Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Beyond or any of the referenced story lines or characters therein.

Author's Note: Two chapters, for your reading pleasure. :) This is one I've been excited to post, in particular. Do enjoy.

Warp Element

Encounter

Backtracked

It was alluring.

The mask.

Those eyes.

The onset of night.

He couldn't help but don that strange, dark costume again, playing the hero or villain – whichever he happened to be. He felt powerful wearing it, like a part of the night surrounded him, like he was terror incarnate. He pulled the mask down snuggly over his head, blinking as he adjusted to the visor display, and straightened the cowl. The entire costume seemed to be made of a quite sturdy material that fit very snuggly to every inch of his body, responding to his slightest whim as if it sensed his thoughts. He was beginning to realize that even the smallest twitch would set off sensors to one function or another, just like the wrist launchers of those strange, bat-representative weapons. The same worked with the jet boots, launching him off into space at the slightest trigger.

The material itself was thick, and masterfully woven, more deeply armored around his chest and shoulders, as well as about his waist and thighs. He messed with the belt a little as well, finding many interesting looking gadgets stashed in there, not knowing in the slightest what they did. After a while of playing around, he'd been highly amused to find he could turn invisible if he switched the center control on the belt to the correct setting. He also found he could run a current of electricity through the suit, perhaps to shock anyone he couldn't shake off, but that wasn't half as cool as turning freakin' invisible!

He had walked around on the streets for some time, avoiding touching people, just watching from his ghostly position. He'd even stolen – despite the fact he didn't want to – a hotdog from a street vendor. The guy had been so freaked out by the floating meat product that he'd bolted, screaming his head off, and Caine had boosted a second one as well. Right now, he sat nonchalantly on a gargoyle some fifty stories high (thanks to his rocket boots), one leg dangling off and swinging in space as he ate, staring out over the neon lights surrounding him. Honestly, this was pretty cool. He still felt guilty about the hotdogs though. If he was a villain, he certainly sucked at it. He didn't want to be one anyway… but he felt like that was what many people had already labeled him. Taking another bite of a biscuit he'd swiped off of the table from breakfast earlier that morning, he leaned out over the horned head of the stone creature he was perched upon, smiling down at the cars trickling along on the streets like ants.

Honestly, he felt like they should've been flying, but he'd become quite used to his strange misconceptions of reality, and ignoring them. Those seeming 'memories' weren't real. They weren't happening. Somehow, he was getting confused, and he needed to sort the dream from the actuality. Stuffing the last bit of biscuit in his mouth, he wiped the crumbs away from his mask with the back of his gloved hand, being quite wary of the sharp, sturdy spikes on the gauntlets. He was amazed that he didn't feel awkward in this clingy, skin-tight outfit; instead, he was completely at ease. It fit him like a second skin. It belonged. The biggest question was, though, what was he supposed to do in it? Certainly not steal hot dogs and sit on gargoyles. There was no doubt in his mind that a lot of money had been invested into the costume, and there weren't many people that could afford something this advanced and attuned to the tiniest of human reflexes. The only person that came to mind at the moment was Wayne. The speculations that the man had been one of the costumed figures in the vault quickly faded, replaced by queries as to why he would be investing so much capital into a suit such as this. It was a distinct possibility, and made more sense of the fact that he'd expended so much energy attempting to catch him for supposed 'breakfast'. It still didn't quite fit, though, since he hadn't shown any signs of knowing who the boy was. If he had been Wayne's employee, and stolen the suit, or been given the suit, he would've figured the guy would have enough decency to know and tell him who he was.

Sighing, Caine lay back against the building, stretching his long legs comfortably out in front of him, also making sure the shoulder bag was secure upon the ledge. His eyes still scanned the rooftops all around, in constant search. Of what, he wasn't sure, but he guessed he'd know when he saw it. The action was instinct, like almost everything else he'd done. He almost felt like he was on some sort of patrol.

About the time his eyelids were beginning to droop, a fluttering shadow caught his eye a few stories down on an adjacent building to his right, and he noticed a figure, clad in a completely black ensemble, stealthily making its way across the tops of buildings.

It was curiosity that drove him off of the gargoyle, that wonder that there was someone else besides the four from the night he'd first come to terms with his haphazard existence. He soared downward on the retractable wings built into the thick, armored Kevlar on his back, moving silently through the night air. He followed the figure – a female – doggedly until her form disappeared completely within the shadows of an air conditioner.

He retracted the wings, and failed his attempted landing, stumbling noisily. That would take a little practice, apparently. For a moment, he simply stood out in the open, which, in hindsight, most likely wasn't the best idea. A hiss came from behind him, and before he knew it, one clawed hand was constricting around his throat, another digging into his shoulder.

