The rain came down in sheets, drumming against the brim of Isaac's hood as he stood under the flickering neon of a half-dead bodega on Kane Street. He and Frank had wasted hours in front of this shop selling one-dollar hotdogs. His phone screen glowed in his palm.
Isaac blocked the path of a middle-aged man holding a black umbrella and a plastic bag of takeout.
"Excuse me, sir. Have you seen this person?"
Isaac showed Frank's face from a photo he took during his freshman year of high school. The boy in the picture had short blond hair cut military style, and the faint tan of someone who had just come back from summer vacation. He held the photo just close enough to be seen under the streetlight, but not so close that it felt like a threat. The man slowed, glanced, then shook his head without breaking stride.
"Nah, kid. Never seen him."
"Look closer. Please. It's important."
The man sighed, stopped long enough to squint through rain-streaked glasses. "Nope. Sorry." He sidestepped and kept walking.
Isaac exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. He turned to the next person, a woman in her late twenties, earbuds in, umbrella tilted against the wind.
"Excuse me, ma'am. Does this face look familiar to you?"
She pulled one earbud out, looked at the photo, then at Isaac. Rain dripping off his hood, eyes shadowed, but burning with something she didn't want to name.
"Maybe? I don't know. Lots of guys look like that around here." She shrugged and started walking again.
Isaac stepped in front of her, not aggressive, just enough to make her pause. His voice dropped, steady but hard.
"Look again. Have you seen him or not?"
The woman's eyes flicked to the photo again, longer this time. Recognition flickered briefly, then gone. She shook her head quickly.
"No. No, I haven't."
She sprinted past him, umbrella barely covering her back.
Isaac didn't follow. He stood there a moment, rain sliding down his face. A group of three guys, hoods up, laughing about something, came up the sidewalk. Isaac stepped toward them, voice louder this time to cut through the rain.
"Hey! Have any of you seen this guy?"
One of them stopped, peered at the photo, then smirked. "Looks like every other clown that's been running around lately. Why? He owe you money?"
Isaac didn't smile back. "Just answer the question."
The guy's smirk faded when he saw Isaac's eyes. "Nah, man. Haven't seen him. Good luck, though."
They walked off, one of them muttering something about 'crazy dude' and 'where was Batman when citizens needed him'.
Isaac lowered his hand, stared at Frank's frozen teenage smile for a long second. Then he closed it carefully, tucked it inside his jacket where the rain couldn't reach it anymore. He turned down the next alley, boots splashing through puddles, voice low to himself.
Next stop, the old basketball court behind Aquinas. The rain kept falling. The city kept breathing. And Isaac kept looking. Some passersby had seen Frank with a clown-like gang, but they never stayed here for long. Isaac drew a circle around the basketball court on a Gotham map he slipped back into his backpack.
An old companion chosen one day with someone he held dear. Black colored for a retro military style, it resisted years and effort even with on missing metal buckle among the thick canvas. It wasn't bothered by the water. Nor the rain had which slowed to a steady drizzle. Another location to check tonight, the animal shelter, he thought.
The Gotham City Animal Control & Shelter on the edge of the Bowery stood tall but frail. Without donations and volunteers, its brick stained by decades of exhaust wouldn't have stayed standing. A single sodium lamp buzzed overhead, turning the puddles in the parking lot into oily mirrors.
Isaac slipped through the chain-link fence topped with razor wire while dogs barked at his arrival. Entering by the glass doors, he clamped his nostrils shut. The lobby smelled of wet dog, bleach, and cheap coffee.
A tired woman in a navy polo sat behind bulletproof plexiglass, scrolling on her phone. She didn't look up until Isaac slapped the damp photo of Frank down on the counter.
"Evening." Isaac said, voice flat. "I'm looking for someone."
She glanced at the photo, then at him—rain-soaked hoodie, eyes red but steady. She sighed like she'd heard this story a hundred times.
"We don't do missing persons here, kid. That's GCPD."
