Terry crouched in the shadows atop Wayne-Powers, the city's neon glow flickering across the sleek black armor of the stolen Batsuit. His heart pounded, not just from the thrill of the suit's power, but from the weight of what he was about to do. He pressed a finger to the cowl, activating the suit's surveillance mode. The world below sharpened into clarity—voices, heat signatures, encrypted transmissions.
Inside the penthouse office, Derek Powers stood by the window, his back to the city. Terry tuned in, filtering through static until the conversation came into focus. Powers was speaking to a shadowy figure on a secure line, his voice low and cold.
"…the nerve gas shipment is on schedule," Powers said. "With this, any…problems I might encounter will be handled. Permanently."
The other voice was distorted, but the intent was clear. "You're certain it can't be traced back to you?"
Powers smirked. "By the time anyone realizes, it'll be too late. Gotham will be mine to shape."
Terry's fists clenched. He recorded every word, knowing this was the evidence he needed. But as the call ended, a flicker of movement caught his eye—security guards, scanning the rooftop.
"There!" one shouted, raising his weapon. "By the windows!"
Gunfire erupted, bullets sparking off the reinforced glass as Terry dove for cover. He rolled behind a ventilation unit, then vaulted over the edge, landing lightly on a lower ledge. The guards split up, searching for him, their flashlights slicing through the darkness.
Terry slipped through an open window into a dimly lit warehouse section of the building. He ducked behind crates, heart racing as the guards followed, their footsteps echoing. He played a dangerous game of cat and mouse—throwing his voice with the suit's tech, creating distractions, leading them in circles.
One guard rounded a corner, flashlight beam sweeping across the crates. Terry sprang from the shadows, landing a solid punch that sent the man sprawling. Another guard lunged, baton raised, but Terry ducked under the swing and swept the man's legs out from under him. He grinned beneath the mask, adrenaline surging.
"Nice move," Bruce's voice crackled in his ear, but the tone was all business. "Now get out of there. Return the suit."
Terry ducked behind a stack of boxes as more guards entered. "No can do, Mr. Wayne. I'm just having too much fun," he replied, a cocky edge in his voice as he vaulted over a crate and landed a kick to another guard's chest.
"Fun?" Bruce's voice was incredulous, almost offended. "This isn't a game, Terry. That suit is not a toy."
Terry dodged a baton, countered with a quick jab, and sent another guard crashing into a pile of crates. "Could've fooled me. Feels like I'm finally making a difference."
A guard managed to grab Terry from behind, but Terry twisted, using the suit's enhanced strength to break free and flip the man over his shoulder. He was outnumbered, but the suit made him feel unstoppable.
Bruce's tone turned icy. "You're in over your head. I'm giving you one last warning. Return the suit. Now."
Terry ducked another swing, then paused behind a pillar, catching his breath. "Sorry, Mr. Wayne. Not a good time."
Bruce's reply was cold and final. "You leave me no choice."
Suddenly, the suit's systems flickered. The HUD went dark, servos locking up. Terry's limbs froze, the suit suddenly heavy and unresponsive. He crashed to his knees, helpless as the guards closed in.
"Got him!" one barked, swinging a baton. Another landed a kick to Terry's side, pain flaring through his body. He tried to fight back, but the suit was dead weight.
Then, a new voice cut through the comms—smooth, edged with amusement. "Old man, that's not very nice."
Terry managed to turn his head just in time to see Nightwing—tall, imposing, electric blue accents gleaming—drop into the warehouse like a shadow. In a blur, Nightwing took out the first guard with a spinning kick, disarmed the second with a flick of his HighTech escrima stick, and sent the rest scattering with a flurry of precise, brutal strikes.
Terry watched in awe as Nightwing dismantled the squad, moving with a confidence and grace that was almost inhuman. The guards didn't stand a chance.
As the last one hit the ground, Nightwing glanced over his shoulder, his voice echoing in Terry's comms. "Hang in there, kid. Let's get you moving again."
Few moments later
Terry's vision flickered as the suit's systems rebooted. Suddenly, the HUD came back online, servos humming to life. He flexed his fingers, relief flooding him. "I'm back," he muttered, rolling his shoulders as the suit's strength surged through him once more.
"Thank Nightwing for that," Bruce's voice came through, gruff but grudgingly grateful. "He convinced me you'd be more useful on your feet."
Nightwing grinned, helping Terry up. "Try not to get yourself locked out again, rookie."
Terry smirked, brushing dust from his chestplate. "You're just jealous I make this suit look good."
Nightwing rolled his eyes. "Keep telling yourself that, kid."
Before they could say more, a fresh wave of guards—fifteen strong—stormed into the warehouse, boots thundering on the concrete. "There they are! Get them!"
Terry and Nightwing moved as one. Terry ducked a punch, countering with a swift uppercut that sent a guard sprawling. Nightwing vaulted over a crate, landing in the middle of three guards and dropping them with a flurry of kicks and escrima strikes. The air was filled with the crack of fists, the clang of metal, and the shouts of men.
