Disclaimer: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, and Alfred Pennyworth belong to DC.
Harry Dresden belongs to Jim Butcher. Matthew Demerrio is mine.
Notes: Here's the prequel to 'Behind the Façade' that I've been working on for months. Again, it's already done. Just posting one chapter a day.

Also, to VM mercenary, I couldn't reply to your review so I'm taking this opportunity to: I'd rather not do as you suggested because I couldn't make heads nor tails of DC magic while White Council magic is pretty much Physics-based. I have expounded more on the latter in this prequel while I ran screaming in fear at any mention of DC magic. Thanks for your feedback, though :)

I reached Bludhaven by nightfall and the rental I'd gotten hadn't broken down once – I took that as a sign that things were about to go shitty. Knowing how my life usually went, that wasn't paranoia talking. I mean, it is one thing to prepare for that 'just in case', and another to actually be expecting it.

I drove through the streets, searching for a cheap motel. Bludhaven was a gritty place; trash lined the sidewalks, the air choked with smog, and I bet an underhanded deal was being made in the alley I just passed. All the while, someone was playing his stereo loud enough to blast eardrums away.

A nagging memory prickled in my head. The music being played had a repetitive, thumping rhythm to it; almost like a heartbeat. The last time I'd heard music with a constant beat like that was a couple of Halloweens ago and that went to hell quickly.

I turned to follow the music.

I had just entered the docks when I spotted the source: it was coming from a dark sedan that had stopped by a dimly lit warehouse. I cruised to a stop in a shadowy area a few blocks away, surrounded by piles of containers. Even from here, I could see the car was empty and the warehouse's doors were wide open. Light from an overhead lamp indoors spilled out to the street.

Everything was silent; the thumping music the only sound in the surrounding area. But I felt a greasy stain of black magic so I closed my eyes and Listened. Listening was a skill I learned years ago; a skill borne of focus, discipline, and a bit of magic. It lets me cut through the ambient noise to hear what goes on behind.

It didn't take me long to filter past the music. More thumping sounds greeted me, interspersed with the clanging of metal. It almost sounded like…well, like noise.

Then I heard a cry of pain.

My eyes shot open just in time to see movement by the warehouse's upper storey windows. Two shadows were struggling furiously until one of them leapt through the glass. It nimbly bounced off the pile of crates below before landing in a patch of light thrown by a single streetlamp.

I found myself looking at a man, his back towards me. He was wearing an all-black outfit with a blue stripe running across his upper back down to his arms. Red blood glistened from a large gash on his shoulder.

There was a second crash; quickly followed by the cracking of a lot of wood. Another figure lurched out of the now broken pile of crates and stumbled towards the black-clad man. One leg was dragging across the ground but it didn't seem to bother the figure. And it was gaining speed with every step.

With growing alarm, I recognized the second figure even before it stepped into any light.

I reached for my staff and floored the gas pedal at the same time. The first man started and glanced at me. I only had a glimpse of his mask and the sticks he was clenching before the second man was almost on us.

Staff in hand, I leapt out of the car and pointed it at the oncoming figure. "Forzare!"

Unseen force blasted the zombie backwards to land near the warehouse doors.

"Get in the car!" I yelled to the masked man without shifting my gaze. I gathered my will and aimed next at the broken pile of crates. "Ventas servitas!"

Gale winds brought the wood pile crashing onto the zombie, instantly burying it. I knew it wouldn't stop the thing, but I hoped it would slow it down enough for us to get away.

I hurried back in to the rental; barely noticing the masked man watching me from the passenger seat. Two minutes later, I was speeding away from the docks with tires squealing.

"Hey!" my passenger protested, "He might die back there!"

"Newsflash, kid. He's already dead."

"What?"

I gestured back at the docks. "Guy chasing after you? Souped up zombie."

"That's a zombie?" He stared at me, incredulous. "What happened to the moaning and groaning?"

"You don't waste that much energy raising the dead for cannon fodder, do you?"

"Good point."

He quieted down so I held my hand out to him. "Harry Dresden."

"Nightwing." His handshake was firm, but cautious. I only then realized how young he looked despite the mask hiding his features. His eyes were thankfully hidden behind white lenses. "Thanks for the save."

"Part of the job," I shrugged, "Foiling dastardly plans, saving uh...mortals in peril."

"Thanks for not saying 'damsel'." I could tell he was rolling his eyes.

"You got the wrong bits to be one. So, you got a place to spend the night?"

Nightwing grinned, leaning back on the seat. "Now now, we've only just met."

"Despite what some people might say, I don't swing that way. And if you wanted to stay in the car that badly..."

Silence greeted me. I glanced at my passenger and realized he'd fallen unconscious. And that his blood was still soaking the car seat. Hell's bells, the kid needs help. And soon.