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[center][color=Crimson][b]T H E   B E S T   N I G H T   O F   M Y   L I F E
CHAPTER ONE[/b][/color][/center]


My name is Dick Grayson.  I am twelve years old.  And tonight is the best night of my life.

[color=SlateGray]"All right,"[/color] Mister Bruce says, straightening the cuffs on his jacket as we ride in the back seat of his Rolls Royce, [color=SlateGray]"Just to make absolutely certain you have it straight, let's go over the plan one more time."[/color]

I roll my eyes, but even so, I'm fidgeting with excitement.  This is my first mission, my first actual assignment in the field, working with Mister Br-- ....with [i]Batman.[/i]  I'm going to be helping [i]Batman.[/i]

[color=Crimson]"We arrive to Mister Dent's fundraiser a fashionable thirty-five minutes late,"[/color] I recite.  [color=Crimson]"You'll begin making the rounds and shaking hands with the high-profile VIPs in attendance, while I act disinterested and bratty.  While it will look like I'm ignoring them and texting with my friends, I'll actually be wirelessly breaking into their phones and smart-devices, in particular looking for passwords and login data.  If it's encrypted, I send it to your hacker friend Oracle.  Primary target is Rupert Thorne, along with Commissioner Loeb, Mayor Hill, Roland Daggett, and Doctor Jeremiah Arkham."[/color]

[color=SlateGray]"And your secondary targets?"[/color]

[color=Crimson]"Captain Jim Gordon to make sure he can be trusted, Oz Cobblepot to see if he had anything to do with the phony insider-trading allegations facing Wayne Enterprises' board of directors, and Doctor Quinzell to see if we can access her files on the Joker."[/color]

[color=SlateGray]"Very good,"[/color] Bruce nods.  [color=SlateGray]"What happens then?"[/color]

I scratch my head, trying to recall the details of the next part.

[color=Crimson]"Then, I find an excuse to go out on the balcony,"[/color] I remember.  [color=Crimson]"No later than 8:35, because at 8:40, we'll have a five-minute window where a WayneTech satellite will be in orbit directly above the city.  During that five-minute window, I give it the information of all the VIPs we have, and it starts blasting the private servers of Carmine Falcone with military-grade code that will crack any cyber-security countermeasures he might have.  It runs the login information over and over of everyone I've collected until it gets a positive, and at that point we'll not only have access to Falcone's personal network, but we'll know the identities of the VIPs on his payroll.  Then it does the same thing with Sal Maroni, Roman Sionis, Anatoli Knyazev....and Tony Zucco."[/color]

Four years ago, Tony Zucco murdered my mom and dad, and walked away without a slap on the wrist.  Four years ago, Bruce Wayne took me in, gave me a life I could have only dreamed of.  But more than that, he gave me the chance to set things right--he started giving me the education, the training, and the equipment to take Zucco down.  Mister Bruce wants all of the 'Five Kings' of Gotham taken down in one night.

I can't fight in Mister Bruce's war, not yet.  I can't dodge bullets and break limbs like he can.  I can't jump across rooftops-- well, I [i]can[/i], but I'm not allowed to.  But if dressing up in an uncomfortable suit and pretending to have a good time gets us one step closer to seeing Zucco behind bars, then I'll wear this stupid bow-tie and play nice with all the old rich people he wants.

[color=Crimson]"I can't wait til we pull this off,"[/color] I say, my leg bouncing up and down with nervous energy.  [color=Crimson]"We'll take them all down, and Tony Zucco won't ever know that I had a hand in ruining that son of a--"[/color]

[color=SlateGray]"Dick,"[/color] Bruce interrupts, [color=SlateGray]"language."[/color]

[color=Crimson]".....sorry,"[/color] I mutter.  For a man who spends his nights cracking people's skulls, he's very insistent on keeping things as wholesome as possible.

[color=Lavender]"Here we are, Master Bruce, Master Richard,"[/color] Alfred announces from the driver's seat as the Rolls pulls up to the Westward Hotel, an old art-deco monstrosity that the very rich and old-fashioned love to use for these sort of functions.  [color=Lavender]"the best of luck, happy hunting, and most importantly....have a wonderful evening."[/color]