do best dearest," he said, as he got up, and kissed her on the cheek.

Soames walked away to get prepared, and Aleta turned to the spot where he had been sitting. Not a sliver of emotion crossed her features. She bent down, and grabbed the stuff he left behind, and followed him into the cabin.

---

The cracking sound of a whip against soft flesh could be heard in the compound of the League Of Assassins, which had formed a base in Bludhaven. Kasumi was strung up while she was receiving lashes for the constant delays in carrying out the execution of Mayor Soames. She cried out several times, and a time, or two she bit her lip drawing blood. The metallic taste caused her to retch the contents of her stomach.

"Enough," said Sensei, "I do not desire her death; only a lesson to be learned."

The torturer bowed to Sensei, and left the two alone. Kasumi hung there perspiration, and blood drenched. Sensei placed his hands behind his back, and walked around until he came face to face with her. He cupped her delicate chin, and looked at her face. Her nose was badly broken and it distorted her lovely, and innocent features. Black and blue bruises welled up under her eyes, and a cut was on her lip. Sensei leaned toward her ear, and whispered his disappointment, which brought tears to her eyes. He then let her head droop, and the tears dropped to the floor making an almost silent splash. But, to her perfectly trained ears it was like hearing the sounds of rain drops.

"Do you have nothing to say for yourself?" asked Sensei

Hearing his voice allowed her to focus away from the rhythm of her tears, and on him. She tried with great effort to raise her head despite how exhausted she was. So, that she could show him respect, but the effort was to great, and her head sunk back down.

"Worthless," he said, "all of that training, and for nothing."

"No, Sensei-san," she said, "I will honor -- you."

"You, honor me?" he asked, "you cannot even retain your own honor!"

"P-please, allow me, one last opportunity," she said.

Sensei stuck his hands into the folds of his gi, as he considered his answer. He looked at her, again, and he walked around behind, and to the side of her where an iron was placed in furnace to be heated for the second round of torturing. He pulled it out, and admired the dragon emblem that stood at the end of it before sticking into her soft flesh. She screamed, a deafening cry that everyone in the camp including the young students heard. And the senior members recognized it; as a warning to those that failed the League of Assassins.

To Be Continued...