Robin #1: Detention Part 1
No Recess
by
It's not easy looking down the barrel of a gun. Half your attention is focused on the trigger finger, waiting for it to drop its reservations and snap back, bringing down the roaring thunder faster than you can blink your eyes. The other half of your attention is spent wondering how you got yourself there, wondering which steps you might have taken to avoid it all.
You see it all then, glimpses of this and glimpses of that. Also known as your life flashing before your eyes.
Right now, I can feel the cold steel digging into my forehead, pressing tight against my skin and reminding me that it's still not going anywhere. The thug on the other end of the trigger is grinning widely, glad in his power and quivering in his boots. He's got that wandering look in his eyes, the kind of stare that lights his fear up like a beacon and has me hoping that he's not going to do anything stupid. He's probably wondering if he's got the guts to ace a kid.
I'm not sure I want to find out just yet.
This shouldn't be happening, not now and most certainly, not here. Brentwood Academy. Prison. My dad sent me here in hopes of keeping me out of trouble and curtailing my mysterious, random, and nocturnal behaviors. This was supposed to be a punishment. I never expected it to turn into a sentence. But it makes me wonder, would things have turned out differently if I had confided in my father in the first place. Probably not. He would have been pissed at Bruce and probably sent me off to school in Newfoundland or something.
If this were any other circumstance, I'd be all over this guy and he'd be down on the ground, waiting for Gotham's finest to drag him off to his place in Blackgate. But that's the problem with Brentwood. This is the only place on Earth that I can't put on the mask and leave mild-mannered Timmy Drake behind. No, Brentwood Academy has no place for Robin, and I'm going to have to deal with it. But that's how I got myself into this position. I tried to play the hero and Tim Drake at the same time, and that's when I found out that being both is just not allowed. Made a stupid mistake and landed myself here. Staring down the barrel of a gun.
But if there's one thing that Batman has taught me, it's to go back and examine the past before making your moves in the present. And right now, that means dropping back to figure out how I got myself here.
At Brentwood Academy, morning comes too quickly, much earlier than I'd care to see the sun, anyway. After a long night of swinging from rooftops and patrolling the streets of Gotham, I had hoped to catch up on my sleep. That just wasn't in the cards, though. Nope, first, I had to survive a Geometry test and feebling myself for gym class. "Master Timothy, might I suggest that you consider the importance of your education and hasten to prepare for the day's studies." Alfred said, tugging away the blankets and taking away any hopes I had for grabbing a couple extra minutes of sleep.
Reluctantly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, curling my toes as they touched the hardwood floors. Mornings were always the same, but that didn't make them any easier. Throw on some clothes, slick the hair back, and hide behind a pair of fake lenses. Sure, the disguise was simple, but hey, it seemed to be working. People can be so gullible for the obvious.
Within 20 minutes, with breakfast not too long behind me, I found myself pacing myself through isosceles triangles and geometric proofs. It was always a challenge to hold myself back, hoping to conceal any extra knowledge I had gathered through my exploits with Batman. Consequently, I wasn't enrolled in any computers courses. Besides, who would want to play on a low-power PC when you've had a turn at the helm in the Batcave.
Three questions left and a good ten minutes remaining, a crackle broke the silence as the loud speaker broke the silence. Ms. Decker looked particularly annoyed that the announcement was interrupting her class. Heck, I could care less. This was a break from the monotony of the day.
"Attention, please. Would all students please report to the Auditorium for an important announcement. I repeat, would all students please report to the Auditorium for an important announcement."
Briefly, I considered finishing off the test, but then my intentions were shattered by a hand falling on my shoulder and urging me to my feet. "Let's go Tim, we want to get some prime seats at the back of the room. Better snoozin' away from prying eyes."
Two minutes later, I'm scuffling my feet on the tiles of hallway, waiting my turn to pass into the auditorium. Inside, I could hear a bunch of hooting and hollering, the sounds of anxious youth calling out to me. I remember thinking that I had missed out on a lot of that, locking myself in my fascination with Batman and his extended family until I became one of them.
I swept myself into my seat, fighting my neighbors for the armrests on each side. Yeah, it seemed kinda petty at the time, but I had to keep up appearances and stop being the quintessential nice guy. Turning to my left, I whispered, "Any clue what this is about?"
I was answered with a series of shrugs, none of my friends willing to give up the energy to voice an "I don't know." I chuckled inside, marveling at the innate stupidity of it, but envying its simplicity. Everything in my life had always been so complex, mostly by choice but sometimes by circumstance. Sometimes, I wished it could be simpler, that I could simply enjoy the day-to-day trivialities of being a teenager.
