January 22nd- Birthday Gift

January 22^nd 

It was the 22^nd of January, and Gotham was on fire. Throughout the large metropolitan city flames lashed out from both elite and lesser buildings and dwellings. Everywhere one looked, there was flickering bursts of orange and red, and as time went on it only got worse.

The reason for the fires was simple, but it seemed that the solution wouldn’t be so clear-cut.

The ever-climbing fires were the direct result of multiple bombings that had been set off in several hotspots around Gotham. They had been timed to go off at the same time, and the damage had been nothing short of monumental. There had been no warning. No time to react or counterattack. Nearly twenty different locations blowing sky-high all at once- bloodily rocketing people and buildings alike- ultimately adding to the process of destroying another piece of the already crumbling city.  

The precision based arson had been the deadly declaration of a turf war amongst the Bosses of Gotham, bringing on an all-out brawl between thugs and Bosses alike. Currently it was a blanket threat, but originally these bombings had been intended for only one Mob Boss. Though rather than taking chances, the bombs had been placed in every hotspot the man inhabited. A man that had been on the figurative chopping block for a long time. . .

None other than Black Mask himself.

*

Kristina Moran- the acclaimed Nightmare- raised her wine glass to her chapped and bloody lips, slowly taking a long pull from the ruby liquid as she cringed painfully. The young woman had been in many hateful scrapes in her lifetime, but tonight had put all her other close-shaves to shame. She had barely managed to get out alive, and there were new marks on her body where scars would definitely form- both internally and externally.

There had been talk of a turf war for years, but no one had ever thought that it’d actually happen. Let alone, on a full city scale. But it had happened- it was happening- and there had been losses . . . more casualties than anyone was willing to count.

Kristina took another sip from her wine, and as she did so, hot tears slid down the crystal surface, silently mixing with the alcohol – not that the woman noticed nor cared. She was hurting too badly to care about something as petty as her drink. In fact, she was too numb to be concerned about much of anything, save the clenching of her heart and the sharp pain in her chest and sides.

Nightmares’ night had started out completely ordinary- and now as the woman looked back on the events in order, she knew that there was no way that she could have known what was coming. No way that she could have prevented the horrific ordeal or awful outcome.

She had run a couple of errands for her boss- Roman Sionis, otherwise known as Black Mask- finished a large bundle of paperwork for several drug and gun shipments, and brought in five containers of Chinese takeout- if there was one thing Nightmare had learned in her years of running with the Mask, it was that it took a mountain of food to sate his appetite.

Kristina had been in the middle of penning a letter for her employer- while he dictated between bites of sesame chicken- when the first bombs went off. It had started with a deep rumbling like a volcano eruption and then turned into a deafening roar as blinding lights lit up the smoggy Gotham sky. Kristina’s eyes had gone wide in confusion and fear right before Black Mask had jumped on top of her- covering her body with his own as a way of protection. Then, in all but a few seconds, Black Masks’ headquarters had been blown to kingdom come.  

Kristina sobbed silently, choking on her acid-like tears as the memory of her boss kissing her forehead as the floor crumpled beneath them looping again and again in her minds’ eye. He had given her a soft smile- something rare for the likes of Black Mask- and his dark eyes had been comforting, almost as if he was saying goodbye to her . . . then everything had collapsed, intense pain had snapped through her entire body, and the world had gone black as pitch.  

When Nightmare had opened her eyes once more, the building was nothing more than charred rubble and she had been in too much pain to move. After an unknown amount of time, the woman had finally been able to push off the blocks of stone from her body and crawl painfully out of the wreckage. There had been no sign of Roman anywhere, or any of the bosses’ boys for that matter. All that met her swollen, tender light blue eyes was destroyed bricks and stone, and unforgiving blood red flames. Kristina had screamed into the night, holding her side as her broken ribs forced her to her knees, as she came to the realization that she was the only one left. Her boss . . . her man- her Roman- was gone. . . She was all alone.

The woman currently placed her wine glass on the table next to her, and took a shaky breath. She had always known the risks of working for a Mob Boss- Roman had made the possible outcomes quite clear to her- and yet she had never been prepared for something like this. Sure, she had looked death in the eye with every sour drug deal; every fight possibly being her last . . . and she had accepted that. . . But never had Kristina thought that Roman Sionis would precede her to the grave. She’d never dreamed that he’d leave her first.

But he had. And Kristina was numb and broken.

Sluggishly, the woman settled back in her armchair, cuddling into herself as her ribs protested against her movement. She could have made the walk into her bedroom, or even phoned an ambulance- heavens knew that she probably needed one- but Nightmare merely sat in stony silence. And as the minutes ticked by and became hours Kristina’s eyes began to droop and a fitful sleep overtook her. For a time she floated in nothingness, but when she began to dream a noise brought her back to consciousness, making her alert despite her injuries.

Kristina blinked several times, becoming completely focused when the noise repeated itself. The woman quietly reached out for the glock that had been resting in her lap and stiffly stood from her chair, clicking off the safety with a well-trained thumb. With muffled footsteps- thanks to the heavily carpeted floor of her apartment- Kristina moved towards the intruder, following his unabashed sound making with apprehension.

