[center][img]http://baku-panda.org/images/absolute_robin.png[/img][/center][COLOR=steelblue][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]B L Ü D H A V E N[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][sup][color=goldenrod]First Citizen’s Bank & Trust | [i]February 8th, 1985[/i][/color][/sup][/INDENT][/INDENT]
Most people tried to be as unobtrusive as possible when robbing a bank.

Others rolled out the fanfare.

The marionettes marched through the doors. Trumpeters heralded the two column approach of life-sized nutcrackers and toy soldiers, as a little drummer boy danced and spun in the center of the formation with a jovial giggle as he beat a happy tune against the small marching drum that he carried.

The wooden toy soldiers split off into a firing line, rifles held out toward the row of bank tellers. The people inside the bank were screaming and scurrying out of the path of the nutcrackers, whose jaws snapped back and forth while they brandished wicked looking scimitars.

With a jaunty step, the little drummer boy did a pirouette and then flipped over the partition that separated the customers from the tellers. Beating out a melody on his drum, the Toyboy sauntered over to the safe that was recessed into the back part of the bank. Unslinging his drum, the child-like doll set the drum against the front of the safe. Then, executing a series of backflips, vaulted away from the safe.

An explosion ripped through the air, sending tremors through the building that brought everyone inside down onto their hands on their knees. The automatic fire extinguishers kicked in, spraying water through the interior of the bank.

Through the rain, the smoke, and the haze, a childish laughter trickled with bubbly mirth. [color=#ffd700]“The Toyman’s toys aren’t just expensive, you might say [i]they break the bank!”[/i][/color]

The movement was almost imperceptible. 

The toy soldiers went down first, bowled down like pins that were scattered as they rolled around on the floor. The nutcrackers were next, flashes of a dark attired figure cast as a silhouette among the smoke.

A scimitar rattled as it slid across the floor toward the little drummer boy’s feet. [color=#ffd700]“What?”[/color] Toyboy chirped, still holding onto his drum sticks, as he looked down, then around to his left and right. He seemed to have [i]significantly[/i] fewer toys now than he thought that he ought to. [color=#ffd700]“[b]Hey![/b]”[/color] the doll exclaimed, snapping his head up as he said firmly, [color=#ffd700]“I was playing with those!”[/color]

[center][img]http://baku-panda.org/images/absolute_grayson_nightwing.png[/img][/center]
Twirling a pair of batons, the former Boy Wonder stood in the center of the bank. Attired in varying shades of blue and gold, the dark haired man in the mask merely looked out at the pouting child-like figure and noted, [color=#9fc5e8]“The psychopaths just keep getting younger.”[/color]

[color=#ffd700]“That’s okay,”[/color] the doll chirped. With a surprising dexterity that would have belonged inside the family of the Flying Graysons, the child-like figure executed a cartwheel toward Dick. Holding out his batons in a defensive posture, the man was surprised when the drum sticks struck against his guard with sufficient force to push him backward. [color=#ffd700]“I can just play with you instead!”[/color] the doll boasted in the same sing-song voice.

Holding up his block, Dick dropped his center of gravity. He performed a leg sweep, but the nimbly nymph jumped out of the way. 

Something wasn’t quite [i]right[/i], though as Dick found himself getting into a game of back-and-forth, trading blows, between batons and drum sticks... he found he was having a hard time placing a finger on what was nagging at him.

Then it hit him. The boy -- if it even [i]was[/i] a boy -- wasn’t looking at Dick. Not his face anyway. Instead, it almost seemed like it was studying him. Evaluating? As Dick moved, the child-like figure seemed to respond and anticipate how that movement would guide Dick’s next move. 

He was being analyzed.

That didn’t seem [i]human[/i]. Was this... another toy?

[color=#ffd700]“Hey, Mister, what’s your name?”[/color] the drummer boy remarked. Vaulting over Dick’s head, the doll landed atop the teller window and continued sparring with Dick from there.

Dick was definitely starting to get the feeling that he was being toyed with. [color=#ffd700]“I’m not ‘sposed to talk to strangers,”[/color] the doll continued, babbling on like a real child might have. [color=#ffd700]“But, if you tell me your name then we won’t be strangers anymore!”[/color]

Dick tried a feint, snapping out with a sweep of his arm that he’d hoped would have struck the legs out from under the doll. Instead, Dick felt a kid-sized foot land on his face, as the doll nimbly sprang across to the other side of the bank lobby. A bubbly, giggling laughter seemed to accompany his movement.

The man grit his teeth. [i]Now[/i], he was starting to get irritated. [color=#9fc5e8]“I think you need a nice long talk with a judge down in juvenile hall,”[/color] Nightwing snapped, as he spun to turn and face the little hellspawn.

