The cool night air rushed past Dick's face as he bounded across the rooftops of Chicago, his body moving with a fluid, almost frightening grace.
Every leap felt effortlessly executed, every landing silent. His black suit—accented by the glowing blue bird emblem stretched across his chest—cut through the dark like a specter.
Down below, the city was asleep, bathed in the orange glow of streetlights and neon signs, but to Dick, Chicago was alive in a way no normal human could ever comprehend.
Stopping right at the ledge of a forty-story skyscraper, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to settle his pulse.
He let his mind relax, allowing his enhanced senses to fan outward in every direction like daredevil.
In an instant, the city opened up to him like a massive, overlapping wave of sound. The hum of refrigerator compressors miles away, the steady tick of radiator pipes in old apartment buildings, the rhythmic thump-thump of thousands of sleeping hearts—it all flooded his ears at once.
He caught the heavy snorts of a sleeping homeless man three streets down, followed immediately by the desperate, frantic gasps of a couple tangled in bed, lost in a furious late-night session.
Dick felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth at the sheer enthusiasm of it, but he forced his mental focus elsewhere. Jesus, Dick. Boundaries, he reminded himself, pulling back. Give the locals some damn privacy.
Scanning further out, his radar picked up a harsh, wet splattering sound followed by the loud screech of a toilet flushing.
He grimaced, violently shuddering. Okay, yeah. Enough of the domestic sounds.
Refining his tuning, he filtered out the mundane chatter of the night and locked onto something distinctly out of place.
Inside a high-end jewelry store five blocks east, the frantic, metallic scraping of tools against glass echoed softly through the night.
Underneath that was the distinct sound of two heavy bodies slumping against a hard floor, followed by the tight zip of heavy-duty cable ties.
Silent alarm bypassed. Guards neutralized. No sirens in the distance.
Dick opened his eyes, the blue outline of his suit pulsing faintly in the shadows. "Finally," he muttered to himself, a genuine rush of adrenaline spiking through his veins. "Some actual work."
***************
Inside the jewelry store, the air was thick with tension and the sharp smell of sweat. Four men in tactical gear and dark ski masks moved between the shattered glass cases, methodically sweeping expensive necklaces, diamond rings, and gold watches into heavy duffel bags.
"Hurry the fuck up!" the leader hissed, nervously checking his watch as he pointed a silenced pistol toward the back corridor. "If that fucking Batgirl shows up, I'm holding you bastards responsible."
Ever since this vigilante bitch had started making headlines in Chicago, street crime had taken a serious hit. Local crews were terrified, and it pissed him off to no end. Did this damn world really need another caped freak sticking her nose into honest work?
One of the henchmen scoffed, tossing a heavy velvet bag full of loose diamonds over his shoulder. "Relax, boss. The tech we bought off the black market is off the chart. Alarms are completely fried, cameras are on a five-minute loop. She doesn't even know we're here."
"Yeah," the third guy chimed in, cracking his knuckles as he loaded a fresh magazine into his submachine gun. "And even if that whore does show up, we've got enough firepower to put her six feet under this time. Send a real fucking message to the rest of these wannabes."
The fourth guy—a massive, muscular brute standing over six-foot-four—didn't say a word. He just stood near the main entrance, arms crossed over his massive chest, trying his absolute best to project an aura of pure intimidation.
The leader rolled his eyes under his mask. "Just wrap it up, you idiots. We clear this place out, hit the high-end watch shop next door, and we're set for the year."
They had no idea that their high-tech jamming equipment was completely useless against a guy whose ears could pinpoint a dropped pin from half a mile away.
***************
High above the storefront, Dick dropped silently onto the fire escape. The moment his boots touched the rusted metal, he tapped the side of his wrist gauntlet, activating the suit's active camouflage.
The bright blue line across his chest dimmed instantly, blending his form entirely into the pitch-black shadows of the alleyway.
Before moving in, he tapped a quick sequence on his forearm console. A high-frequency distress signal, hardwired to bypass the local jammer frequencies, pinged directly into the Chicago Police Department's emergency dispatch system.
