Dick raced down the corridor, tracking Lady Shiva's movements through the hotel's service area. His heart pounded against his ribs, a heady mixture of fear and excitement coursing through him. Five days ago, he'd been performing quadruple somersaults for applauding crowds. Now he was pursuing the world's deadliest assassin through the kitchens of Gotham's most exclusive hotel.
Talk about career changes.
Ahead, another security guard lay crumpled against the wall—unconscious but breathing. These weren't kills; they were casual demonstrations of skill. Shiva was leaving a trail of incapacitated professionals in her wake without even slowing down.
"Batman," Dick reported into his comm, ducking low as he passed beneath a service counter. "Shiva's heading toward the east exit. That's where Gordon said they were evacuating Harvey."
Static answered him—either interference or Batman was too preoccupied with Bullseye to respond. Either way, Dick was on his own, pursuing a killer who could probably end him with her pinky finger.
Alfred's calm voice came through instead. "Master Richard, perhaps it would be prudent to maintain a safe distance while tracking Lady Shiva. Master Bruce was quite explicit about not engaging directly."
"That was the plan," Dick agreed, pausing at a junction to catch his breath. "But she's going to reach Harvey before backup arrives. Someone has to slow her down."
"Master Richard—" Alfred began, but Dick had already muted the comm.
Sorry, Alfred. Sometimes the right move isn't the safe one.
The hotel kitchen loomed ahead—a massive industrial space with gleaming stainless steel surfaces and multiple cooking stations. Through the circular window in the swinging doors, Dick caught glimpses of movement—Shiva, moving with lethal purpose among the abandoned workstations. Steam still rose from pots left mid-preparation when the evacuation began, creating an otherworldly fog that swirled around her elegant form.
Dick took a deep breath, centering himself the way Bruce had taught him. Assess the environment. Identify advantages. Plan contingencies. Never enter a confrontation without understanding the battlefield.
The kitchen offered both challenges and opportunities. Multiple sharp implements that would become deadly weapons in Shiva's hands. Slippery floors that could compromise footing. Limited maneuverability between workstations.
But also: overhead racks for acrobatic movement. Steam for concealment. Hard surfaces for deflection.
He wouldn't win in a direct confrontation—not against someone with Shiva's skills. But he didn't need to win. He just needed to delay her long enough for Harvey to get clear or for Batman to arrive.
Decision made, Dick slipped silently through the doors, immediately taking to the overhead fixtures with the natural grace that had made him a circus star. He moved without sound, positioning himself directly above where Shiva had paused, her head tilted as if listening for pursuit.
Even in her formal evening gown, she radiated deadly competence. Her posture was too perfect, her awareness too complete. Nothing about her movement suggested vulnerability or weakness.
"I know you're there, child," she said without looking up, her voice carrying the same emotionless quality it had in the ballroom. "Your stealth is admirable for one so young, but your breathing betrays you."
Dick remained perfectly still overhead, controlling his respiration the way Bruce had drilled into him. Had she actually heard him, or was she baiting him to reveal his position?
"The rafters, I believe," Shiva continued, casually picking up a chef's knife from a nearby cutting board. "A natural choice for an acrobat. Utilizing your strengths against a superior opponent is tactically sound."
With frightening speed, she flicked the knife upward, severing the metal fixture Dick had been balancing on. He leapt at the last second, somersaulting through the air to land in a crouch atop a massive refrigerator unit.
"Not bad," she acknowledged, already selecting another knife. "Your aerial awareness is exceptional. Five days of Batman's training built upon a lifetime of performance discipline."
"You know a lot for someone who just met me," Dick replied, trying to keep his voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through him. "Been reading my Wikipedia page?"
"There is no mystery to you, child. Your origins are written in every movement." She launched the second knife with effortless precision, forcing Dick to dive sideways as it embedded itself in the metal where he'd been crouching. "The Flying Graysons' final performance was five days ago. Batman appears with a childlike shadow tonight. The connection requires no great deductive skill."
Dick landed behind a row of industrial mixers, his staff extended defensively. "If you're so smart, then you know Batman's going to be here any minute. Might want to reconsider your career path while you still can."
A flicker of something almost like amusement crossed Shiva's expression. "The boy attempts psychological warfare. Admirable, but ineffective." She advanced with measured steps, selecting a meat cleaver from a magnetic strip. "Batman is otherwise occupied with Bullseye. You face me alone."
"Lucky me," Dick muttered, quickly assessing his options. Direct confrontation was suicide. Even with his staff, he'd be overwhelmed in seconds by her superior skill. He needed a distraction—something unexpected enough to buy him time.
His gaze landed on a rack of copper-bottom pots hanging nearby.
"You are hopelessly outmatched," Shiva continued, her voice almost gentle. "Yet you position yourself between me and my target. Why? You know Dent's prosecution threatens the man who ordered your parents' murders. His death would be a form of justice for you."
