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In a world where giants exist and actively choose to save the little people's lives, they face ever-growing odds. The little people who see men leaping tall buildings, becoming shadows, or stopping wars with love, then there are those whose dreams reach higher than the stars, paint smiles on the dreary, and consume themselves in hatred. Whether they were born this way or were small and now dream of touching the sky, more and more are on Earth, the planet of water and rock.

Some don't know what to do with their powers, some feel that fate has decided their destiny, and some look at their remarkable abilities and decide one word is synonymous with destiny: fun.

This is one of those stories. But as you read these words, ask yourself how long you can carry the world's weight as it burns on your back. And by the time you've had your fill and there's nothing left on your back, will you stand or fall?

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In the shadows of Jump City's alleyways, figures danced excitedly. They were newborns to the aged monsters of the world, but to the everyman, they were kids.

From the alleyway, a rabbit emerged. Well, not really a rabbit, a rabbit mask. A white rabbit mask with red markings that looked left and right to see Halloween decorations adorning the streets. Pumpkins around every apartment, candles near every stairway, and the color orange gleaming with the leaves flowing as red, orange, and yellow. The cool October air sent a chill down the White Rabbit's spine, and his head spun and twitched in animated glee.

He bounded from his hiding spot in a somersault and hopped on down to his first spot. He hopped up again to a green door and knocked.

When it opened, he yelled, "Trick or Treat!"

The grizzled, fat man with a stained tuxedo jacket and shorts looked at the kid, "What the hell do you want?"

"I want a birthday present! And a treat! Or a trick! And maybe some cash."

The man scratched his stubble and smirked, "Wait right here."

He pushed the door and stumbled down the pictureless hall, the second door to his right. The light in his bathroom was struggling to be bright or dim, but he ignored it. He grabbed a bucket from his bath and filled it with cold water.

"Stupid little brat," He slurred, "Baggy pants, what the hell?"

The man fought to keep his eyes open and fought harder to remember his name. It was Tom Sheldon, he realized. He also realized the water in the bucket was starting to overflow.

It didn't matter; he could regret it when he was sober. If he could make it without damn trick-or-treaters getting him out of his funk. Old Tom conceded that this kid might'a been new around here, since he couldn't place a name to that high voice, which was strange given his profession. Then again, he was drunk.

Ah, it didn't matter. He'd forget it when he's sober.

His hand slid on the bucket's handle before he grasped it firmly in his left hand. He thought about puttin' his beer hand down, but then he realized his beer hand was already free to support the heavy bucket.

With a start, Old Tom thought of something, "Did I close the damn door?" and thought of something worse:

"Did my power not work?"

With a movement resembling urgent waddling, he went back to his door and saw from the halls it was wide open. But couldn't see the kid.

He dropped the bucket filled with cold water and took five uneven steps to his doorway. He held onto his doorway, and the cool air irritated his sweaty face. He looked left and right to the vacant area, with stupid pumpkins lining the street but no sign of the kid.

His drunken mind couldn't be bothered to deal with an analytical dive into possibilities because, again, that was a job for his sober self in the morning. He pushed the door with his body, a satisfying click, and slid down his door laughing.

"Trick-or-Treat, hah!" He rubbed his face and prepared himself to stand back up and count his haul for the night. His job wasn't easy, especially wit' all the capes makin' it hard, but it was all worth counting all the moola in his sliver safe. Oh, he wanted to get back to that silver safe filled with, what's his name, Ben Franklin's face! Hey, he's got Ben Franklin's face lining his silver case once he opens it! His silver case is in his room! He's gotta open that silver case!

His silver case across his hall! His silver case in the hands of that kid from out…

Old Tom's green eyes slowly, comically widened when he saw a white rabbit holding his silver face.

"When I play a trick, you can really treat!" said the White Rabbit, "Sorry about the mess, Mr. Sawyer! Good thing you got a bucket of water!"

Then he ran into his living room, the first door on Tom's left, and Tom's brain went into overdrive as he pushed himself up, then fell and crawled back up after the boy.

A high-pitched whistle resounded in Tom's ears, and he stopped to see the sound coming from a long string of orange light bursting in the center of his hall.

Now, Tom screamed and threw himself into a wall, thinking it was a vacant doorway. The fireworks crackled alive, and three flew into three separate rooms.

The White Rabbit watched as the window he jumped out of sparked to life, and loud pops could be heard. The neighborhood heard as well, and several people opened their doors and windows to see the commotion.

The White Rabbit tilted his head, deciding to play one more trick. The White Rabbit got closer as the smoke began to rise from the window, and Old Tom burst out of his door, tripping down the stairs on his bucket. Carefully hiding in the growing crowd of people, the White Rabbit gestured with his hand.

