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Tales of the Boy Wonder by Ben Grisanti

It was under a year after Dick Grayson's parents were murdered. Since that night things only seemed to get more strange for the young acrobat. His new mentor had been training him nightly in disciplines that he would never had learned at the circus. Tonight he was standing in the field behind Wayne manor, holding a .32 caliber rifle. Bruce insisted that he learn how to shoot, even though guns were expressively forbidden. Bruce taught him that criminals would attack him with an arsenal of weaponry, and that he needed to know how those weapons worked. Despite the years that separated them, Bruce was training Dick to be his equal. That he was barely 12 years old was of little consequence. He would learn all of the disciplines needed to assist in Bruce's crusade. Bruce insisted that he get up early that evening so that they could practice shooting while it was still light outside. In the time that he was staying with Mr. Wayne, Dick had rarely seen him eat or sleep. Most of the time he spent with the man's butler, a skinny, graying English man named Alfred. Although he maintained a certain degree of civility, Alfred was easier to talk to than Bruce. Dick was usually left in the care of Alfred while Bruce was off chasing criminals during the night hours. Alfred was tasked with educating the boy in more traditional fields like arithmetic, biology and social studies. Fifty meters off in the distance, Bruce displayed a target on the surface of a dead oak tree The walkie-talkie on Dick's hip skwaked. This time remember what I told you, said Bruce. Squeeze, don't pull. Dick centered the bulls-eye with the sight on his rifle, exhaled, steadied himself and squeezed. The kick back pushed the rifle into his shoulder as he fired. He did not like how it felt. He hated these weapons. Tutelage under Bruce had taught him many new skills. Learning how to dust for fingerprints and creep in and out of windows were one thing, but combat training was completely different. Bruce 1

was teaching him akido and karate, with an emphasis on small arms combat. He already gone up against professional criminals wielding automatic weaponry with just his wits and a few simple weapons. Still, his mentor was reluctant to take him every time he went out, insisting that he was not ready to go toe to toe with the really dangerous criminals that haunted the streets of Gotham city. Dick regarded the prospect of accompanying Bruce more frequently with a combination of fear and excitement. Again, said Bruce. Dick ejected the shell spent shell and fired again. A few moments passed. Good. Meet me in the cave. We're done for now. When he returned to the mansion, Alfred was waiting with a glass of water and a bowl of oatmeal. Dick said nothing. He was tired. He still was not used to the nocturnal lifestyle that his new profession required. Oatmeal and water. There were better breakfasts on the road with the circus, and that wasn't saying much. He sat down angrily at the antique patio table, went to take a bite, but stopped himself to speak.You were with him when they died right? Pardon master Grayson? When his parents died, you took care of him right? You were there the whole time. Well... yes, said Alfred. When master Bruce was orphaned, I remained on as a stipulation in his father's will. It was only fitting. I had lived on this estate for several years by - What... he slowed down, ...was it like for him? Alfred, caught off guard by the gravity of the question this young boy just asked him, stood for a moment in silence while he pondered how to respond. He smiled. To say that master Bruce was a precocious child would be a bit of an understatement, he said. What does that mean? Precocious? asked Dick. He was willful, brash, angry and temperamental. Alfred had told him this before. Master Grayson must have needed to hear it again. 2

Then why am I supposed to be so... proper? Alfred thought about it. Maybe master Bruce saw something... wrong with what he went through. Dick gestured as if to say something, then decided against it. He took a bite of his oatmeal and was surprised to find that it was not as bland as he believed it would be. Alfred's cooking was certainly better than the slop at the circus. He was quiet for the rest of the meal. When he finished he went to his quarters to put on a green zip-up sweatshirt. Even though it was still summer, it was starting to get cold in the evening. He laid down on his bed, still exhausted from his early start. He stayed there quietly contemplating his situation for no less than 10 to 15 minutes before he sprang up and made his way down to the cave. Bruce was sitting at the computer terminal. Several screens displayed several different things at once. On the main screen was a picture of man, no doubt a suspect in some unsolved crime. It wasn't night yet, but Bruce had already suited up. His cowl rested on his massive shoulders as his eyes darted around the screen. Dick was about to say something when Bruce beat him to it. This is Maxi Zeus. He's a madman. Aren't they all? asked Dick. Mostly. This one suffers from a derangement where he believes that he is living embodiment of Zeus himself. Is he a... Dick paused while he searched for the word. Meta... meta... Metahuman? No. He's just a rich man who lost too much of his mind to drugs and disease. He may be involved in the kidnapping of a friend of mine. Are we going out after him tonight? No, said Bruce. Dick was momentarily disappointed, but Bruce continued, We have something else to do. Hurry up and get ready. I was expecting you sooner. It felt like only a few minutes since he left Alfred on the patio, but Dick didn't question his 3

sullen mentor's orders. He proceeded to the lockers where they kept their gear. By the time he returned to the cave's main corridor he could hear Bruce, or rather the dreaded Batman, firing up the high-tech custom vehicle that Alfred named the Batmobile. He was no longer Dick Grayson, orphaned circus performer. He was now part of the fight for law and order against the criminal underworld that ruled Gotham city as Robin, the boy wonder. When he was strapped into the passenger seat, Batman turned a key on the elaborate dashboard, switching the Batmobile into pilot mode. The hum of machinery echoed off the cave walls, prompting the actual bats in the cave to chirp and squee, as if approving, and the Batmobile was launched into the night.

