A Message, a Message...
"See, you're gonna be a message..." Nightwing said in a tone that could almost pass for cheerful, but edged a bit too close to creepy to make it, as he circled the criminal lowlife he had strung up from the streetlight.
The man was whimpering, almost crying, and trying to keep Nightwing in view even though it was impossible. Big man in the drug business, practically pissing himself with fear. Some big man, Nightwing thought scornfully.
"You see, Blockbuster has to learn that Bludhaven is my city. Not his."
"I-- I know you!" The man burst out, "You're one a' the guys run with the Batman! Back in Gotham!" There was a note of hopeful bravado in his voice as he said, "Y- you can do your worst! I been beat on by all a' you and I'm still here!"
Nightwing frowned and struck a pose where he stroked his chin thoughtful. "Yes, yes, I see. Thank you, my good man--" he cut himself off and lashed out with a kick to the man's stomach, which sent the trussed-up criminal to swinging so that his head struck the streetlight pole. "Oh, wait. You're not a good man. You're a piece of scum making a living off the pain and suffering of others. And the fact that you're still wasting air just proves my point. You know how many years Batman's been at his game?"
Dazed, head aching fiercely, somehow the man managed to stammer in reply, "N-no..."
"Too fucking long for the lack of a difference he's made." Nightwing growled.
The spot he'd chosen was right across the street from one of Blockbuster's drug labs. He'd known where it was for weeks now -- known it even as Officer Dick Grayson -- but in his non-vigilante identity he couldn't even approach it. The bastards were expecting a delivery of raw materials tonight. They'd be arriving within the next half hour. And they couldn't miss his little message.
Nightwing pressed a small lever on his escrima stick, and a stiletto blade popped out of one end of the truncheon.
"Oh... oh, god..." the 'message' moaned, in pain and despair.
"Now you're starting to understand," Nightwing said, in the near-cheerful tone, a moment before he rammed the blade into the 'message's throat.
The man was whimpering, almost crying, and trying to keep Nightwing in view even though it was impossible. Big man in the drug business, practically pissing himself with fear. Some big man, Nightwing thought scornfully.
"You see, Blockbuster has to learn that Bludhaven is my city. Not his."
"I-- I know you!" The man burst out, "You're one a' the guys run with the Batman! Back in Gotham!" There was a note of hopeful bravado in his voice as he said, "Y- you can do your worst! I been beat on by all a' you and I'm still here!"
Nightwing frowned and struck a pose where he stroked his chin thoughtful. "Yes, yes, I see. Thank you, my good man--" he cut himself off and lashed out with a kick to the man's stomach, which sent the trussed-up criminal to swinging so that his head struck the streetlight pole. "Oh, wait. You're not a good man. You're a piece of scum making a living off the pain and suffering of others. And the fact that you're still wasting air just proves my point. You know how many years Batman's been at his game?"
Dazed, head aching fiercely, somehow the man managed to stammer in reply, "N-no..."
"Too fucking long for the lack of a difference he's made." Nightwing growled.
The spot he'd chosen was right across the street from one of Blockbuster's drug labs. He'd known where it was for weeks now -- known it even as Officer Dick Grayson -- but in his non-vigilante identity he couldn't even approach it. The bastards were expecting a delivery of raw materials tonight. They'd be arriving within the next half hour. And they couldn't miss his little message.
Nightwing pressed a small lever on his escrima stick, and a stiletto blade popped out of one end of the truncheon.
"Oh... oh, god..." the 'message' moaned, in pain and despair.
"Now you're starting to understand," Nightwing said, in the near-cheerful tone, a moment before he rammed the blade into the 'message's throat.