The little drummer boy just shot a Dick a [i]devil-may-care[/i] grin. Then, the doll craned his head toward the door to the bank. A second later, the sound of police sirens reached Dick’s ears.

[color=#ffd700]“This playground’s starting to get crowded,”[/color] the drummer boy stated, before vaulting back toward the exit. As he cartwheeled out onto the steps, the doll gave Nightwing a jaunty salute as he added, [color=#ffd700]“Hey, mister, let’s play again sometime!”[/color]

Standing there, water pooling around his ankles, Dick waded through giant wooden toy soldiers and knife-wielding nutcrackers. And may have just fenced Pinocchio. [color=#9fc5e8]“Just when I thought that I’d seen it all,”[/color] he muttered under his breath.

[center][color=black]+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +[/color][/center][b][color=#9fc5e8]Gotham Corridor Self Storage[/color][/b]
[color=#9fc5e8]Gotham County, New Jersey | [i]Present Day[/i][/color]

The bubbly giggle echoed faintly. Glimpses of a small shadow seemed to play along the peripheral as the costumed doll ventured through the self storage yard. The place had been shuttered for the last six years, the units weathered but seemingly shut tight. Upon cursory review, Toyboy would have estimated that the facility was well and truly defunct.

That was before he’d turned a corner and seen the bus.

It was the type of short school bus that was known as an A-type frame. The underlying drivetrain was a Ford E-450. The wheelbase was precisely 138 inches, with a curb weight of approximately 5,000 pounds. The precise details that he had observed at the crime scene on Route 16.

Popping open the side door, the Toy Wonder slipped inside of the bus for a closer inspection. Visual inspection in the ultraviolet spectrum revealed traces of blood. 

The trail led him to a nearby storage unit. The garage-style rolling door was not secured. Tugging at the underside of door, Toyboy rolled the door up part way. The interior was spartan, with a hole cut into the floor.

There was something underneath the storage facility.

He likely had enough observations to report back to Mister Grayson now. As he started to lower the door, the Toyboy stopped. Holding perfectly still, the doll waited as he [i]listened[/i].

There was a sound. The decibel level was extremely low. But the pitch was in the range of normal child vocalization. Holding himself like a statue, Toyboy remained that way until he had determined that the sound was that of a child sobbing.

Dick’s directive that he should [i]observe and report[/i] was immediately rescinded. 

Once upon a time, Toyboy had hesitated to do something when a child had been sobbing, because an authority figure had told him to stand down. 

It had been a mistake.

It was a mistake that did not bear repeating. Rising up to his feet, Toyboy cast the door to the storage facility open. Approaching the hole in the floor, the doll was aware that this was precisely the [i]jumping into something half-assed[/i] that Mister Grayson had specifically warned again. 

He’d jumped into something half-assed one other time before, and saved five lives. Even if he saved only one then he was willing to accept the repercussions for his decision. [color=#ffd700]“Hero time,”[/color] the boy uttered, as he jumped down into the hole.

He descended into [b]Hell[/b].

Shifting between different bandwidths of the visual and electromagnetic spectrum, the Toy Wonder peered through near perfect darkness and found himself in a room filled with large cages. It was like a kennel. 

Only the animals shacked inside of them were children.

There was movement in all but two of the cages. The sound of the sobbing brought the Toyboy over to where a girl in pigtails was rocking herself in a fetal position. [color=#ffd700]“Can you hear me?” [/color]the boy whispered. He was analyzing the door to the cage. [color=#ffd700]“It’s going to be okay...”[/color]

[i]“Your... [b]worried[/b]... about the little ones?”[/i]

The boy’s short cape furled about, as Toyboy reared up and turned to face the direction of the voice. The lights were switched on, momentarily flooding the android’s visual cameras. Blinking, the robot was blind as he re-calibrated for brightness.

[i]“Don’t be.”[/i]

The same voice. Audio recorders were starting to dissect and analyze for identifying characteristics. Speech pattern. Voice onset time. As the Toy Wonder opened his eyes, the lenses focused on the figure on a man wearing the face of a porcelain doll as a mask. “You see, I love them. More than you [i]could ever[/i] know,” the man stated.

Recognition triggered as the pattern of speech found a near match. [color=#ffd700]“Anton?”[/color] Toyboy uttered aloud. 

Advancing toward where the Toy Wonder stood in the center of the kennel, the doll-faced man said, “Anton Schott died when he was a boy. When the [b]monster[/b] took away his innocence.”

As the man stepped forward, Toyboy found that he began taking steps back. As the man spoke of lost innocence, the toy’s memories of Hinkley Creek were triggered. A litany of mistakes played back with perfect clarity.

Holding out his arms, the son of the Toyman declared, “I’m not Anton. I am [b]the Dollmaker[/b].”