"Nice moves," Terry called, dodging a baton and flipping his attacker over his shoulder.
"Watch and learn," Nightwing replied, flipping a guard into a stack of boxes with a practiced sweep.
Terry grinned, launching himself into the fray. "You sure you're not getting too old for this?"
Nightwing parried a blow, smirking as he spun and disarmed another guard. "I'm just getting started."
They fought back-to-back, trading quips as they took down the guards. Terry's punches were quick and precise, the suit amplifying his strength. Nightwing's movements were a blur—fluid, efficient, every strike calculated. But more guards poured in, and soon they were surrounded, pressed against a wall of muscle and gunmetal.
"Fall back!" Bruce barked in their ears. "There's a broom closet on your left. Go!"
Nightwing yanked the door open, and they squeezed inside as bullets ricocheted off the metal shelves. The cramped space was filled with the scent of cleaning chemicals and the sound of their heavy breathing. Bruce's voice guided them. "There's a panel behind the mops. Secret door—hurry."
Terry found the latch and pressed it. The wall slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a narrow, dimly lit passage. They slipped through just as three guards burst into the closet, finding nothing but cleaning supplies and a faint echo of laughter.
On the other side, Bruce's voice returned, stern as ever. "Now that you're out of danger, give me back my suit."
Terry shook his head, voice urgent. "They're about to ship out the nerve gas, Mr. Wayne. You're fine with that? I want to stop them from hurting people."
A pause. Then Bruce sighed, the weight of the city in his voice. "Fine. Good luck, both of you."
They raced through the passage, boots pounding on the metal floor, emerging near the hangar. The roar of engines echoed as they approached the loading bay, the air thick with the smell of jet fuel and danger.
Meanwhile, in the executive suite…
Derek Powers lounged behind his desk, a glass of scotch in hand. The city lights glinted off his cold, calculating eyes. His radio crackled. "Sir, Batman and Nightwing are here. They're heading for the hangar!"
Powers scoffed, a cold smile spreading across his face. "Batman and Nightwing, apparently. Well, let's give them a proper welcome." He turned to his guards, voice icy. "You heard them—our guests have arrived. Make sure they don't leave."
Back in the hangar (Nightwing's POV):
Nightwing and Terry burst in, scanning the chaos. Guards swarmed the cargo plane, loading canisters marked with hazard symbols. The air was tense, every movement urgent. Nightwing's eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation.
"Let's move," he said, vaulting onto a stack of crates. Terry followed, both of them taking down guards with swift, practiced blows. Nightwing's escrima sticks crackled with energy as he swept legs and blocked attacks, while Terry used the suit's strength to toss guards aside like ragdolls.
As they neared the plane, Powers appeared on the tarmac, barking orders. "Start the plane! Get it out of here!" He grabbed a rifle and fired at the heroes, bullets sparking off the hangar walls.
Nightwing hurled a nightarang at a canister of nerve gas. It struck true, knocking the canister from the loader's hands. It tumbled, cracked open, and a cloud of gas engulfed Powers and his right-hand man. Powers staggered, coughing, eyes wild with panic as the gas hissed around him.
The plane's engines roared to life, and it began to taxi down the runway. Nightwing and Terry sprinted after it, leaping onto the landing gear as it lifted off, wind whipping past them.
Inside, a hulking guard blocked their path, refusing to go down despite their combined attacks. Terry landed a punch; Nightwing swept his legs, but the guard kept coming, grunting with each blow.
"Stubborn, isn't he?" Terry grunted, ducking a wild swing.
Nightwing nodded, dodging and countering. "Let's see how he handles turbulence." He slammed a fist into the control panel, damaging a wing. The plane lurched, veering dangerously close to the city skyline, alarms blaring in the cockpit.
Nightwing turned to Terry. "I'll take care of the plane. You handle the guard."
Terry grinned, bracing himself. "You're just doing that because you don't want to fight him."
Nightwing smirked, already heading for the cockpit. "We'll never know."
He sprinted forward, using every gadget and ounce of strength the suit offered to stabilize the plane. The engines sputtered, the city lights spinning below. Nightwing wrestled the controls, guiding the plane away from the buildings and toward the river.
With a final burst of effort, he managed to steer the plane over the water. The landing gear clipped the surface, and the plane crashed into the river, sinking beneath the waves with Powers' right-hand man still inside, the nerve gas canisters lost to the depths.
Nightwing and Terry leapt clear, landing on the riverbank as emergency crews raced to the scene. The night air was thick with sirens, the distant glow of burning fuel reflecting off the water.
Terry looked at Nightwing, breathless, adrenaline still coursing through him. "Not bad, partner."
Nightwing just smiled, the city lights reflecting in his eyes. "Not bad at all."
Above them, Gotham's skyline shimmered, and for a moment, hope flickered in the darkness.