He waited in the shadows, watching carefully as his target emerged from the restaurant. The limousine parked out front was a large one—it had to be with a man who was the size of Roland Desmond. He was called Blockbuster—and the name fit.

It felt good for him to be back in his suit. Able to get back into action. He leapt from the building he had perched himself on, deactivating the cloaking technology as he moved. The gauntlet unleashed a volley of darts, each one loaded with a poison agent. A few struck Desmond, yet they only seemed to slow him down and his movements became sluggish.

The attacker landed in a crouch and rose to his full height, his cape draped over his body. Desmond looked up at him and asked a simple question: “and who are you supposed to be?”

“The name’s Prometheus,” he said. “I’m the man who’s been hired to kill you, Roland.”

Prometheus was about to take another step forward, but a flurry of shuriken sliced through the air. Prometheus reacted instinctively and dodged some, blocking others with his gauntlets. He looked through his visor to see a lean, masculine figure flipping through the air. He touched on the ground and stood, eyeing Prometheus through the opaque lenses of a mask.

“Desmond’s under my protection,” said the brown-and-gold clad figure. He had a tonfa attached to the back of each arm and each of the tonfa emitted a sharp, six-inch blade.

“Yeah, I’m sure he is,” said Prometheus. “But don’t worry, I’ve been briefed on you too, Shrike. You’re one of the martial artists whose skills have been downloaded into my brain.” Prometheus drew his own tonfa, which appeared to be made of metal and seemed to have advanced technology incorporated into it. “Let’s rumble.”

	A Knight in Blüdhaven... "CITY AT WAR" Part One
Nightwing #13 - March, Year Five	by Dino Pollard

Chief Francis Redhorn puffed on a cigar, reclining in the leather-backed chair in his office. The small television he brought in was tuned to A&E for The Sopranos. Not quite the same as watching it on HBO, but it was better than going home. There was a knock on the door and Redhorn grumbled as he turned off the television.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened and a slender man with short blond hair stood in the frame. He wore a brown trench coat over a white shirt, tie, and slacks. A lit cigarette was held between his fingers.

“Soames,” said Redhorn with a grumble.

“You certainly sound happy to see me, Chief,” said Soames. He sucked on the end of the cigarette.

“No smoking in here,” said Redhorn.

“You’re smoking.”

“I know, but I’m the one who makes the rules,” said Redhorn. “You’re the one who’s gotta follow ‘em.”

Soames extinguished the cigarette on Redhorn’s desk and smiled coyly. “Things change, Francis.”

“You can call me Chief Redhorn, Soames.” He returned Soames’ sarcastic grin with one of his own.

“In that case, you can call me Mayoral Candidate Soames.”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” said Redhorn. “Really think you stand a snowball’s chance in hell of becomin’ mayor? You’re a scumbag. I’m sure reporters are already diggin’ up dirt on you. What happens when they find out about your connections to Desmond?”

“What happens when they find out about yours?” asked Soames. “In fact, I’m sure you have more secrets than I do, Chief. Plus, I’m the one who’s been working with I.A. to clean up your department.”

Soames walked to the door. “Have a good evening, Chief.” He slammed it behind him and Redhorn’s grimace remained on his face while he cursed under his breath.

Shrike swung his arm in a wide arc, bringing his bladed tonfa towards Prometheus. He blocked with his own tonfa and activated a switch on the handle. An electric current ran through the tonfa, moving into Shrike’s and sending a shock through his system.

Prometheus pulled away and kicked Shrike in the chin. Prometheus aimed with his gauntlet and fired several poison darts. Shrike leapt out of the way, slicing through them with his tonfa blades. Shrike jumped towards his enemy in a stabbing motion.

Prometheus side-stepped the attack, but Shrike countered quickly with another slash, this time drawing blood from Prometheus’ arm. Shrike brought his arm around and stabbed Prometheus in the abdomen.

The two villains separated with Prometheus limping somewhat. Shrike just smiled and flicked his arm to shake the blood from his blade. “Not so hot, are you Prometheus?” he asked.

“Quite the opposite, actually,” said Prometheus. “Right now, my suit is pumping endorphins into my body. I can’t even feel the pain from your strikes. Making matters worse from you, my suit is also pumping steroids into my body. And I think you know what that means…”

Prometheus charged, his fist connecting with Shrike’s jaw in what felt like an instant. He followed up that first attack with another one, a punch in the ribcage. Shrike doubled over and Prometheus lifted his arms and linked his hands together, bringing it down on Shrike’s back.