"That's not justice," Dick countered, inching toward the hanging pots. "That's just more killing. And anyway, my parents taught me better than that."
"Parents," Shiva repeated, something unreadable flickering across her face. "Such temporary influences in a lifetime of violence."
Without warning, she launched the cleaver with deadly accuracy. Dick barely managed to deflect it with his staff, the impact sending vibrations up his arms that made his teeth rattle. Before he could recover, Shiva was in motion, closing the distance between them with frightening speed.
Her first strike would have ended the confrontation immediately if Dick hadn't reacted on pure instinct, tumbling backward in a handspring that carried him over a prep table. Even so, he felt the displacement of air as her fingers missed his throat by millimeters.
"Your reflexes are impressive," she acknowledged, not even breathing hard as she changed direction to pursue. "Natural talent honed by years of disciplined training. In time, you might become genuinely dangerous."
"Might?" Dick shot back, grabbing the first pot from the rack and hurling it toward her. "Lady, I'm the most dangerous ten-year-old you've ever met!"
Shiva sidestepped the pot with contemptuous ease. "Throwing cookware? Batman's training regimen is more childish than I realized."
"Nah, that was all me," Dick grinned, now moving laterally across the kitchen toward the pastry station. "He's more about the brooding and the dramatic silences. I'm the fun one."
His banter was partly psychological—trying to throw her off—but mostly a coping mechanism. Talking had always calmed his nerves before performances, and right now, his nerves definitely needed calming.
Shiva moved like water through the kitchen's obstacles, each step bringing her inexorably closer despite Dick's acrobatic evasions. His circus training kept him just beyond her reach, but only barely, and he could feel fatigue beginning to build in his muscles. He couldn't maintain this pace indefinitely.
"Your technique lacks efficiency," she observed, almost conversationally, as she cornered him near the dessert preparation area. "Too many unnecessary movements. Theatrical rather than practical."
"Says the lady fighting in evening wear," Dick shot back, desperately scanning for his next move. The pastry station offered little in terms of defensive options—just mixers, rolling pins, and... mirrors?
A row of ornate hand mirrors lined the counter, apparently used for checking the decorative details on elaborate pastry creations. Dick grabbed one just as Shiva closed in, her hand striking toward a pressure point on his neck that would have ended the fight instantly.
He ducked under her arm, using his smaller size to his advantage, and delivered a solid strike to her midsection with his staff. It was like hitting concrete—her abdominal muscles tensed on impact, absorbing most of the force—but it created momentary separation.
"A clean hit," she acknowledged, actual surprise registering in her voice. "Perhaps there is more substance to your training than I assumed."
"I'm just getting warmed up," Dick replied, trying to mask how much his hand was stinging from the impact. He backed away, mirror still clutched in his other hand, trying to maintain distance while formulating his next move.
Shiva's eyes narrowed, assessing him with renewed interest. "You move like him in some ways. The same economy of motion when properly focused. But there is something else there—something he lacks. A natural grace, perhaps. An artistry to your violence."
"Thanks for the performance review," Dick said, continuing his strategic retreat. "I'll be sure to add it to my resume."
"It was not meant as a compliment," Shiva countered, advancing with measured steps. "Artistry is inefficient. Beauty is a distraction from purpose. Your movements should contain nothing superfluous."
She demonstrated her philosophy with a lightning-fast combination that nearly broke through Dick's guard. Only a desperate backward flip saved him from being incapacitated, and even then, her fingers grazed his shoulder with enough precision to send numbing tingles down his arm.
"Whoa, you hit like a girl," Dick taunted, forcing a grin despite the pain radiating through his partially disabled arm. "My grandma could hit harder than that."
Something dangerous flashed in Shiva's eyes—the first genuine emotion he'd managed to provoke. "Your juvenile attempts at provocation are beneath response."
"Sure about that? Because your face says different," Dick continued, recognizing that he'd found a nerve. "What's wrong? Not used to a kid giving you trouble? Must be embarrassing, being the world's deadliest assassin and all, getting the runaround from someone who still has a bedtime."
Shiva's movements became incrementally faster, more direct—her pristine technique subtly compromised by irritation. It wasn't much, but it was something. If he couldn't match her skill, maybe he could throw her off her game psychologically.
"You talk to mask your fear," she observed, pressing her attack with renewed intensity. "A common strategy among the untrained and overmatched."
"Nah, I talk because I'm a people person," Dick shot back, using a series of handsprings to create distance. "You should try it sometime. Might help with that whole 'stone-cold killer' vibe you've got going on. Can't be good for your social life."
He punctuated the taunt by hurling a handful of flour from a nearby container. The white powder billowed between them, momentarily obscuring her vision—a grade-school trick that wouldn't fool her for more than a second, but a second was all he needed.