"Getting a little sloppy, aren't we Nightwing?" The purring feminine voice asked. Caine barely dared breath, let alone move, but decided to speak.

"I'm not Nightwing." He answered, lapsing comfortably into the deep, guttural voice he'd used the night past. It was beginning to feel more comfortable, and fit the dark persona he was acting at the moment.

The hands loosened a little, if only from surprise. "Really?" The voice was soft and sweet, and unmistakably deceptive – honey trying to cover the flavor of poison. "Then who might you be, Handsome?"

"I can't answer that question." He replied truthfully, wary of the sharp, silver instruments stroking his neck. The woman slipped around him now, taking a position facing him, and keeping a wary hand near his neck. He stood straight and tense, not daring to tempt her. She was, as he had previously observed, dressed head to toe in black leather, but now he could see her unbelievably pale skin, and the stiff, pointed ears accenting the mask she wore. Along with these things was a small satchel on her hip next to a long, snaking whip almost resembling a tail, the way it dragged behind her. She most definitely reminded him of a cat, especially in her graceful, slinking movements that were almost too fluid to be human.

She pointed a free claw at his chest, tracing the red beacon pasted there. "You're with the Bats, though, aren't you? Are you a new recruit perhaps? Too new to have a name yet, Batboy?"

"Bats…?" He mused, confusion clearly written across his face despite the full mask. "No."

The Cat cocked her head interestedly to one side. "You're a rogue, then? Like me, perhaps?"

"And who would you be?" He asked, a tinge of a smile twitching at the edges of his mouth. She was as curious about him as he was about her, but he wouldn't be able to tell her anything. With his memory loss, it wasn't as if he could anyway, despite the fact that he perceived she could most likely be very convincing if she pleased. She didn't flaunt her body in a sensual leather costume for nothing.

"Me?" Her delicate hand rested lightly on her collarbone as she addressed herself. "I would be Catwoman." She purred, and leaned in on his strong form, both arms now interlocking over his shoulders and around his neck. He looked down on her, wondering at her aims, but figured this was simply part of her keeping him within her clawed grasp. He was wrong. She leaned in a little farther, fingers twitching restlessly at the edge of his mask, eyes fixated on his. "Quite the handsome young newcomer, aren't you? How about you and I leap the rooftops some time?"

Caine found himself breathless. She was flirting with him. His mouth unhinged slightly as she leaned a little closer, the cat-like slits of her eyes narrow and seductive. One hand came forward to stroke the side of his face. Did she have any clue how old he was? How old was she? This probably wasn't very appropriate. But despite his misgivings, she continued to press closer. "Maybe even…"

"Somehow, I should've known." Both Caine and Catwoman whipped their heads around as Nightwing descended, utilizing the gliders that controlled his fall. Caine's jaw tightened. This was the guy that had really shown disdain towards him in the vault. With a shove, Catwoman broke away from him, sprinting to the edge of the rooftop with great, graceful strides. Unfortunately, Nightwing was faster. Caine ducked as the masked vigilante tossed a skillfully aimed bola, an interconnected array of cords with spherical, weighted ends, which wrapped itself tightly around the fleeing female, and sent her crashing to the surface of the roof. She hissed in contempt towards the man as the small beige satchel broke away from her hip, skidding away across the surface she lay on.

The black and red clad stranger wouldn't be so easily displaced, though. He broke away, stepping out of Nightwing's range as a dangerous swinging kick was aimed at his already bruised and battered skull. For a moment, his adversary stepped back, sizing him up derisively. "Something told me you were bad news, and here I find you consorting with criminals."

Caine glanced to Catwoman, who smirked, shrugging awkwardly from her position on the ground. "Guilty as charged." She mewed.

Of course. Such would be his luck, that the moment this Nightwing character found him again, he would be consorting with criminals he had no idea were criminals. "You don't understand…" Caine began, raising his hands in defense, but Nightwing wouldn't hear of it.

"You almost killed my friend the other night, you know." He spat, advancing, while pulling a blue edged, switchblade style birdarang from his belt. Caine's eyes narrowed behind the mask's lenses, recognizing a weapon similar to the projectiles in his own wrist launchers. This man seemed to have no such technology, but the muscles plainly rippling from beneath the slim fitting fabric of his costume attested to his skill. Here, technology was unnecessary – Nightwing was perfectly capable of caring for himself without such aid.

"Back off." Caine answered menacingly, taking another step, but Nightwing paid no mind.

"You're going in with your cohort over there." He hissed, motioning to Catwoman.

Caine stiffened. "I'm not going anywhere!"

The birdarang flew.

The fight was on.