The assassin struck the pavement and Prometheus pointed his gauntlet at Shrike’s head. Shrike could hear a clicking noise, like the sound of a gun being loaded. Then he heard Prometheus’ voice: “Forget the poison darts, Shrike. This time, it’s a bullet with your name on it.”

Shrike lifted his arm and pointed the blade from his tonfa. This caused Prometheus to chuckle. “Oh please. That thing’s not even close to hitting me.”

Now it was Shrike’s turn to smile and the blade shot forth from the tonfa. Prometheus’ eyes widened in shock as the blade impaled his abdomen. Shrike stood up and kicked Prometheus in the chest.

“Spring-loaded blade,” said Shrike. “Bet that wasn’t in your files, jackass.”

A massive hand grabbed Prometheus and held him up in the air. “And it appears your poison’s effects didn’t last as long as you may have hoped,” said Desmond. He tightened his grip on Prometheus. “Who sent you?”

“Said his name was Giuseppe,” said Prometheus. “Worked with a guy who he called the Clock King.”

“Tockman,” said Desmond.

“Shoulda let me kill him,” said Shrike.

“Patience, my friend,” said Desmond. “First, I have other concerns. Starting with this piece of trash.”

“Let me,” said Shrike. “I wanna do the honors myself.”

Desmond looked at Shrike and shrugged. He dropped Prometheus. “Do what you wish, Shrike. I have a play to catch.”

Blockbuster climbed back inside his limousine and within a few moments the car drove away, leaving Shrike and Prometheus alone in the street. Shrike hefted Prometheus and threw the villain over his shoulder.

“I say we go somewhere a bit more private.”

“Tiiiiiiime is on my side…”

The sound of an off-key voice singing the Rolling Stones came echoed through the abandoned warehouse. Four individuals stood in the warehouse and looked among each other. Each of them was dressed to resemble a king from a deck of playing cards.

The man who sang entered the room, wearing a black suit and small, round glasses that had working clock hands on them. He held a cane in one hand and in the other he twirled a pocket watch attached to a chain.

The King of Diamonds held out a sword and pointed the blade at the man. “Who are you and how did you find us?”

“Call me the Clock King. And as to how I found you, let’s just say I have friends in high places.”

“Then give me one good reason why we shouldn’t kill you,” said the King of Hearts.

“King of Hearts… I figured you would be the kind one,” said the Clock King.

“Figured wrong,” said the King of Hearts.

“You four are the leaders of the Royal Flush Gang operating in Blüdhaven, correct?” asked the Clock King.

“I think you know the answer to that,” said the King of Spades.

“Must be hard to get a footing in this town, what with Roland Desmond running things,” said the Clock King.

“What do you suggest?” asked the King of Clubs.

“My employer has an offer for you fine gentlemen,” said the Clock King. “Perhaps we can work together. And within time, Roland Desmond will no longer be a threat.”

Prometheus’ body fell into the river and the frigid water instantly woke him from his unconscious state. He struggled to free himself, but found he was trapped inside a large net. Any attempt he made to get free seemed futile. His helmet, his gauntlets, all his weapons were missing.

Suddenly, he was hoisted from the water and landed hard on a wooden dock. Shrike knelt down before him and smiled. “Enjoy your swim?” he asked.

“What the hell is this all about?” asked Prometheus.

“It’s simple, Prometheus,” said Shrike. “I wanna know everything about this Giuseppe you’ve been working for.”

“I dunno anything about him, just what I told you,” said Prometheus.

“What’s he paying you?”

“I don’t care about the money. I’m in it for the fun,” said Prometheus. “Even if he’s working with the FBI.”

“FBI?” asked Shrike.

“Yeah, how do you think he got me out of prison?” asked Prometheus. “Giuseppe’s connected. Very well-connected.”

“So Giuseppe is bringing the venom patches into Blüdhaven—and the FBI knows about it?”

“Well at least one guy does,” said Prometheus.

“Who?” asked Shrike.

“Cisco Blane,” said Prometheus. “He’s the one who signed the release, he’s the one who turned me over to Giuseppe.”

