"Batgirl, report."

Dammit! I thought I locked my comm out. They've been taking turns, and I'm getting so tired of this. After the first eight hours, I just stopped answering. Twelve hours in, I shut off my headset. That worked for a few hours until someone booted the remote access and turned it back on. So, I got clever. I used my phone, like I've done before, and hacked into the communications network, locking out my connection with what I was sure had been a rather masterful bug. But... Looks like Bruce finally broke the encryption.

"G.P.S. coordinates locked." It's nice of the automated V.I. message to notify me of these things. I'm so done with this. They're so willing to give up on everything else; why can't they just give up on me? Hypocritical. This isn't like the last time. It's not going to end with Batman showing up and talking me down. I'm not going back to that house until I find him. Until I find Dick.

There's a sharp snap as the batarang is brandished and struck open. Impulse. I'm only half aware of myself as I reached up and cut into the side of my cowl with the sharp blade, making a semi-circular incision in the top layer of latex over my left ear. Tearing the scrap of material away with my free hand, I throw it down onto the cement rooftop before fishing into the exposed communications socket and ripping out the earpiece. Giving a good yank, I can feel the wires connecting to the microphone at my throat being pulled through the double-layered latex of the cowl before they snap. Throwing the device onto the cement alongside the discarded scrap of latex, my boot comes next, crushing and grinding the earpiece into the roof with my heel. There. No more voices in my head besides my own. And... No more tracking me down.

I'm going to have to move quickly, now. I may have destroyed the G.P.S. in my cowl -- I may have destroyed my cowl in general -- but the coordinates had already locked. I don't know if someone is already on their way, but I'm not going to stand around and find out, either. Besides, the longer I stay put, the colder this trail is going to get. Back to business...

Stepping past the remains of my communications rigging, I crouch low on the dirty rooftop, squinting down into the recently disturbed dirt on the concrete. Unlike the boys, and Cassie, I don't have any of those fancy heads-up displays built into my mask. I don't need it. I've never liked the idea of relying too heavily on the bells and whistles, and my naturally acute attention to detail makes those things almost pointless. Still... This would be much easier if I had lifted some night vision goggles from the cave. But it's just me. And I'll make due with that. Besides... Easier isn't always better.

Stretching out my hand toward the dirt and cement, I spread my fingers and compare the size of the scuffs on the roof. This isn't like an imprint. I can't see the tread of the shoe or judge an impression for approximate height and weight. But... I can tell the size of the foot -- match -- and... A look in the direction of the movement gives me a decent idea of the stride. Match. Standing again, I follow the scuffs in the cement, stopping at the edge of the roof. The pace never broke. They never stopped, never turned around. Just kept going. Someone with his shoe size, with his stride, came out of that vent in the roof thirty feet back, ran straight for the edge, and took a swan dive off of the ten story department store. There aren't many people who make a habit out of something like that. Dick and I... We're some of the few.

Taking a few steps back, I unholster the grapple gun from my belt and make a running leap for the edge, my eyes turned straight ahead as I take the dive into a hundred feet of nothing but air. No hesitation. The person who jumped from this rooftop only a matter of minutes before me hadn't, so neither do I. I'm just looking for a place to launch my line, and I've only got about twenty feet until impact before I see it.

CRACK! Zzzip!

My legs swing down as the hook catches on the edge of a small building dead ahead, toes swaying in an arc only inches from the road before the line picks me up and tosses me into the building's fire escape. Behind me, I hear the sound of a car horn as a 3:00 A.M. driver is taken by surprise, reacting a little late. Probably gave him quite the scare. Tomorrow's newspaper vigilante sighting. But it doesn't matter. As my yellow boots touch down on the rickety metal scaffolding, I do the first thing my instincts tell me to.

Jump.