A hush ebbed through the crowd of students as the teachers moved from the front of the room to the back to call for silence. Looking forward, the principle stood at the center of the stage, his podium the only thing standing out against the red velvet curtain draped behind him. "Good morning, Brentwood boys. I apologize for disturbing your classes this morning, but we have just been informed of an..ahem..opportunity for improving the school's security to its students."
This piqued my interest immediately, and I leaned forward in my seat, resting my elbows on my knees and waiting for the Headmaster to continue. For a moment, I briefly wondered where Brinkley, his little dog was, but I dismissed the thought as inconsequential for the time being. Maybe he had finally wised up and figured out that indoor school functions were not the best place to have a dog when trying to teach your students right-and-wrong. Maybe not.
Looking from left to right and stuttering slightly, the Headmaster continued, his voice wavering in volume slightly. "As soon as we dismiss you from this room, you will report immediately to your dorm rooms and stay put until you receive further instructions from myself or one of the faculty. Under no circumstances should any student be found wandering the corridors without expressed permission prior to leaving their room. With that said, I will now introduce you to our guest lecturer."
He kept on talking, but I didn't need to hear anymore. Even through the fake lenses of my cheap disguise, I could tell who he was introducing. My heart was pumping a mile-a-minute as I watched his fat, stumpy legs parade across that stage, and there was a slight hatred boiling up within me. I started to hate him for shattering the private little world I had set up outside of my life on the streets of Gotham. Yes folks, I had certainly begun to dislike the Penguin.
"Attention, Attention, boys and girls. Today, I have a lesson to teach you all..a lesson in business." He began, his voice something between a whine and a warble. The spectacles rested on the edge of his nose, threatening to fall at any second. "In moments, your parents will be informed of their opportunity to purchase your freedom, just as soon as my associates calculate each of your net worth. Yes, some of you are worth more than others, and it will take some time to assess your worth. And that time doesn't even take into account the need to calculate monetary exchanges for the foreign students."
My blood burned as I listened, the Penguin droning on endlessly about this and that, mostly inconsequential details of our release. The only thing that mattered to me was that Cobblepot had reduced himself to this in order to turn a buck after his profitable campaign during No Man's Land. He had profited greatly from Gotham's downfall, preying upon the need for basic necessities like food, water, housing, and simple commodities. Lord knows what he did with the proceeds.
And I was too caught up in my reverie, when I was tugged up from my seat and urged back out the auditorium door. There was little I could do at this point other than follow directions. I couldn't risk exposing my identity, despite my desire to take our Cobblepot and his goons. But even that wouldn't have been tactically sound. Too many hostages and too many people between him and myself. Better to play this by ear and hope for a break. Who knows, maybe Alfred had been able to get word out to Bruce. Getting back to my room, however, my hopes were immediately dashed, as I found Alfred sequestered by two gunmen who couldn't have finished the first grade on a good day. It's a wonder that they had learned how to use the guns in the first place. This was to be our escort, two gunmen assigned to watch over two students and their manservants. Good odds in the manner of numbers, but not in weapons. Alfred was loath to carry a weapon, and mine were all tucked secretly beneath the floorboards in my closet. A wonderful place to leave them.
To them, it must have seemed like an easy-enough proposition. But that was because they didn't know that I kept an alter-ego as the high-flying partner of the most-feared crusader in the world, nor were they aware of my roommate's position as leader of his country. No, I was sure that Penguin had only filled them in on the specific instructions of this operation, and certainly nothing that would strike fear into them.
Alfred looked to me, questioning me with those eyes of his, and probably trying to tell me not to attempt anything stupid. But he must have known better than that. Heck, he was the guy who raised Bruce from the quiet boy that survived Crime Alley, so it stood to reason that he knew I was working on something in that mind of mine.
I nodded back slowly, acknowledging his inquiry and to hopefully relay to him that there was no need to worry. While I wasn't beyond my substance here, I was certainly limited by my identity. My roommate, after all, was still in the room, and blowing my identity or my carefully hidden athletic prowess would certainly be more of a hindrance than a help. No, I would have to bide my time until the guard's changed or until I was afforded some time on my own.
We were all getting restless, cramped in that dorm room, and night had begun to seep in from around the edges of the pulled shade. There we go, I thought to myself, relishing the oncoming shadows. Back in my playground. Meekly, I raised my hand and pretended to tremble slightly. "Excuse me, Mr. Guy With The Gun, but I could really use a trip to the facilities."
Scowling slightly at me, I half believed that he would let me sit here and watch me spread a wet-spot across the front of my pants. Either that, or he would remember that we had a bathroom linked into the room. Luckily, for both of us, I was wrong. Training the gun on me, he twitched it upward twice, indicating that it was okay for me to stand. Lucky me, I thought. Here I was, making stuff up as I went, and he was buying into it. Phew.