“And why would someone like you be okay with working for the FBI? Why not join us?” asked Shrike.

“This way, I get a chance to see if I can take you out,” said Prometheus.

“You wanted to go up against me?”

“You were trained by the League of Assassins, I wondered if the skills I had could stand up to you,” said Prometheus.

“Guess your skills couldn’t,” said Shrike.

“That’s what you think,” said Prometheus. “Give me another shot, I’ll show you what I can do.”

“Nah, I’m good,” said Shrike. He brought up his foot and stomped down on Prometheus’ face.

The next spot Prometheus’ body found itself was at the feet of Inspector Dudley Soames. He knelt down and looked at the criminal, smoke circling from the tip of his cigarette. The mayoral candidate looked up at Shrike.

“Well, this is certainly unexpected,” he said.

“Desmond’s going down,” said Shrike. “The FBI’s usin’ this guy and the dude who’s been running the venom patches into Blüdhaven.”

“Why tell me?” asked Soames.

“’Cause if Desmond’s goin’ down, that means I’ll be out of a job. Figure a man like you could change that.”

“Don’t need a bodyguard, mate,” said Soames.

“You will,” said Shrike. “You’re runnin’ for mayor on a platform of cleaning up the city. That means you don’t have any friends in the cops an’ Desmond’s already pretty ticked at you.”

“Helluva way to dissolve a partnership,” said Soames.

“But a great way to start a new one,” said Shrike. “I’m no idiot, Soames. I know this whole non-corruption thing is all a smokescreen. You want Desmond out an’ someone who can be controlled in. Well, if Giuseppe is connected to the FBI, seems he’d be pretty easy to control. Not a wild card like Blockbuster.”

“What else can you tell me about Desmond?” asked Soames.

“Redhorn’s on his payroll.”

“You can prove this?” asked Soames.

“You gonna double my fee?”

“Piss off,” said Soames.

“Then no deal,” said Shrike. He lifted his arm and one of the blades started to emerge from the end of his tonfa. “And I collect on the contract Desmond put on your head.”

“Fifty percent.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“No you bloody moron, an extra fifty percent of your current fee. Not quite double, but it’s more than what Rolly’s paying you.”

Shrike extended his arm and the blade retracted as he opened his fist. “Deal.”

Dick Grayson held a pillow over his head once he heard the sound of an incoming call. It was Oracle, had to be. He tried to drown it out, but the incessant ringing refused to cease. Grumbling, Dick climbed out of bed and walked over to the desk where he had his laptop computer set up. He lifted it up and was greeted by the digitized face of Oracle.

“Took you long enough.”

“Nice to see you too, Babs,” muttered Dick. “Well… not literally.”

“Where have you been?”

“Sleeping, why?” asked Dick.

“I’ve been trying to contact you all night and you’ve been sleeping?”

“Gimme a break, I worked a double-shift yesterday,” said Dick. “What’s up?”

“What’s up is there was an attempt on Desmond’s life last night.”

“What?” asked Dick.

“Super criminal named Prometheus. Desmond was attacked by him when leaving a restaurant. Fortunately for Desmond, his bodyguard stepped in before it was too late and the two assassins had quite the throw-down.”

“How do you know all of this?” asked Dick.

“Huntress.”

“You’re working with her now?”

“She contacted me, got the info from a snitch of hers.”

“What happened? Is Desmond still alive?”

“Yeah, Shrike beat Prometheus—barely.”

“Okay, I want to know everything you’ve got on this Prometheus.”

“If he’s still alive you mean.”

“He didn’t get away?”

“No, Shrike took him.”

“Get me everything you can on him anyway,” said Dick. “Unless there’s a body, gotta assume he’s still alive.”

“By the way, you’ve got company.”

Dick spun around and saw the Huntress emerge from the shadows, dressed in her costume, arms crossed. What made things worse was that Dick was dressed in a pair of boxer shorts. He sighed and looked at the laptop. “What’s going on?”

“Go ahead, Huntress.”

“There’s a shipment of venom patches coming in today,” said the Huntress. “Suit up, Boy Wonder."

"...Ricky?"

Both Huntress and Dick  looked to the source of the new voice. Dick's landlord and current girlfriend, Bridget Clancy, was in the doorway to the bedroom. She looked at Huntress, then at Dick in his underwear. "What's goin' on?"