GRAYSON: ETERNAL: PART ONE - SPYRAL

Agent 37 sat alone. His shaggy black hair fell over his eyes in the front, and to his shoulders in the back. His lips were dry, his face parched.

There was a knock at the door. Agent 37 didn’t move.

“Come on, Grayson, open up,” the woman outside the door huffed. Agent 37, once known as Dick Grayson, rolled onto his back.

“Dammit, Dick, let’s go!” the woman groaned.

“Lemelone,” Dick grumbled, trying to say “Leave me alone”.

“I swear, if you don’t come out of that room-” the woman warned.

“Coming, coming,” Dick said, hifting his legs to dangle off of his bed.

His living quarters weren’t anything special. A gray bed with gray sheets. For Grayson. Ha. The walls were pale, and a small rack of clothes hung on the wall his bed was pushed against. The brown door stood across from his bed.

Dick jimmied the handle, and pushed the door out into the hall. Matron Bertinelli stood in the boring hall, with a disapproving look on her face.

Matron Helena Bertinelli stood at a solid five foot eight. Her skin was a light caramel, and her eyes a darker brown. She had a thin build, lacking much musculature. What she lacked in brute strength she made up in tactics and aim. She was a marksman to rival even Green Arrow when she had a crossbow in her hands.

“Where were you today?” Helena asked. Dick glanced over his shoulder, and gave a quick nod back to his bed. Helena scoffed.

Dick was supposed to report for a training session today. He was the acrobatics instructor at Spyral.

Spyral was a top secret agency. A.R.G.U.S. had nothing on them when it came to secrecy. Spyral handled threats all over the globe. They shut down terrorist organizations before they ever started. Suppressed rebellions before the spark was ever born. Stopped wars before there was ever a reason to fight them.

Obviously, for an organization this good, the agents had to be top notch. So, when Dick ditched his life as Nightwing, and began to wander, Spyral picked him up. They molded him further, helping him break his habit of not using a gun. Now, he almost always had a pistol at his side, or at least somewhere nearby. Being a secret agent was dangerous work, and deadly if you were unprepared. He had seen what happened to Agent 54, and was determined not to let it happen to him. Thus, he always kept a firearm close.

“Agent 37, you can’t just lock yourself away whenever you feel the need to,” Helena said.

Dick nodded, “I know.”

“So why weren’t you at your session?” Helena asked.

“I have no excuses,” Dick said.

“Good. Now go put some clothes on. I doubt your students wish to see you in your underwear,” Helena instructed.

Dick closed the door, and headed over to his clothes rack. There were only black, blue, and gray t-shirts, and black athletic shorts. He snatched a gray t-shirt and black shorts, and wriggled into them. He exited his room, and navigated the corridors of Spyral.

Spyral’s base of operations consisted of three buildings, all located in [REDACTED]. The corridors were a circular building between two buildings shaped like parenthesis. One parenthesis building was the training center, while the other was strictly for missions. Dick made it to the training building.

The training building was wide, but only two stories tall. The acrobatics center was on the second level. There was no roof over it, but instead a tarp that could he hung up in case it precipitated. When the tarp was off, athletes had the opportunity to swing as high in the air as they wished.

Dick gave a half-hearted wave to his students. Four students. One was actually older than Dick. Three of them were boys (the older one included), and the third was a girl.

“Chamal, you’re on the rings. Harriet, uneven bars. Art, vault. Sam, parallel bars.”

Dick sat back, and watched his protégés perform. He said nothing more for an hour. Then, he felt a long fingernail tap him on the shoulder. He jumped in shock, and whipped around.

Tiger.

Tiger, the Patron of Spyral, was a small man with massive power. His face was swaddled in a yellow head scarf. His skin was olive, and his eyes steely. Prickly hairs coated his chin, and reached around his mouth. A few rogue hairs scattered along his jawline. He wore a tight brown shirt, revealing his toned muscles.

“Cut your nails,” Dick commented, turning back to face his students.

“Agent 37, you are not participating in your session, why?” Tiger asked, ignoring Dick’s snide comment.

“I’m the teacher. I tell them what to do. They do it,” Dick said.

