[center][img]http://baku-panda.org/images/absolute_robin.png[/img][/center][COLOR=steelblue][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]G O T H A M    C O U N T Y[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][sup][color=goldenrod]Gotham Corridor Self Storage[/color][/sup][/INDENT][/INDENT]
[i][color=#9fc5e8]“That’s not the suit that I asked you to alter.”[/color][/i]

The air rushed by. The reverberation of the motorcycle radiated through the doll’s body, filling the night with a dull roar. The bike was a modified 1971 Triumph Daytona that had originally been used by Bruce Wayne as part of a publicity stunt, before it had been passed to Dick for use when he’d become a teen. The blue paint was factory, with the only emblematic addition being a muted Robin ‘R’ symbol.

The so-called [i]Robin Cycle[/i] had been sitting inside one of the safehouses that had functioned as one of the many fallbacks to the Bat-Cave that were strategically placed in the event that Bruce had to shift operations. Converted from an old warehouse, it was owned by a dummy company that was tangentially connected to one of the Wayne Group businesses. Dick had used it as his headquarters when he’d first arrived in Bludhaven, before buying and converting the apartment over. 

Amazingly, slapping in a new battery and putting some gas into the engine had worked. When this was over, Dick was probably going to have to replace the plugs and hoses if this kept up however.

His comment, of course, was not directed at the bike so much as it was the current operator. A short cape fluttering in the wind behind the small driver. While flashes of yellow marked the underside of the cape, the predominant color was black. The short sleeves, the trunks, the gloves, and the boots were all black. Gone was any hint of green. The yellow was significantly downplayed, relegated now only to the R symbol and the underside of the cape. The body and legs were both red, but a far more muted tone than the bright colors that Dick had sported.

[color=#ffd700]“If I had to guess, based on the color scheme and quality of the polyester fibers, then I would say that the previous Robin suit was designed in the late Nineteen Sixties,”[/color] Toyboy remarked, quite astutely delivering a proverbial slap across Dick’s ear drums.

Unlike Dick, Toyboy’s vision was inhuman. The lighting had been removed from the motorcycle, as the dark shadow shot down Interstate-12 in completely blacked out conditions. On this part of the interstate, the traffic was light. By the time anyone thought that they saw something, the bike was already vanishing back into the darkness. [color=#ffd700]This ensemble is much more durable and appropriate to the post-modern child superhero,”[/color] the doll added, easing back on the throttle of the motorcycle as he approached the turn. Sliding into neutral, the android boy allowed the bike’s speed to bleed away before neatly executing the turn from off the asphalt onto the dirt county road. [color=#ffd700]“The use of black is apparently associated with something that the internet identified as ‘edgelord’,”[/color] the Toy Wonder remarked candidly, noting, [color=#ffd700]“This is reportedly a popular trait with tweens.”[/color]

If it was possible, Toyboy could hear the facepalm through the Bluetooth earpiece that was clipped to the side of his head. [i][color=#9fc5e8]“Popularity with the eight to fourteen crowd wasn’t [b]exactly[/b] what I was going for when I was Robin.”[/color][/i]

Sliding the bike into third gear, the doll rocked the throttle as the motorcycle underneath him gave a dull roar while the tires bit into the dirt. [color=#ffd700]“Perhaps a reason why the identity has failed to attract a successor in recent times,”[/color] the simulacrum chirped brightly. Soft notes of mirth concealed what seemed like a faint echo of giggling as he’d said it.

[i][color=#9fc5e8]“All right, you’re coming up on the storage facility. Maintain radio silence unless absolutely necessary,”[/color][/i] Dick’s voice noted. In recent time, Dick had planted a GPS tracking device on the Robin Cycle and the Redbird, just in case someone stumbled upon the old Bat-Bunker.[i] [color=#9fc5e8]“Remember, for this outing it’s surveillance only. Observe and report. I’ll check out the barn and then we’ll compare notes before we jump into something half-assed.”[/color][/i]

Easing off the throttle, the doll slid the bike back into neutral. Slowly coasting along the rough road, the bike rolled to a stop just outside the fence that surrounded the confines of the storage facility. [color=#ffd700]“Observe and report. Don’t jump into anything that’s not full-ass,”[/color] the boy supplied, his voice betraying the childish giggle at the word ‘ass’. Then, the line dropped as the boy said brightly, [color=#ffd700]“Got it!”[/color]

Pushing the motorcycle off the road, the doll concealed it into the brush and removed his helmet. A black domino mask dressed the front of his face. 

