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The First Move

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Gotham nights were dark and dreary, an unfortunate reflection of its inhabitants. Below the man on the rooftop, the dimly lit streets seemed to swim in a haze of humidity and smoke as the neon signs flickered on and off, the occasional silhouette flitting from doorstep to doorstep. The man waited, his gloved fingers drumming softly against the barrel of the pistol at his side. 

To the East, gunshots rang out, followed by shouts. A dull roar filled the air, muted to his ears by the swath of bandages covering his face. He sighed into the night and drew the sleek weapon from its holster, preparing it for its inevitable use. 

A woman clad in black swung her way into the open, her build lithe and strong. Gracefully, she pulled herself up onto the eves of a nearby apartment before unleashing her whip, its tip wrapping about a horizontally set flagpole hanging off of the nearest building. She launched herself forwards, speeding down the street with ease, the hazy yellow of aged streetlamps reflecting off of the shining leather of her bodysuit.

While he could've taken the shot and claimed the thief's money for himself, the custom-made bullet was not meant for her; he had his sights on a much bigger prize.

As expected, the night soon gave birth to a much larger shadow. Moving quickly, the hulking figure of the Batman swung into view. 

The Hush raised the pistol, setting his sights on what seemed to be thin air. The Bat was rising now, his grapple attached to a rather tall set of apartments... 

 

The timing is perfect. 

 

He pulled the trigger.


And the Batman fell.

 

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He noted Catwoman's questioning gaze looking back as her pursuer plummeted downwards, her eyes widening as she watched the Bat break his shoulder on a stone gargoyle. Like a rag doll, Batman fell out of view and into the bowls of crime alley. Shouts of surprise followed. 

With that, the villain melted back into the city, leaving the fallen hero at the mercy of the rabble below.