Later that evening, Batman and Robin were perched above one Gotham's back alleys. This alley smelled particularly awful. Robin could hear noise coming from a nearby Chinese restaurant. Aside from the garbage and a homeless man, there didn't seem to be much of anything in this alley worth noting. What a dump, he said. Quiet, replied Batman. Patience. We are waiting for somebody. Robin wanted to ask who or why, or any number of other questions, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Even though he seemed to know everything, Batman hated explaining things. All Robin could do was steady himself and practice the breathing exercises that he had been taught, breathing exercises that would be monumentally easier if not for the festering smell emanating from the alleyway. After some time, Batman finally said something. Robin's mind had begun to wander. It's time, said Batman, and focused his gaze back to the alley. The homeless man began to move. There was the sound of shuffling paper and debris as he lifted himself up from the nest he had built in the alley. As Batman and Robin silently swung over and landed in front of the man, he spoke. Boy howdy, you sure know how to pick a meeting place. The homeless man spoke in an accent that was familiar to Robin, but he couldn't place from where. No doubt it was from one of the 4

cities that he had momentarily stopped in while performing with his parents. Robin was not sure whether it was New York, Boston or Metropolis, but it was definitely familiar. Let's make this quick. I don't like the feeling of standing around in my own filth, even if this is just a rental. Who's the kid? That is not important. Tell me what you can and we can both be on our way, replied Batman. Jeeze Bats, you sure got a way with words. This is what I found out. Your buddy Mr. Zeus is buying up all kinds of... things. I'm not sure how to describe them... They are magical artifacts, Batman interrupted. I already suspected it was him when the Amulet of Ba'al went missing from the Gotham museum. It's bad enough that he may have gotten his hands on that already. I believe that is why I have not been able to find out where his base of operations is. Yea, well, I don't know if he's there, but there's a house in Gotham Heights, a mansion almost, where some of yer bad guy's men seem to be living. I can give you the address for that. That place is strange. I kept trying to sneak in, but I think its got some, I dunno mojo, or voodoo or something that stops me from entering. Anyway, I've never been very good at this magical crap. It's probably warded against spirits. Maxi Zeus is definitely not there, but it maybe of interest to me. If I need your assistance further I will contact you in the usual way. Batman removed one of his grappling guns from his cloak and began to walk away. Robin hovered for a moment, slack jawed in disbelief over what he had just heard. He followed Batman, hesitantly. Yea, no problem. You're welcome Mr. Caped Crusader. Man... next time maybe we can meet in a place where I won't have to smell my own stink. I mean I miss smelling things on my own but this is ridiculous! The homeless man started to sit back down. Boston, said Batman. Thank you. As the words left Batman's mouth, the homeless man nodded and shook, and then looked up at the dynamic duo in confused disbelief. The grapple hooks fired, and they were whisked away from the man, into the humid Gotham night. 5

For the rest of the night, Batman and Robin patrolled the streets of Gotham. They were successful in stopping a few petty crimes here and there, but there was nothing as jarring to Dick as the homeless man that was, according to Bruce, possessed by the spirit of a dead man. He had told Dick all about it on the ride home. Apparently the man's name was Boston Brand, and like Dick he had been an aerialist in the circus. Not even Bruce was fully aware of the forces that kept him wandering the Earth as a spirit, but his ability to possess the living was useful to Bruce. Providing information to the Caped Crusader was something Boston Brand didn't mind doing, ever since Batman had found his killer. Dick knew of the existence of people with superpowers, but he never would have imagined that he would witness a conversation with an honest to goodness ghost. Furthermore, this villain, Maxi Zeus, was apparently stealing magical artifacts. Magic was something that Dick had never believed in. This was getting too bizarre. Dick descended into the cave to the sound of clinking metal. Bruce was in his workshop; an area of the cave where he had installed the tools that he would need to fabricate some his more important equipment. With protective goggles over his eyes, Bruce was pounding away at a chunk of red, glowing metal. After some time, he turned, and using a long pair of steel tongs dropped a new batarang into a waiting bucket of water. There was a hiss as the chamber momentarily filled up with steam. Bruce pushed his goggles up onto his forehead and glared at Dick. You have questions, he said. Um... yea. I do, said Dick. That man last night... not the homeless man, the ghost. Is he really dead? Yes Dick. He is as dead as they come. I know it's strange, but there is much more to this world than many people will acknowledge. He was in the circus? 6

He was...An acrobat. Just like you. Bruce stood and removed his goggles. He wasn't as lucky. I haven't figured out why exactly he can't cross over, but if I do... he trailed off. Cross-over? Dick was a little freaked out. Fighting crime was one thing, but disembodied spirits? The world was a lot stranger than he previously believed. For the first time since this wild ride began he was seriously beginning to have doubts about this entire endeavor. Where the hell was he? Up only at night. Only solider in somebody else's war? He had been thinking about his parents since last night. He just met a ghost. Could his parents be ghosts? I'm moving against the house in Gotham Heights tonight. There will be some heavily armed guards there no doubt. He paused and turned to Dick. You are coming with me. This is potentially going to be the biggest gang of criminals that you have gone up against yet. I need you to be on your game. No sweat. Dick tried to sound confident, but he knew that he was nervous. What was he getting into? Ghosts, magic, a mad man who thinks he's a god? He missed his parents. Growing up under the big top was far from normal, but this was just insane. Would he ever have the opportunity to just be a normal kid? What good was talking with the dead if the dead that you wanted to talk to weren't available. Dick sullenly made his way to the lockers. Dick? There is some new equipment you may be able to use on that bench, said Bruce. Dick walked over to investigate, and smiled when he saw what was there. I think I can use these, he said with a grin.

...to be continued

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