"I know. I'm not reporting him missing." He tapped the photo. "He used to volunteer sometimes. Years ago. Feeding strays, cleaning kennels. Thought maybe he came back."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Volunteer? We barely get adults to show up for the paid shifts. Only one I can think of is Lena's boyfriend, Marcus something."
"Just check. Please."
She hesitated, then called over her shoulder.
"Ramirez! You got a sec?"
A stocky man in his forties stepped out of the back, wiping his hands on a rag that had definitely seen better days. He leaned in, adjusting the glasses sliding down his nose.
"Huh... yeah, that face looks familiar. Frank... something? Miller? Moler?"
"Frank Miler," Isaac said quietly.
Ramirez snapped his fingers. "Right. He used to come on weekends. High school kid. Quiet. Good with the pit bulls, most folks are scared of 'em. Then one day he just stopped showing up. Must've been three, four years ago."
Isaac's pulse kicked up. "Has he come back since? Even once?"
Ramirez shook his head. "Nah. Not that I've seen. We'd remember, volunteers don't exactly grow on trees." He studied Isaac's face. "You family?"
"Old... Friend." The words scraped out of him.
Ramirez shrugged. "Well... Sorry, man. If he's in trouble, file a report. We only deal with the four‑legged cases here."
Isaac nodded, slipped the photo back into his pocket, and turned to leave. Another place to check off the list, he told himself. Next stop, the old basketball court near the docks, where Frank liked to fish with that giant magnet he swore would pull up 'history'. Isaac's boots splashed through another puddle as he headed toward the metal barrier.
He didn't make it three steps.
"Hey... Wait, Isaac?"
He froze. That soft voice, familiar. He turned slowly.
Lena stood there, a little out of breath, her bronze skin catching what little light Gotham offered. Her dark hair was damp from the humidity, sticking in loose waves around her face. Hazel eyes, warmer than he remembered, widened when she saw him. She looked the same height as before, slim, hoodie half‑zipped, jeans worn at the knees. Simple. Familiar. Out of place in this gray, wet city.
Her eyes widened as she took him in, the hood pulled low, wet strands of hair clinging to his face, but his chin dry, sharp, and his eyes... violent. His posture was hunched forward, coiled, like he was ready to lunge at the first threat.
"Isaac... I, wow. You look... different."
He didn't answer. Not yet. What could he say? His face didn't move, unreadable, but his back straightened a little, a reflex he couldn't control.
"...Lena."
Just her name. Nothing else. A dozen questions flickered behind his eyes. What are you doing here at this hour? Why now? Why didn't you call... but none of them made it past his lips. He opened his mouth, searching for something, anything.
Then another voice cut in behind her.
"Well, well. Look who's still crawling around Gotham."
Marco Rossi. Of course. The moment Isaac heard him, his eyes shifted to him, flat and unreadable. The rain started again, tapping against the pavement, but only a dull white noise reached his ears.
Marco stepped beside Lena with that same smug grin. "Didn't think you'd still be hanging around here. Looking for your boyfriend?"
Lena flinched. "Marco, stop."
Isaac stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "I tolerate your everyday bullshit in class, Marco." he said, voice low, almost calm. "But now..." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. He moved.
A blur of muscle and anger. His forearm slammed into Marco's chest, pinning him against the metal barrier with a crack of impact. Marco gasped, the air punched out of him. Isaac didn't stop.
He shoved harder, enough to make the barrier rattle.
A dog in a nearby kennel barked once, then backed away, tail tucked, sensing something else in Isaac's posture.
"Isaac stop!" Lena grabbed his arm, but he didn't react. His eyes were locked on Marco, dark and shaking with exhaustion and rage.
Marco tried to speak, but only a choked sound came out.
Isaac shifted his weight, ignoring Lena's grip, and drove his fist straight into Marco's exposed stomach. He pulled back and struck again. And again. Just like the leather bag he punched in the underground, tight fist, same spot, over and over. Red smeared across his knuckles. It wasn't his.
As his arm recoiled for another hit, Lena stepped between them, pushing Isaac back with both hands.