Suddenly, the smoke stopped, and what little ashes came from Old Tom's curtains, furniture, and walls flew through the window. Swirling in the air were the ashes, swaying in the air, taking an inhuman shape. Standing before them was a tall, gangly monster with black eyes and a huge mouth.

It crept its way toward Sawyer, and the old man scrambled away, pushing any screaming onlooker out of his path. Old Tom tripped once again, and just as he curled into a ball, praying it would end soon, he felt every part of his body covered in a blanket of soft sand. He sat back up and coughed when he realized they were the ashes.

By the time he was ever close to revealing his musty white skin, the White Rabbit would be long gone. By then, he'd have to deal with another animal— a larger, darker, more vengeful creature.

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"I'm warning you, Sawyer. Tonight is not a good night," growled the mass of shadows in pointed ears.

"And I just lost all my earnings, so I guess we're both disappointed, Bats." Old Tom sniped, shivering atop the five-story building, "But hey, it's not too late to let me go and work this out…"

Said 'Bats' only glared, "That won't work on me."

Old Tom sighed, "Look, as far as I can see, you have no reason to keep me up here. I've got nothing on me that proves I'm a thief; you're a long way from Gotham, and you've got a little white bunny to chase. So, why don't you make like your namesake, Batman, flap your big black wings and look for his rabbit hole."

Batman glared once again and considered adding more than a few bruises on Sawyer's face. Old Tom himself tensed at the silence and pretended a beat of sweat wasn't trickling the side of his forehead. A groan and shiver was enough to hide that fact, though, now Tom worried he might get sick.

Finally, Batman said, "Don't make me come after you again," and the night, given physical form, turned.

Old Tom exhaled softly before hacking on the freezing air from gasping in shock, "Hey, wait, wait a minute! You can't leave me up here!"

But Batman had bounded off the building, gliding into the night. Old Tom cursed at his luck and would have raged further on an onslaught of colorful language for a few more minutes if voices behind him hadn't caught his attention.

"Hey, man! We're trying to watch TV! Keep it down!"

Old Tom glanced over his shoulder, knowing the three kids were having second thoughts. Old Tom's glowing green eyes had that effect on people, but he knew of something with a grander effect. The man stood to his full height and walked purposefully, hungrily, toward these teens.

"Oh, what? Huh, old man! You wanna fight!" said the tallest, skinniest of the trio. Old Tom didn't bother with anything else; he concentrated, his mind now a well-oiled trap ready to snap its jaws.

He opened his mouth, "You're going to let me use your phone."

The teen's jaws hung for a second before their uncertain postures relaxed.

"Yeah, sure, man. Of course. Come on down."

"And after that, we're going to kill the Teen Titans and anyone else who gets in my way."

"Really?" asked the lean black kid, "Okay, that sounds like a plan."

"Is there anyone else with you?"

The stocky blond kid spoke, "Nah, just us and my dad and my uncles."

Old Tom smiled, "They're coming too." But first, Tom thought, I really should call the others.

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"Trick-or-Treat!" says the White Rabbit with a group of kids. The woman dressed like Frankenstein's Bride chuckled behind her large vendor's stand. It was a carnival that looked cute at first glance. But as you travel through the streets, you'll see more extravagant decorations: people's car trunks filled with goodies, the Monster Mash blaring throughout, and even 8-foot-tall statues of Dracula, The Wolfman, and Godzilla, of all things. They probably didn't have anything, so they slapped on a witch's hat on the G-King's head, thought the White Rabbit.

The White Rabbit, whose only source of color was his white mask and red markings on it, threw his candy apple in the air, somersaulted, and caught it again as he munched ravenously after scaring a few little kids away. He picked up a few of the chocolate bars they abandoned and dropped them in his burlap sack.

As he flowed through the easygoing crowd, he took a lighter out of some guy's pocket. He wouldn't know what to do with it, but the White Rabbit would. Just as the White Rabbit would learn what to do with the case strapped to his back. This is how the White Rabbit spent his night: tricking the unobservant, treating himself to sweets, and always taking every breath as if popcorn, caramel, and unadulterated sweetness sustained his life.

It was only at a corner, turning to the next section of the carnival, that he paused. On a medium stand, Halloween balloons were handed out by a woman and man dressed as Things 1 and 2. But the White Rabbit's eyes weren't on them. Instead, it was whenever one moved further back to fetch a balloon. Even better, it was when both left his sight, and his eyes caught a girl.

