Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Nightwing's Crusade in New York
Three months had passed since Dick Grayson embraced his new identity as Nightwing. The criminal underworld of New York was as chaotic and brutal as ever, but Nightwing was making his mark. Every night, he descended into the heart of the city, driven not just by vengeance but by an unshakable desire for justice. He wasn't just Dick Grayson anymore—the boy cop trying to do good—he had become something more, something New York needed.
In these months, Nightwing stopped bank robberies, solved murders, and rescued those trapped in the shadows of New York's darkest corners. Human trafficking rings, drug cartels, and violent gangs were dismantled piece by piece as he left his mark. Yet, amidst all the battles and victories, one name remained at the forefront of his mind: Wilson Fisk.
The Kingpin of New York had eluded the law's grasp. Despite Dick's efforts, Fisk's empire continued to thrive, sending waves of drugs, money, and bodies through the city's veins. Nightwing was determined to change that.
---
It was a cold, rainy night when Nightwing received his latest lead. After busting up a small-time drug deal, he overheard a name: "the stash." Apparently, a large shipment of drugs had arrived in the city and was hidden in a heavily guarded warehouse. Nightwing had been trailing Fisk's operations for weeks, and this could be the break he needed.
Driving through New York on his black and blue motorcycle, Nightwing's mind flashed back to how he had acquired it. Three months ago, on one of his early missions as Nightwing, he had thwarted a group of bank robbers. That night had been crucial in shaping him into the vigilante he was becoming.
---
It had started with a simple robbery. Three men had burst into a Manhattan bank, guns drawn, and taken hostages. Nightwing had been following them for a few days, knowing something was brewing. As they exited the bank, bags of cash slung over their shoulders, Nightwing perched on a nearby rooftop, watching their every move. His eyes narrowed as he tracked them, waiting for the right moment.
One by one, he silently descended upon them. The first robber was taken out with a swift kick to the head, knocking him unconscious before he even knew what hit him. The second was next, brought down with a quick series of punches and an acrobatic flip that left him sprawling on the pavement.
But as Nightwing approached the third, the robber saw him coming. A scuffle broke out, and Nightwing knew he had to finish this quickly. Using his escrima sticks, he disarmed the man and knocked him out cold.
After subduing the robbers, Nightwing followed them back to their base, a rundown building in Brooklyn. Inside, he discovered a stash of stolen goods—and something else. A sleek black motorcycle, undoubtedly stolen, but perfectly suited for his new persona. "I need a better way to get around the city," he muttered to himself. Without hesitation, he took the bike.
---
The rain pounded the streets as Nightwing rode through the maze of New York's boroughs, his mind focused on the mission ahead. The warehouse was located near the waterfront in an industrial part of the city, an area notorious for being a hub of Fisk's operations. As Nightwing approached, he parked his bike in a hidden alley and surveyed the area.
The warehouse was heavily guarded, with at least thirty men patrolling the perimeter. Armed to the teeth, they were clearly expecting trouble. Nightwing knew this wouldn't be easy, but he had to get inside. He took a deep breath, slipped into the shadows, and began his approach.
Using his acrobatic skills, Nightwing silently climbed onto the roof of the warehouse, avoiding detection as he made his way across the building. He dropped down behind one of the guards and quickly incapacitated him with a chokehold, dragging him into the shadows. One down, twenty-nine to go.
For the next few minutes, Nightwing moved like a shadow, taking out guard after guard with stealth and precision. But as he brought down his latest target, a faint sound alerted another guard nearby. Before Nightwing could react, the man shouted, "We've got an intruder!"
The entire warehouse erupted into chaos. Guns were drawn, and the sound of bullets filled the air. Nightwing ducked behind a stack of crates as the thugs opened fire, peppering the area with bullets. "Great," he muttered to himself, "so much for stealth."
He needed a new approach. Peering around the corner, Nightwing spotted a group of three men approaching his position. He waited until they were close enough before springing into action. With a swift acrobatic flip, he leaped out from his cover, hooking his legs around one man's neck and flipping him into another. The two thugs crashed to the ground in a heap.
Nightwing landed on his feet, twirling his escrima sticks as he faced the remaining men. "Anyone else want to leave?" he asked with a smirk. But instead of fleeing, the thugs charged at him.
The next few minutes were a blur of fists, kicks, and acrobatics as Nightwing took on the remaining twenty men. His escrima sticks whirled through the air, striking down anyone who got too close. A punch to the jaw sent one thug spinning into a stack of crates, while a high kick knocked another out cold.