“Do you not need training yourself?” Tiger asked.

“What do you think, Tig?” Dick retorted.

“Everyday I regret Matron Bertinelli’s decision to bring you in,” Tiger snarled.

Dick gave him the finger. Tiger growled, living up to his namesake.

“Listen here, Agent 37,” Tiger hissed, “You will go train with your students this moment. Or there will be consequences.”

Dick didn’t move for a few seconds. Tiger dug his nails further into Dick’s shoulder. Dick shook him off, and sulked over to his students.

“Good choice, 37,” Tiger said.

Dick hadn’t always been like this. He hadn’t always been moody and standoffish. He used to be soulful and jubilant. Upbeat. Then it had happened. Not it. They.

The Nobodies.

The Nobodies had laid waste to Gotham in a mere day. Quickly and efficiently, they forced Batman to call in help from all of his allies. The allies had included Dick (aka Nightwing), Tim Drake (aka Red Robin), Luke Fox (aka Batwing), and…

Barbara. Barbara Gordon. Also known as Batgirl.

Her rosy red cheeks dotted with freckles, full pink lips, sky blue eyes, and sunset orange hair were all cemented in Dick’s brain. They brought a smile to his face.

Until…

A flicker appeared in her pupils. Dick squeezed his eyelids shut, and bit down on his tongue. There was no stopping it. The flicker expanding, absorbing her face. Next the flames engulfed her slender body.

Tears gathered in Dick’s eyes.

“37, go,” Tiger called. Dick continued to his students.

Dick sprinted over to a far wall, sprang off the ground, kicked against the wall, and propelled over to three staggered bars, adjacent to each other. He swung through the air with ease.

“This good enough for you, Tiger?” Dick jeered, flipping between the bars.

“Come with me,” Tiger said, doing a 180 and striding out of the gym. Dick dropped from the bars, and glanced at his four students. They all stared on with fear in their eyes.

Dick had screwed up.

-

“Sir, I’m sorry I-”

Tiger held up his right hand. His left was stroking his thin beard as he breathed deeply. His closed eyelids rippled, as if his eyeballs were rolling underneath them.

“Sit,” Tiger ordered.

Dick took a seat in the steel chair across from Tiger. He was in Tiger’s office, located in the mission building. It was as plain as everything else at Spyral. Pale walls and floors. The only difference was the steel desk and chairs.

“Your outbursts are unacceptable.”

“I know and I-”

“Hush,” Tiger interrupted, with an uncanny calmness, “Grayson, I understand your pain.”

“My pain? Sir, my pain is no excuse for my beh-”

“Am I not permitted to finish my piece?” Tiger raised an eyebrow, getting annoyed.

Dick slumped back in his chair, his cheeks burning.

“As I was saying: I understand your pain.”

Understood his pain? Dick doubted it.

“I, personally, have not lost a significant other.”

There it was.

“However, I lost people who were very close to me,” Tiger sighed, “I lost them in horrible, nasty, disturbing ways. It is perhaps the reason I am so quick to snap. So quick to lash out.”

“Sir, you really-”

“37!” Tiger roared.

Dick gulped.

“I suppose you have proved my point,” Tiger said, with no discernible emotion on his face.

“I suppose…” Dick silenced himself.

“Grayson, I realize that you are not over what happened with Barbara Gordon,” Tiger said.

He hadn’t heard her name spoken out loud. His lips moved mechanically, miming the name. The blessed name.

“You have not been at one hundred percent… ever,” Tiger admitted, “At least not during your time here at Spyral.”

That was fair. He hadn’t been at one hundred percent ever since Barbara died. He had searched for something to ease the pain. He traveled the world searching for some sort of purpose. He had lost his parents, his lover, Bruce… everything. What else was there after those were all gone?

Spyral, apparently.

In his travels, he had run into Helena, who had been using her old codename “Huntress” while searching for a group of corrupt, violent rebels in Africa called the Final Eye. He remembered that he threw a wrench in her operations. He tailed her, wanting to learn more about her, and caused her to miss opportunities to usurp the group. Eventually, they were captured by the leader. He remembered what followed vividly…

-

TWO YEARS AGO…

“You idiot,” Helena hissed, struggling against the zip tie cuffs digging into her wrists. Both arms were bound behind her back.

