I got out immediately and opened the hood. I was left speechless after what I saw inside: nothing. Literally nothing. Some bastard had the audacity to scrap my parts!
"Are you lost bud?" asked somebody behind me.
"I'm alright" I replied, not turning back to meet his eyes. I knew what he was about to do even before he thought it; the moment I heard his sweater rub on itself I turned back and I swung hard. My fist had found its target, he doubled back, disoriented by the force of the blow. I took advantage of this and I tackled him to the ground. I started beating him senselessly until the blood spluttering on my face made me stop to get a look at him. He was no more than 16 years of age. He looked like the same age I was when my parents died. I looked at him exasperatedly; for the second time in my life I didn't know what to do. I called for an ambulance and I ran away desperately. I eventually reached the intersection between Park and Percy street. Popularly known as "Nightwing corner". Many bars and vibrant restaurants colored the corner, selling all types of foods and illicit items. I walked the narrow street cautiously. Every inch of this street was filled with neon signs and posters, and the vile music that was playing was enough to make an elephant lightheaded. I felt a rough hand on my shoulder and I turned around expecting trouble. I was taken aback when I saw a scruffy middle aged woman holding me by the hand. She had a small square face, her hair was matted and the first signs of old age were showing on her cheeks. Her gaze burned into me; she reminded me of my mother. Without saying a word she led me into her shelter and handed me a tattered piece of bread. I couldn't hold on any longer. That night I wept next to an elderly homeless woman.
YOU ARE READING
Nightwing- the man behind the mask
ActionThe classic story of Batman told by the perspective of a cop, who also happens to be Jim Gordon's apprentice. My version of the story conserves some elements while discarding and changing others.