Climbing slowly to my feet, I stepped lightly across the room, taking care to pinch my legs together every now and then to add to the illusion. After a quick trip into the hallway, during which I sized up three guards pacing up and down the corridor, he led me into the bathroom and, thankfully, gave me permission to enter a stall on my own. This provided me with a few moments to consider my next movements.
He waited a couple minutes before rapping on the door to the stall, the kind of knock that told me his patience was running out, and he didn't care if I was finished or not. A quick one-two against the metal. It was time to head back. But I had played the wise monkey, slipping the latch open quietly and pinning the door shut with my feet. So when he knocked, the door slowly creaked open, and he poked his head into the seemingly empty stall.
"Hello. Goodbye." I said, lashing out with my feet in a double-kick to the chest that sent him sprawling backwards. Feeling the pain in my arms rising, I released the pressure I had used to pin myself up between the walls of the stall in an iron cross and dropped back to the ground, advancing upon my 'friend' as quickly as I could.
My objective had been to keep him quiet, to prevent him from calling for help. Well, the kick had sent him back-peddling into a mirror, which had kept him quiet but shattered beneath the impact. The noise was deafening to me, although I'm sure that it wasn't quite a sonic boom. If I had been old enough to curse, I probably would have.
With the broken shards of glass falling to the floor, the footing wasn't terribly good, but it was sufficient enough to steal the consciousness from my opponent by boxing his ears together. This move, when executed properly, delivered a concentration of pressurized air to the ear drum, sending the victim spiraling into sleepyland. Much better than he deserved, but who was I to judge? One down, a whole army left to go, and the Penguin holding all the trump cards.
Grinning and bearing it as I scooped up a handful of glass, I spun towards the exit just as two more of the gunmen's friends decided to join the party. No doubt they had come running at the sound of the mirror shattering. So much for keeping a quiet profile. Pretending I was a pitcher for the Gotham Knights, I hurled the glass at the on-comers, and watched as they screamed as the glass streaked their cheeks and foreheads with blood. Rushing them, I slammed my shoulder into my opponent on the left, using the remaining momentum to grab his arm and twist him toward his friend. The collision carried them both to the ground, with one of them gasping for the breath I had knocked out of his lungs.
Then the other one did a smart thing, for crooks anyway. He brought his gun up to bear and squeezed off a couple shots, ripping twin holes in the daisy yellow tiles. For a second, I wondered if it could be possible to make any more noise.
But I had to act, and act fast, or else his friends would recover. Normally, this would be easy. A couple of bat-a-rangs and my Bo staff could easily dispense with these feebs, but I was without my normal sack of toys. No utility belt for Tim. Instead, I made due with what I had, which was nothing, and decided to rely upon my athletics in the meantime. Executing a high-angle forward flip, I landed on the opposite side of the gun-happy aggressor and dropped my elbow into the back of his neck. S'funny, on G.I.Joe, this move would always knock out the bad guys.
Instead, it served to agitate his further as his head ricocheted forward and split his nose against the floor. But while my attack had not knocked him unconscious, it did serve to blind him further, which probably saved me from hoping I had a bullet-proof jacket. He tried anyway, turning sharply in a vain effort to get another shot off at me. I seized the opportunity and lashed out with the base of my palm, adding a shattered glass jaw to his broken nose. Remind me to send a "Thank You" card to Shiva when I get the chance, I thought to myself.
I took a moment then to catch my breath, feeling the burning in my lungs that I usually reserved for the streets of Gotham. Keeping an eye on my friends, I counted to myself. One. Two. Three. Three guards all taken out by the Boy Wonder. But then I remembered, the total hadn't been three. It was three guards in the hallway, not three guards total.
To late, the tell-tale sound of a pistol being cocked echoed in my ears. I raised my hands above my head and wondered why I couldn't think more like Robin when I was Tim. If I had been Robin, I would have saved the day by now. I certainly wouldn't have allowed a gun to get pulled on me.
"You hurt me friends, punk. Turn around and let Rocco teach you some respect." The man said, and for some reason his voice reminded me of Clint Eastwood, or maybe that was just because I didn't quite feel like a lucky punk. Timidly, I turned around and felt the muzzle press against my forehead, wondering if he was the type that would ace a kid.
"How about a last meal?" I asked meekly.
Next Issue: Whoa! Tim's in over his head as the Penguin's taken the Brentwood Academy hostage. But what's the main goal, could it be something more sinister than turning a profit off the lives of the students? And how can Tim possibly save the day if he can't rely on being Robin. Well, let's just hope he gets out of his current predicament as Detention continues in 30 days.