The slim man with the blue logo moved much faster than Caine would've first deemed possible. It was as if the weapon hit at the same time the roundhouse kick came for his face. The confused teenager stumbled backward in a daze; ducking and scrambling out of the way like a meaningless scuttle bug. How the heck was he supposed to defend himself against skill like this?

Nightwing was on the fallen boy in an instant, twisting his arms behind his back painfully. The nerves along his arms, shoulders and back screamed in protest, and he gritted his teeth to avoid an undignified cry of pain. As Nightwing wrenched his arms up mercilessly, something in the back of his mind clicked in accordance to situations like this, and he responded accordingly.

Straining against Nightwing's grip, he felt the suit come to his aid, adding that extra bit of strength to help him break free. Quickly, he turned over onto his stomach, rolling his back and using the momentum to gain footing again, slipping into a low, wide stance that surprised his trained adversary. Nightwing paused for a moment, startled at the simple, crude stand that this stranger took. He was a street fighter. It was then that the acrobat knew two things – one, that this boy knew his way around several defensive and offensive styles, and even though he may not be able to perform them all, he'd know how to counteract them. The second was that he would fight dirty. Street fighters always did what was necessary to win, no matter the indignity – they didn't follow the rules or fight fair. Dick would have to expect the unexpected from this guy, and defend against it.

The train of thought was instantaneous, and his reaction came a split second later. There was no way he was going to let a novice street punk best him. If he hit hard and fast with no mercy, the boy wouldn't have a chance in the world.

Caine pulled his arms down over his abdomen as the experienced vigilante went for a hard uppercut, but he found himself to slow, and yet again, he was sprawled out on the concrete, scrambling to get away from the acrobat. He needed to remember something. He could fight. He knew he could… the way that stance had felt so natural…

Some part of him had been trained, if only slightly, and he just needed to pull it out of the recesses of his mind and bring it to fruition. Taking a deep breath, he opened his senses, closed his eyes, and listened. The breath of wind passing around a body cued him to his opponent's next move, and he ducked the artful slice at his temple, diving low and plowing into Nightwing's stomach. With a grunt, the man pulled his knee into Caine's abdomen, and he doubled over for a moment, rolling as the blue and black clad vigilante sought to bring a heel down between his shoulder blades.

Now Nightwing was really bringing it on, and it was all Caine could do to keep his face and body from becoming even more bruised than it already was. He gasped, ducking and dodging like a hyperactive dragonfly as his adversary struck out with a series of palm thrusts, followed by a rather artful round of kicks, and various other moves that he could barely see, let alone identify. If it hadn't been for the suit, he would've been a mashed potato by now.

Gasping for breath, he tried to plead for mercy. "Hey, really, you've got it all wrong…"

Nightwing brought a firm cut down on a pressure point near his neck, and Caine's eyesight momentarily blacked out as he crumpled to the ground, groaning. He felt that crushing blow between his shoulder blades that had missed before, and found himself face first in concrete, his spine crying for mercy as his arms once again were fastened tightly behind him.

"Do I?" Nightwing hissed, his knee firmly planted in the stranger's lower back. "You were in a bank vault, tried to kill my friend and consorted with a well known thief. I think I know perfectly well what you are, if not who."

Caine clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to point out snidely that even he didn't know who he was, let alone what. "I wasn't trying to rob or kill anyone. And I didn't know who that Catwoman was until just now! You have to believe me!" Straining as hard as possible, he wrenched his arms free for the second time, his muscles screaming for mercy, but not receiving any. They were on fire, and his breath was burning in his throat, but he didn't let up. Turning over he jerked his knee up into Nightwing's crotch, shoving the temporarily immobilized man away and climbing to his feet. Leaping of the rooftop, he extended his glider wings, not even daring to look back and see if his attacker had followed. Undoubtedly he would.

Rolling on the next rooftop to avoid severe shock to his legs, he sprinted forward, too late, as Nightwing tackled him from behind. He heard it before he felt it, but the shock was still evident as two strong feet plowed into his back, flattening him to the ground, yet again. He rolled over before Nightwing could pin him yet a third time, and found a fist in the face to be his reward. He grabbed the next flying punch, biceps straining to contain the fury of the attack that was being sent in his direction. He swore he heard something in his wrist snap. Caine's free hand snaked out to grab Nightwing's other wrist, and for a moment, the two were locked in a stalemate.

Nightwing pressed forward, but found the strangers grip incredibly – and quite unexpectedly – iron clad. He remembered the face from the vault. The boy couldn't have been more than eighteen. How the heck was he this damn powerful? In a last ditch effort Caine brought his feet up under Nightwing, shoving him off with all his strength. The vigilante executed an extremely gracefully backhand spring, recovering his balance on the balls of his feet while resting forward on his fingertips.