In truth, Nightmare had expected this. She was the Mask’s second in command after all, and that would mean that there would be a price on her head due to Sionis’ untimely demise. So, the woman faced the reality of the moment with grim determination. Whoever had come to silence her would get a bullet first. She wouldn’t keel over without a fight, and she would make sure that Roman’s sacrifice wasn’t for nothing. She would live and find those responsible for this war; or die trying.  

Kristina followed the noises throughout her apartment and finally came to a destination: her bedroom. The woman couldn’t help but smile bitterly to herself. The bastard thought that she was sleeping peacefully in her bed, did he? Well, he was about to find out how stupid making assumptions could be. Nightmare entered the room, and immediately cocked her gun, pointing it at the intruder with deadly precision and not an ounce of mercy.

“Turn around, scum,” she said- her voice raspy and low from the fire smoke and wounds she had endured. “Do it slowly; or I’ll end you where you stand.”

The room was dark- but from her place at the door, Kristina could see the figure move to obey her command. With a flash of adrenaline, the woman reached out her hand and expertly flicked on the bedroom light. 

Instantly, her jaw dropped and her eyes glazed, for the sight that met her was nothing that she had come close to imagining.  

Within her bedroom, the Batman stood in all his glory- though his suit was burnt in places and charred in others- his intent eyes studied her cautiously, eyeing the gun. But it was the figure that was currently lying on her bed that made Kristina gasp aloud. Roman Sionis- the one and only Black Mask- was sprawled atop of her large purple comforter, covered in more cuts and bruises than the woman had ever seen, and completely unconscious.  

“R-Roman . . .” Instantly, the glock slipped from Kristina’s hand as she tried to rush to her man, but due to her ribs and beaten body she buckled under the pressure and began to fall to the floor. But just before she hit the ground, two strong hands reached out to grab her, stopping her before she made contact with the floor. The hands at her waist made Kristina cry out in pain, and the grip obligingly loosened, before helping her stand up again.

The woman looked up to the masked face of the Bat- the one who had caught her- and gave him a single nod that she was alright. The Dark Knight returned it, but kept his hold on her as he helped her over to the bed where Roman Sionis lay immobile.

It was strange being so close to Batman- seeing as Kristina hadn’t dealt with him since she had run with Joker and his crew- at which time the Bat had clobbered her more than once. And the woman found that he was just as intimidating and powerful as he had ever been- and yet tonight as he guided her to her bed, Kristina found that he was surprisingly gentle. . . almost bordering on . . .  comforting.  And Nightmare, not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, accepted the rarity of the situation without question.

When she was safely sitting on the bed beside the out cold mob boss, Batman completely let her go.

The room was silent for several long moments, before Kristina finally found her voice.

“How Batman? Why? . . . You rescued Roman and brought him here to me, instead of hauling him to Blackgate? . . . I don’t understand.”

Batman gazed at her steadily before he began to explain.

Kristina was once more shocked, for it was the most she had ever heard the caped crusader talk, and his voice was different than she remembered. . . Calmer, more resigned.  

“The bombings tonight were specifically targeting the Crime Bosses of Gotham, Kristina: Rupert Thorn, Two-Face, Falcone, Dagget, Boxy, and Sionis,” at the mention of her man’s name, Kristina shuddered. “Joker wants the Crime scene to himself, so he put the bombs in motion to create absolute anarchy. That with the added ransoms he placed on their heads, the Bosses never stood a chance.”

“Joker’s the one who wants us dead,” Kristina asked as her stomach drew into a tight knot, and Batman nodded once. “But why?”

“Does the Joker need a reason?”

Was that humor in the Dark Knight’s tone? Kristina didn’t linger on the thought, for it was too strange to comprehend.

“Point taken. . . But why did you help us, Batman?”

The Bat didn’t answer the question, but instead moved towards the open window to gaze out to the blood-soaked winter evening with unreadable eyes. “You two are still targets, Kristina; but you’ve been announced dead to the media and drug cartels. That should keep Joker off your trail long enough for me to deal with the fires and other Bosses. Until things cool down you need to stay inside.”

“But Roman needs a hospital,” Kristina interjected, panic stricken. “I can’t take care of all of his injuries.”

“I know,” Batman agreed deeply, his voice seeming to echo all over the room. “Do the best you can; I’ll be back once I’ve taken care of Joker.”

Kristina watched as the vigilante prepared to depart, and found that her chapped, blood-stained lips were turning up into an actual smile. Then as the Dark Knight shot his grapple out the window, Nightmare found herself whispering something she’d never have dreamed she’d say in a million years.  

“Thank you, Batman.”

The savoir of Gotham didn't answer, but it was obvious that he had heard her gratitude, for he paused to acknowledge it.  Then- as Kristina Moran watched- Batman swung out into the fiery night, leaving her alone with her beloved Black Mask and a relieved laugh on her tired lips.