She was a slender thing, close to his age, and bored out of her mind. Draped over her was a brown jacket with stickers on her shoulders. As he got closer, idling by with the ignorance of another face in the crowd, he saw her deep, crimson-dyed hair covering her left eye.

Oh, but the White Rabbit was ashamed that no one could have fun today.

Discreetly, the White Rabbit pulled some earbuds and plugged them into his music player, stored within a compartment close to his chest. He needed this baby securely snug and out of anyone's sight, human, reptile, or otherwise. He skimmed through the songs that could put him in the mood, knowing he should probably broaden his mind, but he couldn't help it. The White Rabbit played his favorite song.

Those first five notes blared in his ears, the drums and tambourine picked up, the bass smooth as ever, and the big-mouthed lunatic sang the first words. The White Rabbit sang with him as he danced through the crowd.

"I—can't—get—no-o," he took a woman's wallet, "Sah—Tis—Fak—Shun." The White Rabbit repeated these words as his hands pulled things to him like magnets, more bills, and coins falling in his sack, "But I try, and I try, and I try, and I trah-high."

He cartwheeled, "I can't get no," someone clapped, "I can't get no," he threw his new collection of coins into the season-themed fountain. It was a grand display of three men looking over the festivities.

"When I'm driving in my car," The White Rabbit sang, exuberant and wildly uncaring, as he imitated some of Mick Jagger's dance moves while adding a few of his own. Jagger jumped up and kicked both legs in opposite directions, and when he landed, he hopped again to hop on the sides of his legs and flipped over again.

He tapped his feet in random directions, and his coiling arms may as well have had their own minds. With another hop, the White Rabbit's legs hit the floor, and he threw his body to balance himself on a handstand. He heard a few people cheering him, clapping as he expressed his spirit to the night of spirits and monsters. This was his night!

Yet now that the song was culminating in one of his fine-tasting tastes of pleasure and life, he could filter out the putrid stains of bitterness, zeroing him out of his funk. In other words, someone unpleasant was watching him.

The White Rabbit halted his movements, slowly turned off David Bowie shouting 'South America,' and pulled his earbuds out. He searched through the pond of masks and makeup. As far as he knew, he couldn't find anything amiss. So, he looked up.

Most of these buildings were 4 or 5 stories high and had some light source, either from windows or Jack-O-Lanterns. But even they couldn't disperse shadows, which were the first places the White Rabbit looked.

And, on a building to his right, between one building and the next, he saw what saw him. It retreated further into its hiding spot, but the White Rabbit knew where this next part would go. He was probably already descending or leaped off the building to escape his eyes and meet the White Rabbit in the crowd.

The White Rabbit sighed and hung his head. Tonight was going so well.

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Logan didn't really want to be out anywhere tonight. She couldn't help it.

Most people looked at her and assumed she was bleak and dismal. Well, tonight she was, but not by choice. Now, she was trying out an emo phase recently, what with Halloween coming around the corner. Her curiosity didn't seem to phase her parents; Logan's parents were more or less absent from her lifestyle.

Logan didn't even know why she was texting on her phone. She had no one to text, but it gave her an excuse to separate herself from things— like her ex.

Her parents didn't know, but Logan had tried her hand at dating. He seemed nice enough, and he didn't say no to her. It was only when she started expressing an interest in things like horror movies and My Chemical Romance that he began to wus out. She wasn't a Hell-spawn, she told him. She was just interested.

I know, he told her. I'm just thinking maybe you should stay away from that stuff. There was so much back and forth between them, and Logan could see displeasure in his eyes when she dyed her Auburn hair. Somewhere down the line, Logan couldn't remember where or when, he said 'freak.'

That's where it was torn. He had said to her that he didn't call her a freak, but Logan could tell that he was waiting for an excuse to use that word. It was literally on the tip of his forked tongue. So, then it ended.

All Logan wanted was to try this style out. Now, it was all she had left. That and My Chemical Romance. She was used to listening to her favorite songs over and over, and she would listen to her favorite had she not forgotten her earbuds.

The night of freaks and geeks and ghouls, and she couldn't bring herself to enjoy it. She sighed as she pretended to have something better to do on her phone. Her mom had left their stand to help with someone else's things while her dad went to the bathroom.

Logan wanted to go home, wait for next Halloween, and hope that she'll be better for—

A hard thump above her left, and she jumped out of her foldable chair. Laying down on the table was a large sack and a rabbit's face with red Japanese-looking markings starting at her. Behind the rabbit were two feet propped up, and one fingerless glove kept the rabbit's face upright.

"If I call you Alice, will you follow me down the rabbit hole?" said the rabbit in a high, animated voice that creaked a bit— like a high-pitched, wooing wind that made doors squeak.