As Shiva moved through the flour cloud with deadly intent, Dick made his most desperate play. With all the strength his young body could muster, he smashed the ornate mirror directly into Shiva's approaching face.
The glass shattered on impact, fragments exploding outward in a glittering cloud. Several shards sliced across Shiva's perfect features, drawing first blood of their confrontation. Red lines appeared on her cheek and forehead, blood welling up in crimson beads that ran down her face like macabre tears.
For a moment, absolute silence filled the kitchen. Shiva froze, one hand rising slowly to touch the blood on her face with an expression of genuine shock. It clearly wasn't the physical damage that had stunned her—she'd certainly sustained worse injuries in her career—but the sheer audacity of the attack. The unexpectedness of it.
The fact that a ten-year-old child had made her bleed.
"You hope to fight me by smashing a mirror at me!? You little motherfucker!" she snarled, composure cracking for the first time. Gone was the emotionless professionalism, replaced by genuine outrage. "Do you have any idea who I am? What I am capable of doing to you?"
"Someone who bleeds pretty easily for a supposed master assassin?" Dick suggested, retreating rapidly as he realized he'd pushed her too far. The momentary advantage of surprise had passed, and now he faced the full brunt of her focused aggression.
Shiva moved with frightening speed, all pretense of restraint abandoned. Where before she had been testing him, perhaps even subtly instructing through her measured responses, now she attacked with lethal intent. A foot sweep nearly took his legs out from under him, followed by a strike aimed at his throat that would have crushed his windpipe if it had connected.
Dick abandoned any thought of counterattacking, focusing entirely on survival. He used every acrobatic trick in his arsenal, diving between appliances, sliding under tables, launching himself off surfaces in unpredictable patterns. But Shiva adjusted with terrifying speed, anticipating his movements almost before he made them.
"I was going to let you live," she hissed, her perfect composure shattered by the indignity of being bloodied by a child. "I recognized potential worth cultivating. But now, I think I will simply break you and leave the pieces for Batman to find."
A vicious kick caught Dick in the ribs as he attempted another evasion, sending him crashing into a rack of pots that collapsed around him in a cacophony of metal. Pain exploded through his side—nothing felt broken, but the impact had knocked the wind from his lungs.
He scrambled backward on hands and knees, gasping for breath as Shiva advanced with methodical purpose. His staff had been knocked away in the collision, lying uselessly on the far side of the kitchen. No weapons, limited mobility, facing an opponent who had completely outclassed him from the beginning.
Bruce had warned him not to engage directly. Maybe next time he'd listen.
If there was a next time.
"Wait," he managed, raising one hand as Shiva closed in for the finishing blow. "Before you, you know, kill me or whatever—can I just say something?"
Shiva paused, curiosity momentarily overriding her anger. "Final words? How quaint."
"Yeah, just wanted to say—" Dick took a deep, steadying breath, "—you know what I hate most about backup?"
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What?"
"They never show up on time in the movies," Dick replied with a sudden grin. "But in real life?"
A black-gloved hand seized Shiva from behind, yanking her backward with uncompromising force. "They're right on schedule," Batman growled, throwing the assassin bodily across the kitchen.
Shiva recovered mid-air, turning the uncontrolled tumble into a graceful roll that brought her back to her feet facing both of them. Blood still streaked her face from Dick's mirror attack, but her composure had returned, the momentary lapse in control locked away behind her professional mask.
"The Bat arrives," she observed coolly, as if she hadn't just been hurled across the room. "Later than expected. Bullseye provided more challenge than anticipated?"
Batman moved to stand protectively in front of Dick, his cape spreading like wings to shield his young partner. "Robin. Status."
"Ribs are sore, but nothing's broken," Dick reported, climbing painfully to his feet. "She's fast, Bruce. Really fast. And she knows who we are."
"Of course I do," Shiva replied, casually wiping blood from her cheek. "The Flying Graysons' deaths, Bruce Wayne's ward, Batman's new protégé—the connections require no special insight."
Batman's posture tensed almost imperceptibly, but Dick recognized the significance—Shiva had confirmed knowledge of their civilian identities, raising the stakes considerably.
"Your secret has no value to me," she continued, reading their concern. "My contract is specific—Harvey Dent must die before he can testify. Your identities are irrelevant to that objective."
"Your contract's been terminated," Batman stated flatly. "Dent is beyond your reach now."
Shiva inclined her head slightly, acknowledging this reality. "For tonight, perhaps. But contracts can be extended, and targets eventually emerge from hiding."
"Not this one," Batman countered. "After tonight, Alberto Falcone will have more pressing concerns than silencing witnesses."
"Like surviving his father's hired gun?" Dick suggested, retrieving his staff from the floor and moving to stand beside Batman rather than behind him. Partnership, not just protection.