Caine was beginning to sag. His body was screaming for a rest. He hadn't had a fight like this in quite a while. Wait. When had he ever had a fight like this…? For a moment, he caught a glimpse of teenagers dressed as clowns, and a man… a man with translucent neon green skin, his skeleton showing through… glowing like a freaking night-light…

The next thing he knew, Nightwing's foot was in his face again. Caine stumbled backward, coming back to reality with a jolt, and realizing he was still in this fight. The past was irrelevant at the moment. The birdarangs came without warning, slicing through the air like propellers. Despite his amazingly honed reflexes, he found one slicing through the skin of his left shoulder, and he fell into a crouch, hissing as blood began to seep out of the deep gash.

His breathing came a little harder now, and he watched intrepidly, with cold eyes, as Nightwing approached, much more reserved. He still held a projectile weapon in his right hand, but looked down upon the black clad stranger with superiority. "Had enough yet, punk, or do I get to take you by force?"

Caine shifted his weight in this crouched position, carefully considering his options. He had no doubt this 'Nightwing' had him bested, hands down, as long as he couldn't properly remember how to fight. So what was he going to do about it while trying to avoid jail? Maybe if he got in a cheap shot like the one before, he could…

"STOP!"

Caine was on his feet in an instant as a second dark figure descended, the caped black and grey man from the vault. He was taller, and much bulkier than the slim and acrobatic Nightwing, but was just as, if not more, graceful than his counterpart. Nightwing didn't drop his offensive posture, very well considering taking the intruder down despite Batman's intrusion, until Tim came down as well, taking a stance between Nightwing and his opponent.

Caine took a step back, eyeing them all suspiciously, but Nightwing eased his combative posture. "What's going on?" He demanded bitterly. "I'm handling this."

"Caine isn't a danger to anybody."

Both Nightwing and the black and red costumed figure stared at him with wide eyes. "Caine?" Nightwing growled, at the same time that the boy stuttered out an almost incomprehensive, "H-how did you know…?"

Batman looked between the two fighters, taking in the damage. Nightwing was undoubtedly the cleaner of the two, considering that Caine had a deep gash in his shoulder, hidden beneath the gloved hand that was clutching it. The flow of blood still trickled from between his fingers, though, and Batman could imagine he'd have several more bruises judging by what little of the fight he'd seen. Nightwing was probably out a few children though. Bruce restrained a smirk. Caine had really surprised him there. That had been a low blow, but quite clever. If he'd been a little more active in his escape, he might've flown the coop before Nightwing had bested the pain and tackled him.

The small colorfully dressed boy in front of him stepped out from between the two adversaries, quite confident that they wouldn't be ripping each other's heads off any more. He turned to Caine briefly. "Hey." He smiled, a gesture that confused and warmed him at the same time. "I'm Robin."

"…Hey…?" Caine cocked his head curiously to one side; wary of the hospitality he now seemed to be receiving.

Nightwing scowled bitterly. "Does someone want to clue me in on the little secret that doesn't make him my enemy? Or do you prefer to leave me in the dark?"

Caine also turned his expectant attention upon the bulky, dark-clad man, who stared back at him. "Please." He added sarcastically. "If you know anything about me, I'd like to know as well. Hell knows I'm as much in the dark as bird brain, here."

"Hey!" Nightwing snarled, pressing forward again, and bumping Robin's shoulder. The boy wonder cried out in dismay, pulling back at Nightwing with an impatient hand. The older, retired Robin paid him no mind. "You're in no position to be throwing insults…"

"Batman."

"Huh?" Both Nightwing and Caine whipped their heads around to stare at him in disbelief. The soulless white eyes were as cold and serious as ever, and in the slight night breeze, the cape fell forward over his strong, statuesque shoulders, consuming his well-built features. Without explanation, he simply repeated himself.

"This boy here…" he didn't have to gesture to show he was talking about the one he'd so obviously called 'Caine'. "…Is Batman."

From somewhere above, a leather clad female looked down upon the quartet of costumed heroes with ill-contained curiosity. She examined her claws absentmindedly, glancing haughtily to the rope that had only moments ago contained her. Nightwing should've known better that to simply leave her to her own devices, tied up with simple cord. Turning her attention back to the conversation happening below, her lips twitched into a satisfied smirk.

The saying was the curiosity killed the cat, but then, this was too interesting of a tidbit to pass up. The newcomer was a second Batman? She stood, caressing the satchel of small, jade lioness figures at her hip, praying desperately that none of them had shattered in their flight from her side. Blinking down at the four figures once more, she slipped away into the shadows to consider her newly acquired knowledge.