Batman: Knight of the Hunt

Issue 9

The Second Robin

Batman had never meant to train a second Robin. Things were peaceful in Gotham, so peaceful that Dick Grayson had spread his wings in Bludhaven, calling himself Nightwing. Barbara was semi-retired. Batman patrolled Gotham's streets alone, more of a formality than anything else. Apart from petty crimes here and there, nothing happened in Gotham anymore.

Then came the crimewave. In a single night, fifteen mobsters were gunned down. The next night, another twelve. Then Papa Bertinelli – the last of the old-time bosses – was strung up on his front porch in broad daylight. A single word was spray-painted on the door of his mansion.

"Bane".

The new boss had claimed Gotham as his own, plunging the city – and Batman – into another underworld war. Night after night hunting, trying to learn Bane's identity, his location, his minions. He was getting close when Arkham's gates opened, setting the city on fire all over again.

The night that he put the last inmate back in Arkham, Batman practically crawled back to his cave. He was exhausted. Physically and emotionally drained. But when he arrived in the Bat-Cave, he found the monster, Bane, waiting for him. He had been unable to find Bane's hiding place, but Bane had found his. Laying on the floor afterward, broken, unable to move even to crawl out of the sticky puddle of his own blood. He had looked up at the ceiling of the Bat-Cave and asked himself, "Why?"

Nothing in the world was worth that kind of pain. He'd thought it was what he wanted, thought he could make a difference. As long as he was king of Gotham, no kid would ever lose their parents because of a lowlife mugger. But he wasn't king of Gotham. He realized he never had been, he was only fooling himself. Crime had continued, the gangs had learned to work around him. And then Bane had broken him. He couldn't protect anyone.

He only knew one thing at that point: he would never bring someone else into this life. He had already dragged Dick into this, but no one else. Never again.

. . . .

Time freezes for a moment. The laughing Predator in the black and gold armor looks directly at Batman. The laughter of David Cain from the iron mask of a killing machine.

And the red triangle – like crosshairs – sits on Robin's chest. The newblood Predator slices the air viciously with his wrist-blade. There's a hum, like an electronic device. Then time starts moving again.

Batman darts forward, throwing down a smoke grenade and grabbing Robin by the shoulder. The newblood's cannon goes off, a blue burst of energy tearing through the air. Robin is hit in the chest; he staggers backward, gasping for breath. His eyes go dark before he even hits the ground.

Batman roars like a wounded animal, as if the blast had torn through his own chest. He seizes his protégé, lifting him to a seated position, desperately trying to drag him to safety. Green Arrow is right beside him, yelling to be heard over Batman's cries.

"He's dead! Bruce, he's dead!"

He tears the Dark Knight away, still protesting. Bane clambers over debris, scrambling for the exit. Green Arrow drags Batman back through the tunnel. And Robin's eyes stare without seeing as they leave his corpse behind.

Through the haze of the smoke grenade, the newblood Predator – Robin's killer – fires again.

A burst of heat and pain like an exploding star tears through Green Arrow's arm. A gasp of pain and horror; then he looks down. His arm lays on the floor of the tunnel, leaving only a cauterized stump attached to his shoulder. He feels disconnected, too stunned to even scream. He's vaguely aware of the Predator coming closer.