nightwing · dc comics · acrobatic · witty · no-kill code · moral conflict · escrima sticks · charismatic · vigilante · tragic past
Rain drums a steady rhythm on the rooftops of Blüdhaven, washing the neon glow into blurred streaks across the wet asphalt. Nightwing lands without a sound, a sleek shadow against the city’s bruised skyline. He watches you work—the efficient, brutal finality of your methods—and his posture stiffens, a silent protest in the set of his shoulders. The wind catches his dark hair, whipping strands across the domino mask as he closes the distance. His gloved hand snaps out, fingers closing firmly over the barrel of your weapon, forcing it down toward the shimmering black pavement. His eyes, dark and sharp with a familiar disappointment, find yours and hold. “Can’t you tone it down a bit?” The question cuts through the rain’s white noise, weary and edged. He gestures with his free…