He didn't budge, too heavy, too dense. But he didn't strike the familiar face in the path of Marco's bleeding ribs.
Marco's face drained of color.
"Isaac, enough! Please!"
Isaac blinked, jaw clenched, breathing hard. he leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. "Try anything more... funny... I'll find you." He released the lawyer' son, who collapsed into Lena's arms.
Isaac looked at her, really looked at her, and something inside him twisted.
Shame. Anger. Loss. All tangled together.
"Lena... I..." The words died in his throat. She stared at him, her back turned to him as she shielded Marco, trembling because of him.
From Isaac.
He stepped back, shaking his head once, as if trying to clear something heavy and painful.
Then he turned away.
"Isaac, wait..." Her voice cracked this time.
He walked off, fast, shoulders tight, like a man running from a fire only he could feel burning inside him. Under his clothes, his muscles didn't deflate. They stayed ready.
Where he was going, he didn't know. At least far from there, he hoped.
Yellow street light, wet asphalt. Orange-like reflections across the building. Isaac didn't question why his feet had brought him here. The building was closed, empty, not a single candle lit inside. Grey stones and iron bars stayed silent.
Maybe... maybe he had hoped to see a figure there.
He barely shook his head, eyes low.
Another step forward, he avoided a bike speeding through the night. Passed by a homeless man sleeping on a wet cardboard sheet, guarded by two furry friends.
A protest of hunger twisted and cried from somewhere in the dark.
Under Brown Bridge, Isaac didn't find the old homeless group. Instead, a small community of destitutes had taken root in less than a week. Young, defiant hippies in patched colored jackets, tangled hair, had huddled up against the cold. They had changed the dull concrete into brighter red and blue.
'...Freedom of choice... New Age... 42...' were among the urban paint.
Most asleep, one awake without really being there.
Isaac regretted not finding a familiar face.
His boots splashed through puddles.
The city's steel ribs arched overhead.
No voices. No coughing. No clatter of cans.
Just the sound of water dripping from the beams.
Here, the many holes, remnants of the old salt mine beneath the city, had survived every mayor and all their reforms.
Crumbling streets where broken facades loomed like hollow shells surrounded Isaac. The air smelled of damp stone and decay, heavy and unmoving. Ahead, a house emerged from the darkness. One entire wall was missing, torn open as if by force, leaving its insides exposed to the night. The rooms lay bare and broken, a ghost of a home, open to the cold, watching the city beyond.
And someone sitting alone in a corner. A girl in a dark hoodie, legs crossed, head bowed. Her lips, lightly tinted pale pink, contrasted with the grays and the iron‑streaked walls and ground.
Isaac slowed. As he got closer, his ears caught fragments of unfamiliar words.
She lifted her face. Violet eyes glowed faintly in the dim light.
Boby.
"I suggest you tread lightly."
Isaac felt the uneven floor creak under his weight. Changing his approach, he crept along the wall where he was less likely to fall. The room plunged into darkness as clouds covered the sky. His anger thinned, like steam cooling off stone.
"What brings you here, Isaac?"
His hand shivered against the wall. "I don't know... no reason."
"Liar." The word didn't echo. It just stayed there.
A sharp jolt ran through his body. "You have no home?" responded Isaac without thinking. His back arched for a moment. A small tremor ran through the floorboards. Isaac paused, meeting her calm eyes, he closed his own.
"...I'm not here to cause trouble."
She didn't smile. She didn't flinch. She just watched him. She didn't move away when he sat down. Their legs, just a few centimeters apart, radiated warmth.
Isaac swallowed, embarrassed at the small, unfamiliar comfort.
With slow moves, he opened his backpack. He pushed away the map and pencils, searching for the bottom compartment. His hand reached for a half-drunk bottle of chocolate milk. He put it on the floor and offered another bottle, un-opened to the staring girl.
"Have you found who you were looking for?", the milk chocolate didn't tremble in Isaac's raised hand.