Like a spring reaction, I barely touch down before I'm launching myself up the side of the brick building, catching the edge of the roof with one hand and pressing the hook release of the grapple gun with the other. The line retracts, the gun resets, and I've got it holstered by the time I pull myself up onto the next roof and start running in the direction of displacement along its surface. Another dive into open air, but the buildings are closer now. I do a somersault roll onto the next roof and keep running, veering left -- southwest -- along with the barely visible tracks. We're heading toward a residential district, now. Heading out of the downtown area and into a... less than fortunate area of the city. Apartment buildings in various states of disrepair, some condemned and others getting there. And I just keep running, barely slowing down as I squint to find the next patch of scuff marks in the silver moonlight. Some of these... They could be anything. But... I'm not going to give it a second thought. I just... Just need to listen to my instincts. Keep running. I can almost see him ahead of me -- a shadow of him in my mind's eye -- and that's all I need. Someone has to believe. If I give up-- Well, then... He might as well be dead. For real.

I'm... I'm close. I know it. The signs I follow are becoming erratic; small twists and turns, zig-zagging across the roofscape in the path that's easiest, now -- not fastest. It's like coming off the highway, and now we're taking the back roads home. The anticipation -- the need -- has me moving faster. Almost recklessly. Not that silent shadow through London like most nights. I-- I can't do that right now. I just need to-- to--

STOP!

My boots skid across the gravel of an overgrown rooftop garden, catching as they sink into the loose substrate and causing me to tumble a few feet. Righting myself into a crouch on the last roll, I toss my cape back over my head and look around quickly, trying to figure out what had caused me to break so suddenly. I see... I see nothing. Nothing except my own deep skid marks through the gravel and a bunch of plants that look like they've gone feral without care. What--? I shake my head with confusion and frustration. Something. It had to be something!

Close your eyes and count back from ten. Ready? With me. Ten...

Nine... Eight... I can ear my mother's voice in my head as I close my eyes and just listen. Seven... Six... I'd been running. Made the jump, and-- Five... Four... That's when I heard it. A quiet creak of a hinge, then the snap of a latch. Three... Two... It had come from... Over there.

One. Opening my eyes and standing slowly, I look. Nothing but plants obscuring my view. But it's there. There's a door there. I just can't see it. Stalking forward with care, boots barely whispering on the gravel, I duck through the overgrown fronds and part them away as I walk in the direction I know I heard the sound. Sure enough, as I step through the last of the rooftop arbor, there it is: a door. Large, heavy metal, red and... Locked. Of course it's locked. Why would I expect otherwise?

Reaching to my belt, I pull out a small aerosol can and give it a quick shake before pointing it at the keyhole and holding down the button. I keep spraying util I hear the telltale 'click click click' of the internal mechanisms beginning to loosen as the acid eats through the lock. Then, 'pop'! There go the springs, the shanks, the everything, and liquid metal and steam begins to ooze and hiss from the keyhole. I give it a second to settle, putting the aerosol can back into my belt pouch before reaching for the handle, twisting it freely, and opening the door.

It's dark on the stairwell. Eerily quiet as I slowly take the steps down. Here and there, moonlight streaks through the spaces of the boarded-up windows. It's dusty in here, but that only makes it easier to see the footprint, clear and fresh in a stray patch of moonlight, at the bottom of the stairs. I'm frozen for a moment, just staring. Because I know that print. Too well...

Placing my own boot over the familiar tread marks slowly, I realize I've been holding my breath. With one slow inhale to start my rhythm back up, I continue down the stairs toward the door at the bottom, reading the faded black spray painted numbers. 601. Top floor apartment, should be abandoned. The building itself looks to be condemned. But... He has been here. He might still be here. And there's only one way to know.

Taking a few more breaths to steel myself, I reach for the door handle and give it a twist. This one is unlocked, and I let the door swing open on its hinges with a loud, rusty creak. Standing there for a moment, squinting into the large, nearly pitch black room, I can't hear or see anything at first. But as I take a step onto the cracked wooden floor, I hear a floorboard to my far left groan. My head snaps in the direction of the sound, and I narrow my eyes through the darkness, but it's useless. There isn't so much as a single streak of moonlight to give me sight. But... That's okay. Call me old fashioned, but I always carry military grade glow sticks on my belt. Always.

With a crackling snap, the hydrogen peroxide solution reacts with the phenyl oxalate and fluorescent dye, and a dim green light flares from my hand. Cautiously, I toss the stick across the floor to my left, and it rolls several feet, throwing shadows all around before falling through a hole in the floorboards. I'm left in a sudden hush and darkness once more, but I think the sound of my own heart is echoing through the empty space. I only saw it for a second in the dim green glow.

That mask...

That face...