Logan stood there for a second before her posture relaxed into a combination of exasperation and attitude.

"Woah," she said, "You really went there."

"I'm not hearing a no," the bunny said, tilting his head so that she could see his sharp smile beneath the mask.

Logan rolled her eyes, "You're not hearing a yes, either."

"So, were you forced to come out here?" he said as she sat down to text no one.

"Why do you care?" She asked, not unkindly but not agreeably.

The White Rabbit pushed his sack, "Today's special to me, and I'd hate to see a pretty girl like you not reciting The Raven before I'm tucked in bed."

Logan paused from her brooding and stared for a few seconds, "There is…so much I could say, but I'm going to ignore it." She remained silent for another second, "You mean by Poe, right?"

"Naturally." The White Rabbit applauded, "Unless you have a better Poe poem?"

Oh, right. There are more poems. "I'm only getting started on it,"

"Oh, I get it; you're trying new things." He nodded, "Well, for the record, I only know about Poe through the movie."

"There's a movie?"

"Yeah, wanna hear about it?" The White Rabbit asked, now sitting criss-cross.

Logan sighed, "To be honest, I want my space."

"That's fair, but I gotta say something." He paused, "What's got you down?"

Logan bristled a bit, "Who says I'm down?"

"I said you're down, you said I'm down."

"Oh, so you're down."

"I said I'm down?"

"No, you said I'm down!"

"You are?"

"Yes!" Logan blinked, "Wait—"

The White Rabbit watched as the girl gave him the stink-eye. Then, he lifted his rabbit mask.

His grey eyes stared into her brown orb as irritation faded from her one-eyed glare. She lifted the hair so both eyes would take in his sharp cheekbones, rounded lips, and almond-shaped eyes. Strangely, his face looked like it was missing a long mustache and little devil horns and black hair instead of dark blonde, but he was cute.

He held out a hand, "Jagger."

She took it as he pulled her up, "Logan."

"So, wanna keep talking about Poe?" He asked as she sat with him on the vendor's counter.

She smirked, "I'd rather talk about us."

The White Rabbit, Jagger, laughed, "Charismatic!"

They slid off the surface and strolled together into the crowd, the great sack with the silver case safely hidden from prying eyes.

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"Don't worry, sir!" said the young officer holding the leash of his German Shepard, "We'll find that kid and get your stuff back."

Old Tom found the naive-looking cop's reassurances having no effect. His new cell kept trilling in his ear, the line still not reaching. All his new companions waited patiently as the dog sniffed the alleyway where the thief might have been.

Old Tom cursed as an answering machine greeted him for the fifth time.

"Come on, you little twit! Where are you?"

"I'm right behind you, kalay kaloo."

Old Tom jumped as a figure walked forward from the shadows. The dog growled at the intruder before the cop held her back. The figure in green clothes and a top hat sauntered to Old Tom, the older man growling.

"Geez, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Old Tom griped.

"If that's the case, it's time to pack." said the soft voice of an introvert-turned-poet, "For tonight, you failed the job I gave. Perhaps it's time to dig your grave."

"Don't give me that, Tetch." Grumbled the older man, trying to push his unease away and change the subject, he asked, "When'd you get to Jump City?"

"Get to? I was always here!" smiled the Mad Hatter, "Your stupidity threatens to bring a tear."

"I'm not stupid; I was just drunk." Old Tom defended.

"And because of that, you've put us at significant risk." Mad Hatter's face scowled, "For you drink away as the Batman draws near, tisk, tisk, tisk…"

Old Tom pretended to be shocked, "The Batman? Here in Jump?!"

"That's why I'm here, the plan has changed." His scowl deepened, "Now, let's not meander, or she'll have your body parts rearranged."

Old Tom blinked, "She?"

A sharp, cold tip pressed against his neck, causing Tom to widen his eyes and halt his breath.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"And don't think about sticking your puppets on me, Sawyer." said a woman, her voice as cool as the tip of her blade, "I'm not really in a good mood, seeing as my imagination is running wild."

The Mad Hatter approached a petrified Tom, "You weren't planning on running off, throwing out nine days of planning and acting for your own selfish ends."

The woman purred, and the blade drilled lightly, "See, that's where my imagination's taking me: you couldn't have been doing that. You were just taking a short break that just happened to be miles away from our endgame."

Old Tom's breathing steadied, somehow a tremendous task with these people. He felt what he now thought was a Japanese sai tip slowly sliding to the base of his throat as the woman's voice continued to drip in poison.

"Yeah," Old Tom said at last, "that's exactly what I did."

"Good." said the villains at once.