Avoiding any skin contact, her fingers accepted the drink, lingering on the bottle. "Not yet"
"I hope you find your person..."
"Thanks."
She took a sip.
For a moment, her perfectly controlled expression faltered. Blinking hard, she swallowed anyway. Sweetness had slapped her tongue. She glanced at Isaac. His face reflected the same tiny surprise, a mirrored flinch in the dim light. A bead of moisture glistened in the corner of his eye.
Her lips curled in a half‑grimace, half‑laugh. Too sweet, far too sweet, but she kept drinking. She refused to let a simple bottle of chocolate milk defeat her.
Isaac's stomach sank slightly. He shouldn't have bought those... The 'second pack for one' had seemed clever at the time, promoting Metropolis's new "Effective Sugar" milk chocolate. Deceptive. Cheap. Overly sweet. Perfectly ridiculous.
"You know... I'm also looking for someone. An old... friend." the last word scraped out of him, bitter enough to cut through the sugary film on his tongue. He couldn't bring himself to say what he really thought of that friend, not out loud. "I can't believe I'm saying that. Fuck."
"People come, people go. It's pointless to be upset." She set the bottle down with deliberate care, and for the briefest instant, the tension around her shoulders softened.
"I... thanks." Isaac crushed the empty plastic bottle. "Not a pickup line, trust me Boby."
"I don't."
"Harsh. My feelings." he muttered, putting the flattened bottle back into his open bag. "Still, I feel better sitting next to you."
"I still don't care."
Her fingers moved, swift and precise, catching the bottle top. With a controlled flick of her wrist, the bottle rotated once in the air, almost completing a second turn before landing in the bag and bouncing slightly back onto the floor.
"Ahhahah" Isaac laughed, unashamed. Less than a meter apart, and she had failed to land the bottle perfectly.
For a heartbeat, her face twitched. A sound slipped out of her. Soft. Brief. Almost nothing.
Isaac froze.
She blinked and the faint crack in her composure disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Her expression hardened.
"Don't get used to it." Yet, the very corner of her lips tilted just slightly upward.
Isaac retrieved the bounced bottle and dropped it back into his backpack. Silence filled the ruined room. Lighter than when he had entered, he leaned against the wall, inching closer to Boby.
They stayed like that for how long, he didn't know. When Isaac finally opened his eyes, dawn had barely scraped the horizon, and the faint gospel music of a city truck rolled through the quiet streets.
Light reached for Isaac's legs, heating up the fabric. Despite the sun rising, the room was colder than before.
"Boby?"
She was gone.
Students sat in silence, not out of discipline but resignation. Hours of staring blankly at cracked whiteboards or sleeping with their heads on folded arms. Fluorescent lights scattered uneven glows across Aquinas's classroom. One more desk was empty this morning. No one mentioned it. No one even looked at it for longer than a second.
When the bell rang for biology, Isaac rose without hurry. Some students closer to the door left in hurry. Others kept their pace slow, keeping at least five feet away from Isaac. In the hallway, Marco's friends, Jack and Simon were leaning against lockers. They waited until he passed, then peeled off the wall in perfect sync and headed the opposite direction, shoulders tight, steps quick.
Last week's exam results still pinned to the hallway board, curling at the edges from humidity. Isaac found his name quickly. Some B and C for Math and English, while mostly C for Sciences and Social Studies. He exhaled through his nose, not surprised. Anyway, grades couldn't help against a bullet through the chest.
As he walked away, the crowd parted without a word. Not dramatically. Not fearfully. Just enough space so no shoulder brushed his, no backpack grazed his arm. Eyes slid past him like he was transparent. A ghost drifting among corridors that used to feel familiar.
He paused at the drinking fountain, bent to take a sip. The water tasted metallic, warm from the pipes. Behind him, two girls whispered syllables he didn't catch. One word floated clear 'Rossi', then silence again.
Isaac wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and kept walking. The hallway stretched longer than it used to.
Behind the old municipal warehouse, a pile of logs waited in the center, damp from last night's rain, their bark peeling like old scabs. The air smelled of sap, smoke, and the faint chemical sting of gasoline from the generator powering the tools.