Helena and Dick were cuffed in the back of a rattling semi-truck. They had no idea where they were headed. They sat across from each other, with guards on either side of them.

“Sorry for being a tad curious when I saw a woman armed with only a crossbow taking down terrorists,” Dick shot back.

That was the truth. He had followed her out of curiosity, Who was she, Robin Hood? Nah, Robin Hood used a traditional bow.

“Maybe you can make it up to me, Scruffy,” Helena said.

Dick really did look scruffy. Untamed hair, and scratchy stubble all over the bottom of his face. The whole enchilada.

“How would I do that?” Dick asked. He already knew the answer. He glanced slowly at the guards sitting by his side. They each gripped fully automatic assault rifles, and were padded with bulletproof vests.

The guards stared right back at him, anticipating a sneaky move. They anticipated it, sure, but were powerless to stop it. Dick swiveled, hitting one guard with his arms, and the other with his head. Helena swung her left leg up, smacking another guard in the face, while swatting the fourth’s gun away with her hands. Helena dropped to the ground, and grabbed the AR.

By then, the two guards Dick had assaulted were recovering, and shakily aiming at the two attackers. Helena spun around, and fired bullets wildly. Dick ducked, and covered his arms.

The fire ceased.

“You trying to kill me?” Dick exclaimed.

“Trying to get out of here,” Helena came back, “Turn around.”
Dick complied.

“Bend over.”

Dick raised an eyebrow, and turned to face Helena with disbelief in his eyes.

“It’s not like that, moron,” Helena snorted, “Bend over and hold your arms up.”

“What? So you can shoot off my cuffs?”

Helena nodded.

Dick took a deep breath, and followed her instructions. Helena still had her cuffs on, so she had to shoot off the cuffs by looking over her shoulder to aim. She had no doubt about her skills. She pulled the trigger swiftly, and the cuffs dropped off of Dick’s wrists.

“Now do me,” Helena said, tossing the rifle to Dick.

There was shuffling outside the door.

“Gimme a sec,” Dick said, discarding the rifle.

“What are you doing?” Helena shouted, “If you’re going to take them on, at least use the gun!”
“I was taught never to use guns,” Dick said, unwaveringly.

“Liberal?” Helena asked.

“Not exactly. Just anti-gun,” Dick stated.

Dick didn’t know where he aligned politically. Did anyone really belong to one group or the other? He agreed with different ideals presented by both Democrats and Republicans. He picked and chose what he agreed with.

“Yeah, well I’m anti-death,” Helena said, “And if you don’t pick up that gun then we’re both dead.”

Dick shook his head.

The large doors on the back of the trailer swung open, and Dick saw two people armed with pistols. They blasted away at Dick the moment they saw him. Dick leapt up, attempting to dodge the bullets, only to hit his head on the low ceiling. He collapsed, and felt bullets tear into his body.

Helena on the other hand, was quick to take them down. She vaulted over Dick’s limp body, and took out the pistol-wielding rebels using only her feet. Quick strikes downed them almost immediately.

“Are you okay?” Helena asked, walking back to Dick. Dick shook his head, weakly. Helena sighed, and helped Dick onto her back. She carried him back to a small hotel on the outskirts of the town she had been based in. The town that served as the home base for the Final Eye.

-

PRESENT…

“You have not been at one hundred percent… ever. At least not during your time here at Spyral.”

“What can I do about that, sir?” Dick asked.

“As harrrsh as this may sound, you must move on past Barbara Gordon,” Tiger sighed, “You and I searched long and hard for any source to revive her. Lazarus Pits. Necromancers. Nothing will work if you can not even gather her body.”

Barbara had died in an explosion, so getting her body was out of the question. She was gone. No revival. No retcons.

“I can’t just… get over her,” Dick said, “She… She was special. I loved her.”

“I know,” Tiger nodded, “I can see that. You are in so much pain.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Dick said.

“You need a distraction.”

“A distraction?”

“A mission. A new mission.”