Nightwing: Legacy

Chapter 3.1

Seven Years Later

Music blared through the bathroom playing off of a vinyl record. "Sharp" by Dexter and the Moonrocks echoed from another room. The counter was messy, a stick of deodorant, an unused hair comb, a toothbrush, a glasses case and a contact case.

To the right of the counter was a toilet, a blue mat at it's feet and a towel rack opposite. Against the far wall was a shower, closed behind a glass screen. The sink was on the left side, opposite it was the closed door.

A teenage boy stood at the sink, looking at his reflection. His hair had grown out into a tangled mess, going down to his eyebrows now. Dark circles and bags clouded his dull green eyes. And due to him being shirtless, you could see the physical changes.

He stood six feet tall, with broad shoulders and an athletic build. He wore a black leather bracelet on his left wrist. The skin over his knuckles was thick and bruised. And he had a few scars.

A gash across his ribs, a cut on his forearm and a slice on his shoulder. There were others, too. The injuries sustained from fights, though they were few and far between.

Thomas picked up a white mug, with black text his scarred hand was covering. He took a sip before setting it back down and grabbing a zipped up red pencil case from a drawer under the white countertop.

His fingers delicately pulled out a syringe and bottle. He took some of the orange liquid into the syringe, making sure the measurement was just right. He aligned the needle with the crease in his left arm and pushed it into his skin.

Thomas barely flinched as he self medicated, but he drew the shot away and wiped the entry with a square of toilet paper before throwing it in the toilet and flushing. He put the case back into the drawer and went about getting ready for his day.

It was seven years to the day after it all happened. Selina murdered. Bruce crippled. The family split up. All that was left in the house was Bruce locked away in his room with Alfred taking care of him. Thomas was alone.

He stood in a black fleece leather jacket, jeans, a gray t-shirt and worn out vans. He held a white coffee mug in his hand, and the faded text was finally visible. "World's #1 Mom".

As for why he stood outside in the middle of winter, he was looking down at the stone of Selina Kyle's tombstone.

The Waynes had their own graveyard, tucked in a corner of the grounds. Generations of Wayne's and their families were in the ground. And now, Selina Kyle.

Thomas raised his mug with an emotionless face and took a swig before he poured out a brown liquid onto the ground of his mother's grave. Except it wasn't coffee.

When he went inside he sat at his desk. A bottle of whiskey, an empty water bottle, paper, pens, a keyboard and mouse littered the table.

A black thumb drive was inserted into the Desktop, playing video of a shadowy figure fighting off thugs in a dark alley. The rain aided the man's stealth, and all that was seen were flashes of red.

***

By the evening, Thomas was riding his motorcycle around Gotham. He had zipped up his leather jacket and was wearing a black motorcycle helmet. The bike itself was a matte black sports bike.

He was stuck at a light, waiting behind a yellow taxi cab. He sat back on his bike, looking around. Other cabs, business and personal cars. People walking on the streets.

There was a cafe on the corner of the intersection, and a black metal gate housing outside tables. To Thomas' right was a building with concrete steps leading to a row of glass doors.