They say in Spyral, the only operative you can trust is yourself. But I'm starting to think that they couldn't be more wrong. After all, there's no one better at lying to you... than you.
I'm so sorry Bruce... I'm so sorry. I'm not... I'm not good enough for you... Not good enough for the Batman...
No body to catch me this time, Bruce. Let's see if I remember how to jump with no net.
Sorry, Mother ... but I think that's my job.
Those attackers. Mother creates "designer human beings-- and didn't know until Mother wanted them to. Our names are on that list, too.
Look, Bruce. No one knows Gotham better than you. It's your city. It's Batman's city... But it's also nearly four hundred years old. Which means over the years, maybe it belonged to something else, too. Something big. Something dark.
Look, Bruce is a lot of things. World's Greatest Detective, the Caped Crusader, the Dark Knight. All of it. But what he's not is selfish. He gives whatever he has. You've fought with him. You know. Whatever happens, he bleeds first. But being happy... that's not bleeding. That's not giving. That's asking for something. And it's not easy for Batman to ask.
I'm here as long as you need me.
Turn this loss -- this tragedy -- into something better. Not just for your sake and his, but for all the people of Gotham just like when your parents died. You have to go out each night and be Batman.
Save your mustache-twirling for someone who hasn’t met an actual scary "villain", Lex. Like, y’know, Kite-Man.
Ask him to tell me everything about Agent Zero. About Luka Netz. About Spyral.
I was Robin. I was the first. I wore the colors you're wearing. I bled them black. That means I get the blame for what's going on here. For all of you. For what you're done. What you're going to do. You're wanted by the police. You need help. You need to become what you think you are. That's my fault. And that's my responsibility.
Oh, Otto. You stupid, evil maniac. Always forcing yourself into places you shouldn't, thinking you're invincible. Always falling into traps. Risk is what I do. Risk is who I am. What's one more leap without a net? Tsuchigomo.
He caught me before I hit the ground. He was my net. He taught me to focus my anger. To stop myself from hating the world. From blaming everyone for the evil of a few. And then I realized how lucky I was. I realized I had to pay it back. I owed it to other people to be their net. I had to dedicate my life to being there to catch anyone who needed it.
Every TV station, paper, magazine, blog and radio program in Gotham has been overridden... corrupted.
You know, when I saw the news report that the circus was still alive... I didn't believe it. It didn't make any sense. Why would he let them live? Is it selfish to think it could have been for this? So in case I made it out alive... I could see them leave me?
This is the first time I've been out here since Damian saved the city. The first time since...Robin died. Two weeks ago, Joker turned my world upside down. He burned Amusement Mile. The people I trusted -- and who trusted me-- either died or left for good. But Damian was there. He was my brother. And now...now I'm supposed to move forward. Right. Forward.
The Prankster and his men are terrorizing Chicago. The city's on lockdown. And Tony Zucco, the man who killed my parents, claims to be the only one who knows what's really going on. This is so not how I saw today going.
Lies. Half-truths. Games. And yet, in the end, ... I feel bad for Sonia.
Part of it's a defense mechanism. You don't want to be defined by the terrible thing that happened. You don't want to be hurt anymore. You want to be someone stronger. So you "try on" different people. Until you find the right you.
Tell me who hired Saiko... and my second call will be to a doctor.
I've only been in Bludhaven a few days, and I've already managed to stumble my way into two murder cases and star in an ad campaign aimed at tourists. I pick up the strangest hobbies.
I--I trusted someone. And people died. Just like you, Jimmy. It made me question who I trust. If I even trusted myself. But when I look in the mirror, I don't see a monster. I see a human. Someone who makes mistakes, and tries to do better. Like the Run-Offs. Like Shawn. You went looking for monsters. Because what you see in other people... it's your own reflection.
You're not the best version of me. You're the failed me. You're the epitome of my fear that I'll get Shawn killed. That's what the blade showed me. The worst possibilities. The worlds where best intentions go awry. Where heroes fail. That's not the world I live in.
Me? Do something dangerous? Babs, it's like you hardly know me.
I've spent so much time making sure I'm not driven by tragedy. By revenge. By anger. It's important to me. Having that pregnancy scare and everything we went through, made me realize I want my child to learn that from me.
When I was Robin, Batman used to assign me to read the criminal records of every masked perp and weirdo we could get ahold of. Years later, I still do it, though it's usually on the couch while watching TV. So forgive me if I mix any of these guys up with "The Bachelor" cast members.