Always leave a trail for the cops to clean up, he thought, slipping through a high ventilation window without making a single sound.
Moving like smoke, he dropped from the ceiling rafters into the back office. The two store guards were lying bound and gagged on the carpet, both unconscious with nasty bruises forming on their jaws.
Dick dropped to one knee, lightly pressing two fingers against their necks. Steady pulses. Breathing fine.
With unbelievable gentleness, he cut their ties, lifted both grown men with effortless strength, and moved them into a locked storage closet out of the potential line of fire.
Out in the main showroom, the bandits were still bantering, blissfully ignorant of the fact that the predator in the room wasn't the one they were expecting.
"The coast is clear," Dick whispered to himself.
He reached down to his utility belt, slipped a small, metallic sphere from one of the pouches, and flicked it casually toward the center of the showroom floor.
CLINK.
The sphere bounced once, twice, and detonated with a low, muffled POP.
A dense, opaque cloud of chemical smoke exploded instantly, filling the entire room within two seconds. The bandits shrieked, instantly blinded by the thick white haze.
"What the fuck?!" the leader yelled, coughing violently as he raised his gun. "It's her! It's that Batgirl! Spread out! Shoot anything that moves!"
"Activate the night vision, let's drop this bitch tonight!" the henchman shouted, fumbling with his tactical visor.
They pulled down their goggles, expecting to spot a shadowy bat-silhouette moving through the smoke.
But Dick didn't need night vision. His super awareness and acoustic location made the room look as clear as daylight.
Before the leader could even raise his weapon, a dark shadow materialized right in front of him. A heavy boot struck his chest, sending him flying backward through a glass display case with a violent crash.
"Boss!" the second henchman screamed, swinging his rifle around wildly.
Dick slipped under the barrel before the man could pull the trigger, delivered a blinding palm strike to his chin, followed by a sweeping kick that brought the guy down hard onto the marble floor.
The third robber opened fire blind, spraying a burst of bullets into the ceiling. Dick vaulted over a velvet couch, kicked off a pillar, and slammed one of his escrima sticks into the man's temple.
The guy dropped like a sack of bricks.
The silent brute at the door finally reacted, lunging forward with a heavy combat knife.
Dick didn't even flinch.
He caught the brute's wrist mid-swing, twisted it until the metal clattered to the floor, and executed a flawless, momentum-fueled hip throw.
The giant smashed into the tile floor with a sickening crunch, completely knocked out.
Total elapsed time: twenty-seven seconds.
The smoke slowly began to clear, drifting out through the broken glass doors.
Dick stood in the center of the destruction, flexing his fingers and stretching his neck until it popped. Not a single drop of sweat on his forehead.
"Well," Dick chuckled, a triumphant grin breaking across his face as he brushed a speck of dust off his shoulder. "That went way smoother than I thought it would."
"Who the hell are you?" a chilling, authoritative feminine voice barked from behind him.
Dick's heart skipped a beat, though he didn't instantly spin around into a defensive stance.
His super-hearing had picked up her silent landing on the upper balcony a few seconds ago, but he hadn't sensed any immediate lethal intent from her. Still, the sudden tension in the air was palpable.
Slowly, deliberately, he turned around to face his visitor.
Standing on the top step of the interior staircase, framed by the moonlight pouring through the skylight, was a young woman clad in a sleek, dark purple leather jumpsuit with a vibrant yellow bat emblem stitched across the chest.
A bright yellow utility belt sat high on her waist, and cascading down from beneath her cowled mask was a stunning mane of fiery red hair.
It was the Burnside suit.
Dick's jaw almost dropped. It had to be Barbara Gordon. The OG. One of the many comic book crushes from his previous life—standing right there in the flesh, looking every bit as sharp, dangerous, and gorgeous as he had remembered.
A smooth, confident grin spread across Dick's face. He rested one hand casually on his hip, looked up at the fiery superheroine, and dropped his voice into the best, crispest Obi-Wan Kenobi impression he could muster:
"Hello there."