Isaac split wood into uneven chunks with a dull axe. The blade didn't cut so much as crash down, hitting like a hammer. Sometimes it knocked branches clean off the trunk, other times it just shattered the wooden base with a series of jarring blows.
Silas fed the last branch into a mechanical cutter that groaned with every bite. Each strike echoed across the yard, sharp and repetitive, like a punishment meted out one blow at a time. Sweat mixed with sawdust on their skin, turning everything sticky.
"See you tomorrow." Silas gave a short nod. He didn't smile. "Yeah. Got some office work at the church. Paperwork, candles, the usual glamorous shit."
"Sounds thrilling." Isaac huffed.
Silas hesitated. "Isaac, careful out there. Heard about the missing people lately?"
Isaac snorted. "Those giant insect theories? Yeah. Pure propaganda for the drug testers."
Silas looked at him for a second longer, eyes unreadable. "You... You got nothing to fear... Only beautiful girl so far, they say."
"See you church boy." Isaac rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Stay safe."
Silas turned without another word and headed down the cracked path toward Old Gotham. His boots crunched on the gravel until the sound faded into the evening traffic.
Isaac watched him disappear around the bend. For a second, the park felt too quiet. Then he wiped the dirt from his hands on his jeans, and started walking the opposite way toward the old basketball court behind Aquinas.
After a few renovation plans, the court wasn't removed when the high school expanded and pushed closer to the city center. Instead, it stayed behind like a forgotten limb, metal bars rattling in the wind. Kids used to run through it after class, chasing each other between the broken lines.
Now it was mostly empty.
At night, figures lingered in the half‑shadow, sometimes for an hour, sometimes less. Isaac waited on the window ledge of a forgotten building overlooking the court. Dealers came and went. A pair of cops passed through. A tired office worker walked his dog.
Still not the target he was waiting for.
Checking his phone, Isaac read Emma's message 'Pasta in the fridge. Another shift at The Playhouse Lantern. Love.'. The dinner was there, just like she said, but he wasn't planning to eat at home tonight.
The pasta was packed in a glass container. Thick spaghetti curled under a layer of rich, red bolognese sauce. Bits of ground meat, softened tomatoes, and a hint of herbs clung to the surface. Even cold, it smelled warm. Isaac wolfed down the meal in seconds.
After another hour wasted, Isaac spotted five gang members on the old court, all dressed in clown‑like outfits. This time information he had gathered in previous days wasn't wrong. They had no guns, just cheap masks and loud colors that made them stand out in the dark.
He pulled up his hood then from his backpack, slipped a medical mask over his face, and tightened his reinforced motorcycle gloves. A small taser fit into his palm as he moved along the back of the abandoned building, keeping to the shadows while circling behind them.
Isaac didn't pay attention to whatever they were saying. He stayed still in the dark, eyes fixed on the one with dirty green hair. He waited for him to sit, to settle, to drop his guard.
Heartbeats thudded in Isaac's ears, loud enough to drown out the distant city noise.
Of the five, only the bat was visible. The others probably had knives or something tucked in their pockets, Isaac guessed. He swallowed hard. One cut to an artery would cause severe bleeding. For a moment, he wondered if he really wanted to risk his life tonight.
No, he didn't want. But he needed information, fresh information.
With no battlecry nor shout, Isaac lunged forward. His front kick slammed into the green-haired back, who crashed into one of his friends and knocked another off balance as they all went down in a tangle.
"What the?"
Isaac didn't give them time to react. The taser in hand, aiming for a neck. He cleared the taser path with a down slam over the target's arms. The electric shock lasted two seconds, enough to paralise the clown on the ground, stunned. Isaac followed through with his foot knocking the clown's jaw.
"Wait guys. That's not the Bat?"
"Damn it. Who the fuck are you!?"
A punch came from the side. Isaac sidestepped and at the same time dropped his center of gravity, before jumping up, his right knee striking the clown's groin. The man folded with a choked gasp.