But as the fight wore on, Nightwing began to tire. He was breathing hard now, sweat pouring down his face. Just as he knocked out the last thug, a sharp pain exploded in his shoulder.
He had been shot.
Nightwing ducked behind a crate, clutching his shoulder in pain. His vision blurred for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. From somewhere above, a voice called out.
"Well, well, look who it is. The guy who's been messing with my boss's business."
Nightwing gritted his teeth and looked up. Standing on the catwalk above was Bullseye, one of the most dangerous assassins in New York. He was twirling a knife in one hand, a smug grin plastered across his face.
"You've caused a lot of trouble, Nightwing," Bullseye sneered. "Thought you'd be taller… and harder to shoot."
Despite the pain, Nightwing couldn't resist a retort. "Thought you'd be less of a coward… shooting someone from behind."
Bullseye chuckled darkly. "Coward? I'm just efficient."
Nightwing knew he had to act fast. He scanned the room, looking for a way up to the catwalk. His shoulder was bleeding heavily, but he couldn't let that stop him. While Bullseye was busy talking, Nightwing quietly began climbing a stack of crates, using his acrobatic skills to make his way toward the assassin.
The pain in his shoulder made it difficult, but Nightwing pushed through it. He reached the catwalk and leaped toward Bullseye, kneeing him hard in the chest. The two men tumbled across the metal platform, and the fight began in earnest.
Nightwing swung his escrima sticks, aiming for Bullseye's head, but the assassin was quick. He dodged the blow and retaliated with a flurry of knife strikes. Nightwing parried the attacks with his escrima sticks, but Bullseye was relentless. The fight was brutal and bloody, each man giving as good as he got.
At one point, Bullseye managed to slice Nightwing's side with his knife, drawing blood. But Nightwing countered with a spin kick that sent Bullseye sprawling.
"You're not bad," Bullseye admitted, wiping blood from his lip. "But not good enough."
Before Nightwing could respond, Bullseye drew a gun and fired. Nightwing barely dodged the shot, the bullet grazing his cheek. He had to end this now.
With a burst of energy, Nightwing charged at Bullseye, disarming him with a well-placed strike to the wrist. The assassin dropped his gun, and Nightwing followed up with a powerful punch to the face. Bullseye staggered back, blood pouring from his nose.
But just as Nightwing was about to land the finishing blow, the sound of sirens filled the air. The police had arrived.
Bullseye smirked. "Looks like I get to live another day."
Before Nightwing could stop him, Bullseye leaped off the catwalk and disappeared into the shadows. Nightwing was too exhausted and injured to give chase. He had to get out of there.
Clutching his wounded shoulder, Nightwing staggered out of the warehouse and into the alley. He barely made it a few steps before collapsing, the pain overwhelming him.
---
Hours later, Nightwing awoke on a couch, his body bandaged and sore. He blinked groggily, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He was in an expensive apartment, and standing nearby was someone he never expected to see again: Black Cat.
"You're awake," she said softly, pushing him back down when he tried to sit up. "You're injured. Stay still."
Nightwing stared at her in disbelief. "What… what are you doing here?"
Black Cat looked away, her expression unreadable. "I've been keeping an eye on you. I know what you've been up to."
Realization dawned on Nightwing. She knew about his alter ego. He glared at her. "You better not tell anyone."
"I'm not going to tell anyone," she replied. "I need your help."
Nightwing scoffed. "Why should I help you? After what you did?"
"You betrayed us," Nightwing repeated, his voice cold. The memories flooded back—how Black Cat had sold them out to Fisk, how her betrayal had led to the death of his brother and partner in crime-fighting.
She flinched at his words but quickly regained her composure, the guilt momentarily flashing across her face. "I didn't have a choice. He found out about me. He threatened to kill my father, and he was already so sick. I needed the money from Fisk to pay for his treatment. I never wanted anyone to get hurt, least of all your brother."
Nightwing glared at her, his jaw clenched. "My brother is dead because of you."
She looked away, unable to meet his gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry. I never wanted it to go that far."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension in the room was thick, filled with the unspoken blame, the unhealed wounds of betrayal. Finally, Dick broke the silence.
"Why are you here now?" he asked, voice still hard but laced with curiosity.
She took a deep breath and turned back to face him. "Because I want Fisk gone. And I think you can help me do it."