"Carmine sent Bullseye after his own son?" Shiva asked, genuine interest flickering in her eyes. "How wasteful. The Falcone family turns on itself while external enemies gather. Unwise strategy."
"Strategic advice from a hired killer?" Batman's voice carried tightly controlled contempt. "Your professional wisdom is noted."
Shiva's eyes narrowed at the dismissal. "You may mock, but remember: I allowed the child to live despite his interference. Others would not extend such courtesy."
"Courtesy?" Dick scoffed. "Lady, you tried to kill me!"
"If I had tried, you would be dead," Shiva corrected with cold precision. "I tested you. Evaluated your potential. Found it... marginally adequate."
Despite everything, Dick felt an absurd flicker of pride at this backhanded compliment from one of the world's deadliest assassins. Bruce would probably have something to say about that later.
"Your evaluation is irrelevant," Batman stated. "Robin is my partner, not your student."
"A pity," Shiva replied, her gaze shifting to Dick with unsettling intensity. "The boy has natural gifts being squandered under your moral constraints. He could become exceptional with proper guidance."
"He already is exceptional," Batman countered, something in his voice making Dick's chest tighten with unexpected emotion. "And he'll define his own path."
Shiva studied them both, her expression unreadable. "Perhaps. Time will tell which of us is correct." Her attention shifted to the kitchen doors, where distant sirens indicated approaching GCPD units. "Our business is concluded for tonight. Tell Dent his reprieve is temporary. I do not abandon contracts."
"Lady, maybe find a new line of work," Dick suggested, unable to help himself. "This one doesn't seem to be working out for you tonight."
The faintest hint of something almost like amusement touched Shiva's lips. "Bold words from one who required rescue." Her gaze lingered on the blood still drying on her fingertips—blood drawn by Dick's desperate mirror attack. "Though perhaps not entirely unearned."
With that cryptic acknowledgment, she moved toward the service exit with fluid grace. Batman tensed to pursue, but Dick placed a restraining hand on his arm.
"Let her go," he said quietly. "Harvey's safe, and you look like you just went ten rounds with a cement mixer."
Batman hesitated, clearly torn between his duty to apprehend Shiva and his concern for his injured partner. "She knows who we are."
"And doesn't care," Dick pointed out. "Said so herself. The contract's what matters to her."
After a moment's consideration, Batman nodded, allowing Shiva to disappear through the exit without pursuit. Once she was gone, he immediately turned his attention to Dick, hands checking for injuries with practiced efficiency.
"You directly engaged despite explicit instructions not to," he said, his tone caught between concern and disapproval as he examined Dick's bruised ribs.
"She was going to reach Harvey before backup arrived," Dick explained, wincing as Batman's fingers found a particularly tender spot. "Someone had to slow her down."
"You could have been killed."
"But I wasn't," Dick countered. "And I made her bleed." He couldn't keep a note of pride from his voice. "Did you see her face when I smashed that mirror into it? Priceless."
Batman's expression remained stern, but something like reluctant admiration flickered in his eyes. "The mirror was... unorthodox but effective. Creating momentary psychological advantage through unexpected tactics."
"Is that Batman-speak for 'good job'?" Dick grinned, then immediately regretted it as pain flared in his bruised ribs.
"It's Batman-speak for 'incredibly reckless but demonstrating adaptive problem-solving under extreme pressure,'" Batman corrected, though his tone had softened slightly. He finished his examination, apparently satisfied that Dick's injuries weren't life-threatening. "You fought one of the world's deadliest assassins to a standstill long enough for backup to arrive. That's... impressive."
Coming from Batman, it was practically effusive praise. Dick tried not to look too pleased with himself, but probably failed miserably.
"What about Bullseye and Alberto?" he asked, gathering his scattered equipment as Batman led him toward a different exit to avoid the approaching police.
"Bullseye escaped, but not before I ensured he won't be throwing anything with either hand for some time," Batman replied, a grim satisfaction in his voice that Dick hadn't heard before. "Alberto is secure with GCPD."
"So basically, we won," Dick summarized as they slipped into a service corridor that would allow them to avoid the chaos of the main hotel. "Dent's safe, Alberto's safe, both assassins are on the run, and—" he gestured between them, "—the Dynamic Duo made their official debut."
Batman glanced down at him, one eyebrow raising beneath the cowl. "Dynamic Duo?"
"You like it? I've been workshopping team names," Dick admitted. "Dark Knight and Boy Wonder is my backup option."
"We'll discuss branding later," Batman replied dryly, though Dick caught the faintest quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Right now, we need to get you back into civilian clothes before anyone connects Robin's appearance with Dick Grayson's absence."
As they made their way through the hotel's back passages, Dick reflected on the night's events. Five days ago, his world had shattered when his parents plummeted to their deaths. Tonight, he'd faced professional killers, saved lives, and found purpose in the most unexpected of places.