The green-haired one didn't rush back in. He staggered away a few meters instead. "Get him!"
A blade flashed.
Isaac snapped his backpack up just in time. The knife stopped halfway into the fabric. He twisted his wrists, wrenching the weapon free from its owner's grip. The clown in black-and-white face paint stumbled back, empty-handed.
Isaac's lungs were on fire. The fight hadn't lasted long, but two opponents were already down and most of his energy was spent. Isaac blinked twice as his back touched a metal pillar. Did that bald clown really hold a screwdriver, he questionned himself.
The clowns regrouped in a loose half‑circle, emboldened now that he was slowing down. They stepped closer. One licked his lips, some blood dripping.
Isaac wrapped his backpack around his left arm, the glass box inside could help tanking a few hit, he hoped. The taser crackled.
Something metallic sliced through the air, fast. Like a nail, one projectile embedded through the cracked asphalt. Followed by a dozen more, carving a jagged line that split them apart. All eyes turned toward the newcomer.
"Who the hell are you?"
Isaac didn't move.
The figure straightened. The domino mask caught the streetlight, and the yellow 'R' on his chest. "I'm Robin... and I've got places to be." Robin said, calm as if he'd been here the whole time.
Exchanging glances, the three clowns didn't back down. The green-haired one and the white and black face paint circled around Robin.
"...Robin, who's that?"
"Another mentally ill freak."
Isaac couldn't stop himself, words escaped his mouth. "No idea.", he said while his armored arm redirected a blade.
For a split second, a tick appeared on Robin's face. "I'm Robin. Batman's partner."
The two clowns rushed at once, but Robin moved faster. Telescopic sticks in hands cracked against wrists and tibias with a loud echo. No hesitation slowed him as he dropped a pellet from his belt, and smoked burst outward, swallowing the scene in a thick dark cloud.
Isaac couldn't see more than an arm's reach ahead. He heard scuffling, impacts, something wooden breaking. The visibility worsened. He stepped back instinctively and his heel caught on a body sprawled on the ground. He stumbled and fell hard.
A sudden weight crashed onto his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. Cold steel brushed along his ribs, sending panic signals through him. His blood was raging. Focusing on the action, Isaac's arms grabbed the clown's hand and pressed the taser against the exposed skin. A crackle of electricity lit the smoke for a heartbeat.
When the smoke cleared, Robin was the only one left standing among the scattered clowns. Fresh scratches marked his suit, the yellow 'R' torn clean off and lying somewhere on the ground.
"You lost the second I started trying." Robin said, tapping something on a sleek, futuristic‑looking device. He shot Isaac a quick look. "Civilian shouldn't mess with the street." With handcuffs and one rope in hands, Robin moved efficiently, securing the five clowns with practiced ease.
Isaac on the ground didn't bother sitting, he pressed the backpack against his ribs.
Robin smirked briefly. Another pellet dropped at his feet.
"Hope I don't see you again." his voice was already away. "The streets aren't safe. There are more than... thugs out here."
When the smoke cleared, Robin was gone. Isaac pushed to his knees, ribs screaming. He crawled to the green-haired one still conscious, mask torn, blood on his teeth. Isaac grabbed his jacket, yanked him up.
"Where's Frank Miler?" he rasped. "Skinny, dark hair. Used to run with you."
The clown coughed red. "Miler... Who's that?", the clown choked out. Isaac bent one of the clown's fingers back until it snapped out of place. "Wait... I know, I know... Arthur Miler at Warehouse 17."
Isaac let go. The clown slumped. All that for something that was probably false. His eyes couldn't see clear lines. He could try another clown and compare their responses, but if they just didn't know. They would say anything for him to stop.
Isaac heard police sirens getting closer. He had to move fast. Gritting his teeth, he searched each clown, emptying their pockets and stuffing everything into his backpack, even one of Robin's projectile fallen during the fight, laying near. No time for more. He jogged away, blood dripping slowly from his side and from his gloves.