A light litany of boyish laughter trickled through the air. Taking off in a sprint, the android closed the gap to the fence and then neatly performed an acrobatic leap from the ground. Performing a twist in the air, the small figure landed on his feet on the other side of the barrier and then sprinted toward the nearest structure. 

As he did, he uttered under his breath, in a sing-song voice, [color=#ffd700]“[i]Na na na na na na...[/i] [b]Robin![/b]”[/color]

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[i][color=#ffd700]“Got it!”[/color][/i]

He had a [i]bad feeling[/i] about this. Glancing down at his cellphone, Dick tried to ignore the knot in his stomach and just put the phone in his coat pocket.

He was in a different part of I-12, taking his unmarked police cruiser through a county road that was little more than a one-way path carved through cornfields. He was way outside of his jurisdiction in this part of the county. Proper decorum required that he contact the sheriff to let hi know that he’d be stepping out into his jurisdiction, especially if he was collecting evidence for an official Bludhaven Police Department investigation.

Except Dick knew just enough about the Gotham County Sheriff to know that call would do more harm than good. 

First rule of being Nightwing: It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.

He’d found an empty field that was a short distance away, leaving the car and crossing through the corn toward the foreclosed farm.

At first, he’d almost missed the acrid scent in the air. Recognition was gnawing at the back of his brain, but he was distracted by the vibration in his coat. He tapped the side of his bluetooth ear bud. [color=#9fc5e8]“Grayson,”[/color] he answered shortly.

[i]“It’s Chambers,”[/i] the voice on the other end of the call announced. [i]“I ran the victims from the Ninety-Six case and found that there is one still here. I’m on my way to see if I can get an interview tonight.”[/i]

So she’d found Chambers. [color=#9fc5e8]“Solid plan,”[/color] Dick stated quietly. Peering through the stalks, the man gauged the empty path toward the farm before he ventured out from cover and into the open. 

[i]“Blackgate is getting me the names of all inmates who have been released that they think Helzinger would have spoken with.”[/i]

That would be a start to growing their list of suspects. [color=#9fc5e8]“Run that first thing in the morning,”[/color] Dick remarked. Then a pause. [color=#9fc5e8]“What about Ellsworth?”[/color]

[i]“So, that’s the thing,”[/i] Chambers’ voice remarked. That statement caused Dick to stop short, even before he heard, [i]“What led you to think that Schott was moved to Ellsworth?”[/i]

[color=#9fc5e8]“He’s not at Ellsworth,”[/color] Dick uttered, feeling a foreboding sense of dread wash over him.

[i]“They say that they’ve never heard of him.”[/i]

[b]Now[/b] this was making perfect sense. The knowledge about the abductions. The motive. It had been Anton Schott. 

And Dick had just sent Toyboy to face him. [color=#9fc5e8]“[b][i]Shit[/i][/b].”[/color]

[i]“Commissioner?”[/i]

[color=#9fc5e8]“I’ll call you back,”[/color] Dick replied, hanging up. Digging through his pocket, the man snatched the phone out. Unlocking it, the man began to cycle through the calls to find the burner that he’d given Toyboy.

A sound caused Dick to stop, his finger poised over the call button.

It was a car engine.

[i]Several[/i] car engines.

He turned his head just in time to see headlights shining through the corn stalks, as several cars wound their way toward the farm. 

Blocking the road that could take him to I-12. And, more importantly, headed toward the so-called abandoned farm. Where the smell told him everything he needed to know.

He’d just stumbled across a meth lab.

[color=#9fc5e8]“[b]God[/b]... [i]fuck.[/i]”[/color]