Dick Grayson | Nightwing

The alert came in around two in the morning, which felt about right. Nothing good ever happens at a reasonable hour. Gar had been halfway through a terrible movie on the couch when the sensors in the Tower lit up, and by the time I'd suited up and gotten everyone moving, the first reports were already coming in across the city. Lights in the sky. Something coming down fast and loud over the industrial district near the water. Small ship, maybe two. Nothing like the big invasions we've dealt with before, but small doesn't mean harmless, and I'd learned that lesson enough times to take it seriously.

So there we were, the Titans spread across a few blocks of warehouses and shipping yards, dealing with what turned out to be an extraterrestrial fleet. Aliens, obviously, because why wouldn't it be. Lean things with too many limbs and weapons that burned through concrete like it was tissue paper. Raven had thrown up barriers to keep the civilians out of the line of fire, Starfire was lighting up the sky trading shots with the ones still airborne, and Cyborg was somewhere off to my left, zapping them down with lasers. Standard weekday for us, more or less.

I'd been working the ground level, keeping the ones that landed from spreading out into the neighborhoods. Escrima sticks, a few flashbangs, a lot of moving and not getting shot by scary pew-pews. It was going fine. Not clean, but fine. We were pushing them back toward the water, and I could feel the fight starting to tip our way, which is usually right about when I start getting nervous. Fights that go too smoothly have a habit of turning into something else when nobody's looking.

That's when I felt it. The burn along my ribs where one of their shots had clipped me a few minutes back. I'd been ignoring it, running on the kind of adrenaline that lets me pretend I'm not hurt until I have a second to actually check on it. So I ducked behind a stack of containers, put my back to cold metal, and pressed a hand against my side to see how bad it actually was. Not exactly great but not life threatening either. The suit had taken most of it, but there was blood, warm and sticky against my glove, and I remember thinking I'd have to let Raven look at it once we wrapped up.

I never got the chance to call it in. There was a sound behind me, close, and I turned, but not fast enough. Something cracked against the back of my skull, hard, and the whole world just folded in on itself. No time to react, no time to even put a hand up in defence. One second I was crouched behind those containers running the math on my own injury, and the next there was a flash of colours in my eyes and then nothing at all. Lights out. The kind of hit that tells me whoever it was knew exactly where to put it.

I don't know how long I was under. Could have been minutes, could have been a lot longer. What I do know is that waking up came in pieces, and the first piece was the smell. Metal and blood, thick enough to taste, and underneath it something sour and chemical that didn't belong anywhere a person should be. It just smelled like something had gone wrong in a hospital emergency room. It hit me before my eyes even opened, and my body knew something was wrong before my brain caught up with it all. That particular lurch in the gut when every instinct says this is bad, get up, move, before the thinking part of you has any evidence to go on.

My head was pounding, a deep ache that pulsed in time with my heartbeat, and I could feel dried blood crusted at the back of my neck where I'd been hit. I kept still for a second out of habit, the way Bruce drilled into me a lifetime ago. Don't move until you know what's around you. Listen first. But there wasn't much to hear. Just my own breathing, a little ragged, and some faint mechanical hum coming from somewhere I couldn't place. No Titans. No comm chatter in my ear, which meant the earpiece was gone or dead.

So I opened my eyes, and that didn't help much either. The room was dark, nearly black, just the faintest suggestion of light bleeding in from somewhere off to the side, not enough to make out walls or shape or anything useful. Just shadows on shadows. I was sitting up, tied to a hard chair, and my arms didn't want to move the way I told them to regardless of being bound... I blinked, trying to force my vision to adjust, waiting for the dark to give me something to work with, and that's when I became aware that I wasn't alone in there. Someone else was close by, somewhere just outside wherever I was.

"Hello?..." I call out...

The alert came in around two in the morning, which felt about right. Nothing good ever happens at a reasonable hour. Gar and Dick had been halfway through a terrible movie on the couch when the sensors in the Tower lit up, and by the time Dick has suited up and gotten everyone moving, the first reports were already coming in across the city. Lights in the sky. Something coming down fast and loud over the industrial district near the water. Small ship, maybe two. Nothing like the big invasions they'd dealt with before, but small doesn't mean harmless, and he'd learned that lesson enough times to take it seriously.

So there they were, the Titans spread across a few blocks of warehouses and shipping yards, dealing with what turned out to be an extraterrestrial fleet. Aliens, obviously, because why wouldn't it be. Lean things with too many limbs and weapons that burned through concrete like it was tissue paper. Raven had thrown up barriers to keep the civilians out of the line of fire, Starfire was lighting up the sky trading shots with the ones still airborne, and Cyborg was somewhere off to his left, zapping them down with lasers. Standard weekday for them, more or less.

Dick had been working the ground level, keeping the ones that landed from spreading out into the neighborhoods. Escrima sticks, a few flashbangs, a lot of moving and not getting shot. It was going fine. Not clean, but fine. They were pushing them back toward the water, and he could feel the fight starting to tip their way, which is usually right about when he starts getting nervous. Fights that go too smoothly have a habit of turning into something else when nobody's looking.

That's when he felt it. The burn along his ribs where one of their shots had clipped him a few minutes back. He'd been ignoring it, running on the kind of adrenaline that lets him pretend he's not hurt until he has a second to actually check on it. So he ducked behind a stack of containers, put his back to cold metal, and pressed a hand against his side to see how bad it actually was. Not exactly great but not life threatening either. The suit had taken most of it, but there was blood, warm and sticky against his glove, and he remembered thinking he'd have to let Raven look at it once they wrapped up.

He never got the chance to call it in. There was a sound behind him, close, and he turned, but not fast enough. Something cracked against the back of his skull, hard, and the whole world just folded in on itself. No time to react, no time to even put a hand up in defence. One second he was crouched behind those containers running the math on his own injury, and the next there was a flash of colours in his eyes and then nothing at all. Lights out. The kind of hit that tells him whoever it was knew exactly where to put it.

He didn't know how long he was under. Could have been minutes, could have been a lot longer. What he did know is that waking up came in pieces, and the first piece was the smell. Metal and blood, thick enough to taste, and underneath it something sour and chemical that didn't belong anywhere a person should be. It just smelled like something had gone wrong in a hospital emergency room. It hit him before his eyes even opened, and his body knew something was wrong before his brain caught up with it all. That particular lurch in the gut when every instinct says this is bad, get up, move, before the thinking part of you has any evidence to go on.

His head was pounding, a deep ache that pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and he could feel dried blood crusted at the back of his neck where he'd been hit. He kept still for a second out of habit, the way Bruce drilled into him a lifetime ago. Don't move until you know what's around you. Listen first. But there wasn't much to hear. Just his own breathing, a little ragged, and some faint mechanical hum coming from somewhere he couldn't place. No Titans. No comm chatter in his ear, which meant the earpiece was gone or dead.

So he opened his eyes, and that didn't help much either. The room was dark, nearly black, just the faintest suggestion of light bleeding in from somewhere off to the side, not enough to make out walls or shape or anything useful. Just shadows on shadows. He was sitting up, tied to a hard chair, and his arms didn't want to move the way he told them to regardless of being bound... He blinked, trying to force his vision to adjust, waiting for the dark to give him something to work with, and that's when he became aware that he wasn't alone in there. Someone else was close by, somewhere just outside wherever he was.

"Hello?..." Dick called out...