Nightwing scoffed, pushing himself up despite the pain in his shoulder. He was bandaged, but the wounds still throbbed beneath the tight wrappings. "Why should I help you? After everything you've done, why should I trust you?"
With a sigh, Black Cat removed her mask, revealing the face beneath. Nightwing stared in shock as the silver wig came off, her true blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. She wasn't who he thought she was. She looked so young, far too young to have been mixed up in this world of crime.
"My name is Felicia Hardy," she said, her voice steady despite the raw vulnerability in her eyes. "I'm sixteen. Not a kid, but not the adult you thought I was."
Nightwing's mind reeled. She was just a teenager, just a girl trying to save her father. His anger faltered, replaced by the realization that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't the villain he'd made her out to be. She was scared, caught in a web spun by Fisk, trapped by circumstances beyond her control.
He sat back down, leaning against the cushions. "So how do you expect me to help you?"
Felicia didn't waste any time. She moved to the table, pulling out a laptop from her bag. "I've been working for Fisk for months now, playing the role of the thief, doing jobs for him. But while I was doing that, I've been gathering information."
She plugged in a hard drive, and the screen filled with file after file, documenting everything from Fisk's drug shipments to his connections to corrupt officials. Nightwing's eyes widened as he scrolled through the data. It was all here—Fisk's entire criminal enterprise laid out in meticulous detail.
"How did you get this?" Nightwing asked, still stunned.
Felicia smirked, some of her confidence returning. "I'm a thief, remember? This is what I do."
Nightwing couldn't help but be impressed. For all her mistakes, Felicia had managed to pull off something extraordinary. This wasn't just information—this was a chance to take Fisk down once and for all.
"Do you know what Fisk's next move is?" he asked, already thinking of how to use this.
Felicia's face darkened. "He's running for mayor."
"What?" Nightwing shouted, disbelief hitting him like a punch. "Mayor? You're telling me this monster is going to try to run the city?"
"Yeah," Felicia nodded. "He's holding a huge party to announce it. It's going to be filled with New York's elite, all his connections, and a lot of security. If he wins, he'll have the city in the palm of his hand."
Nightwing was silent for a moment, processing the gravity of the situation. If Fisk became mayor, he would have the law on his side. He could continue his operations with impunity, and there would be little anyone could do to stop him.
But then an idea began to form in Dick's mind, a plan that could turn the tide.
"I have a plan," Nightwing said, a sly smile creeping onto his face.
Felicia raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What's the plan?"
Nightwing leaned forward, detailing his idea. It was risky, but with the files Felicia had stolen, they could expose Fisk publicly. They could infiltrate the party, access the security systems, and release everything at the right moment, making sure the entire city saw the truth about Fisk's empire.
As Nightwing explained, Felicia listened intently, her eyes brightening as she realized it might actually work. But when he finished, she crossed her arms, giving him a look.
"For that plan to work, you're going to need more than just that suit," she said, nodding at his current get-up. "You're good, but Fisk's security won't be easy to deal with. You're going to need better gear."
Nightwing frowned, considering her words. His suit was designed with what he had, but he would need more than just that. "What are you suggesting?"
"I know a guy," Felicia said with a grin. "His name is Melvin Potter. He's the one who makes my gear. He's good."
Nightwing's curiosity piqued. "And you trust him?"
Felicia nodded. "He hates Fisk as much as you do. He'll help."
Nightwing sat back, thinking it over. He was still wary of Felicia, still conflicted about whether to fully trust her, but this was bigger than his feelings. This was about stopping Fisk once and for all. If he was going to do that, he would need every advantage he could get.
"Alright," Nightwing finally said, "let's meet this Melvin."
Felicia smiled, relieved that he was starting to trust her, even if just a little. "You won't regret it."
Nightwing stood up, wincing slightly at the pain in his shoulder. He wasn't fully healed yet, but there was no time to waste. They had a plan, and they needed to act fast if they were going to take down the Kingpin of New York.
As Felicia helped him to the door, Nightwing gave her one last look. "This doesn't mean I've forgiven you."
Felicia nodded, her expression solemn. "I know. But maybe after this, you will."
With that, they stepped into the night, the skyline of New York looming ahead, filled with danger and possibility. Fisk was on the verge of making his move, but so were they. And if Nightwing had anything to say about it, the Kingpin's empire was about to crumble.
Weekly Power Status
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Ranking 
-- Power
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