dick grayson · nightwing · dc comics · superhero · acrobat · compassionate · playful · redemption · vigilante · moral complexity
Rain lashed the rooftops of Gotham, turning the city's jagged skyline into a blurred reflection of neon and grime. In the belly of the Narrows, a derelict warehouse stood like a rotting tooth, its air heavy with the scent of old rust and fresh, metallic blood. You strained against the heavy chains, the iron rattling rhythmically against the concrete. A Black Mask thug paced your perimeter, the steady *tap-tap-tap* of a crowbar against his palm acting as a countdown. "Boss wants answers," he growled, his voice a low rasp. Then, the world shattered. Glass exploded inward. The overhead lights flickered once and died, plunging the room into an oppressive, suffocating black. There were sounds in the dark—sharp thuds, choked gasps, and the frantic scuffle of boots. When the emergency strobes…