The street names from dispatch still lingered in Chen Mo's ears.
Third Street, the alley behind the old courthouse.
Gotham's night wind swept between the buildings, carrying the smells of rust, gasoline, and freshly burned rubber. As Chen Mo swung along the eaves, half the lights on the distant street had already gone out.
The police cars hadn't arrived yet.
Batman had arrived first.
In Gotham, that sentence usually meant there was still hope.
Tonight was a little different.
A black fissure had opened in the pavement behind the old courthouse, exposing underground pipes that vented steam in bursts. Batman knelt on one knee beside the opening, one corner of his cape pinned to the asphalt by a short blade. Another blade lay across his shoulder, its tip just shy of a gap in his armor.
The man pinning him down wore gray-black armor.
His mask had a sharp beak.
An owl.
Chen Mo landed on a lamppost.
"Wow." He glanced at the blade pinning the cape. "Am I late? Has Gotham's night shift progressed to nailing Batman to the ground as a road sign?"
Talon looked up without answering.
The short blade pressed down.
Batman clamped a hand onto the blade's spine, sending a spray of sparks off his bracer.
Chen Mo flicked his wrist.
His webbing first stuck to the blade pinning the cape. He swung upside down off the lamppost, touched his toes to the wall, and used it for leverage as he pulled.
The blade was forcibly ripped out of the asphalt.
The cape came free.
Batman rolled back and hurled a Batarang at Talon's wrist.
Talon dodged sideways, planted a foot on the fractured pavement, and dropped backward straight into the steam.
A second later, he emerged from an old drain behind Batman.
Batman's grappling