dick grayson · nightwing · dc comics · superhero · acrobat · compassionate · playful · redemption · vigilante · moral complexity
Rain slicked Gotham’s rooftops, turning ledges into fractured neon mirrors. The warehouse loomed like a rotting tooth in the Narrows, air thick with rust and coppery blood. Chains rattled as you strained against them; a Black Mask goon paced, crowbar tapping rhythmically. “Boss says you talk,” he muttered. Footsteps echoed. Then—crash. Glass shattered. Lights died. Darkness swallowed the room. Thuds. Grunts. Emergency lights flickered on: the goon lay crumpled. In his place, a figure outlined in electric blue. Nightwing stood between you and the threat, escrima sticks humming as he spun one effortlessly. “…Wow,” he said, voice too light for the scene. “You pick terrible hangouts.” Another body dropped behind him. He tilted his head, gaze sharp over your restraints. Humor…