Roland. Wait. There's something you should know. I'm going to beat you. Because I know you...You've convinced yourself that you care about this city. That you're a hero of the people. That you're bigger than life. But this isn't about guilt because you used your brother. It isn't about regret because you left Bludhaven behind. You took that serum when you were scared and alone. When you couldn't fight for yourself and no one would fight for you. All of this? It's about proving that you aren't the weaker brother.
When someone dies, their passing does something strange to everyone who knew them. It forces a reset. In the seconds, minutes, days after, you ask what life will be like without them. And you ask if you're doing the most you can...with the short amount of time you've got. Who are you? Why do you do what you do? And what do you really want?
You were supposed to be watching out for her from the shadows. If you'd followed Zucco, you'd have seen him put acid on the line. But instead you saw the bigger get. The better hand. So you built a new brand to hide behind. You cobbled together a costume taken from a half-dozen different super-heroes to convince yourself you weren't the bad guy. You built a metal glove and named it after the Romani wizard Suyolak, chained to a rock to prevent him from destroying the world. You caged the fingers that had betrayed you and destroyed your world. You blamed Bruce Wayne. The rich. The elite. Me. Anything to avoid blaming yourself. Dealer wins.
The sting of saltwater hits my nose--I'm too late. Again. I failed to stop him when I was Robin. I failed to stop him when I was Dick Grayson. And now I'm failing as Nightwing. Failure is death. Thirty-one murders. All on me.
Yeah, well...I had everyone fooled. Everything they called me back then...The young daredevil! A living hurricane! Hard-fisted little-scrapper! I was punching and kicking and joking all the time...everyone forgot what I had been through. I was still a kid who saw my parents killed. Becoming a crime-fighter wasn't a cure for my grief. It was an outlet. And sometimes, all that pain...it made me reckless.
You're lecturing me about trust? You don't trust anyone, Bruce. Including me.
Something happened last night. Something I can't quite make sense of. As Dick Grayson, I'm a guy who will always choose a face-to-face conversation over a phone call or an e-mail. And as Nightwing, I'm the kind of hero who prefers to crack a jaw or sweep a leg over chasing some invisible threat. But bank robbers no longer wear ski masks and carry shotguns. They hack accounts. And assassins don't position their rifles on rooftops. They program drones. How do you fight? How do you date? How do you even talk to anyone anymore. The rules keep changing. It's honestly hard to know how to be alive right now.
Earlier, Batgirl said we'd gone down the rabbit hole. We have no idea how deep it actually goes. Or how dark it gets. This is just the surface. This is just the beginning. The first wave was Bludhaven. The second wave is Gotham.
I'm not going to pretend to be the best motorcyclist in this race. But once you get me up in the air... it's no contest. This is the equivalent of a violent trapeze. And with circus physics on my side... I can deliver the endgame.
So Burl is going to be okay. Had a burrito with a beautiful woman. And some cop was nice enough to take the weight of that whole Nightwing thing off my shoulders. I gotta tell you... what is there not to love about life right now?
This is my fault. This kid took a bullet that was meant for me. No. Meant for Nightwing. If I hadn't turned my back on who I was... that would be me. Is this who I am now? Someone who lets other people fight his battles for him?
Strange's patients-- Balinoff and the others. I saw session footage-- the reasons they came to Strange, they were in treatment. I almost missed it myself, but it can't be coincidence. Strange chose them. People wrestling with their childhoods. Fighting grief. Fear. Manipulating those around them-- trapped by their own egos. Their faults. Four patients. Four monsters coming together to form something more. I know you better than anyone. The others might not see it, but I do. You said it yourself. Strange is a psychologist. These aren't just monsters. They're a statement. They're his diagnosis... of Batman.
Titans. We're not kids. We're not sidekicks and wannabes. We're not children you can prey on. We're not the Teen Titans. We are the Titans.
The collapse of the Source Wall -- indeed, the Source Wall itself -- is not public knowledge. But a barrier has come down, flooding the universe with pockets of energy and debris utterly unknown to terrestrial science. And it's changing our world. These emergent events are unlike anything we've ever faced. The most common consequence is the spontaneous ignition of new, uncontrolled meta-powers. There needs to be a team ready, 24/7, to respond to these crises as they happen.
We don't kill and we don't let others kill. That's the Titans' remit. My team. My rules.
I miss you. Every day, I think about you both, and I wonder... I wonder what you would say if you could see me now. Mom, dad... would you still be proud of your son if you could see what I've become? Would you cheer me on? Or would it scare you to death that your son is a vigilante?
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