"I know you could listen to someone else once in a while." He could hear the smirk under her mask. Old Tom's withering glare no doubt looked like sulking to their eyes.

"Old Tom is certainly not a man with guile." said the Mad Hatter, chuckling, "And our minds are too much for you to control."

The woman said, "Can we stop the rhymes now?"

"Oh, how droll!" laughed the Mad Hatter.

Old Tom was pulled to meet the green-wearing, Japanese mask in red markings and wild black-haired woman who shoved a finger into his chest. The hugely drawn smile at the bottom now resembled the tone of her voice and her namesake.

"The operation is now taking place in Huntington Park, under Carionne Bridge. You do know where that is, right?" Cheshire tilted her head, "Can I trust you to walk in a straight line?"

Old Tom bit the inside of his cheek and nodded.

"Good." She paused midstep, "And exactly who did steal your earnings?" she tilted her head, "After all, it would be a shame if I had to notify your benefactor of your clumsiness. And losing that essential piece of our puzzle doesn't do you any favors."

Old Tom breathed, not believing his following words:

"A kid in a white rabbit mask."

A dumbfounded silence followed. Even Mad Hatter didn't know what to say for a solid nine seconds before he laughed, and Cheshire indulged in a scoff.

"What are the odds?" She asked, then placed her hands on her hips, "Well, listen: if you can't catch this rabbit, you may need more than these," she gestured to his victims, now standing blank like mannequins, "people."

Old Tom made to say something to this brat, but she began taking deliberate steps to his face.

"Because let's just say that the case itself," she lowered her voice, "wasn't cheap. So, you better accept all the help you can get."

"What's that mean?" Old Tom asked, genuinely confused.

Cheshire stared for a moment and clicked her teeth.

"Oh, you must be going senile, Sawyer, if you've blotted out the most crucial part of the operation from your mind." She took out a device, "As I said, it wasn't cheap, and now it's the one thing that'll decide your fate." and shoved it hard in his chest, "So, I suggest you find it soon."

Old Tom gulped down his pride in fear. Two sets of footsteps later, and Old Tom saw from the alleyway a set of twins. Blonde-haired, physically fit, and wearing eager expressions. The boy had one line shaved across his temple; the girl had two. He hated looking at their white clothes, the boys torn off off-sleeves, the girl's unreasonable amount of makeup, and generally, the fact that he could already tell that they were super-powered.

"I'd say," said the boy with a heavy Southern accent, "we have experience huntin' rabbits."

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Logan was a cute girl.

After bobbing his head for an apple, he felt her hand on the back of his head. There was no force behind it, but Jagger pretended to flail about for air and even threw some water at her clothes.

She responded by throwing some back. Jagger pretended that the water didn't bother him. He simply laughed and handed his prize to her.

He listened to her most recent bit of disappointment in life and even managed to get tears out of her.

He dried them away with a finger and told her that just for this night, while they were together, there would only be what he wanted. And what he wanted was a wild dance with her.

"Why is what you want so important?" she had asked.

"It's my Once-a-Year day!" he told her, offering her an earbud. She warily took it and inspected it for wax; he took slight offense, and then they danced together to the wild noises of a David Bowie and Mick Jagger duet. He led her to the crowd, warily shifting her eyes from him to them.

"This is the perfect night to be a goof and raise roofs." He said in a sing-song voice. He smirked, "Do what makes you like me."

The earbuds' length meant they had to stay close to one another. So, they hopped around and shook their hips; Jagger flailed his arms and made a move from Thriller, careful not to dislodge a bud; Logan twiddled her fingers and, surprising even herself for such boldness, threw off her jacket and swung her tail in a taunt. She would have hidden her face in embarrassment(what's wrong with me?) before Jagger pulled her by the hand, bringing them together.

Her jacket fell, and her long, green sleeves clung to his shoulders as his arm snaked to her back. She threw her hair out of her eye and stared at him with hundreds of silent questions. She wondered if he was also clueless but was good at hiding it.

Or maybe you've got me pegged.

She sighed, stopped dancing, and laid her head on his shoulder. She felt her heartbeat running a mile a minute and a welling in her eyes.

"I don't know you," she whispered, "Why am I doing this?"

"You do know me," He patted her head, "Everybody knows me. Because it's my night."

She hummed, "Is that like some fancy way of saying it's your birthday?"

He said nothing at first, then chuckled, "This night is the one night where everyone can be like me. Where no one is afraid to be someone else, howl like a wolf, and pretend to be dead." He shifted, "Every other day, it's standards and disapproving looks and stiffs. But tonight, I never feel alone. And neither should you."

She laughed lightly, "So you're like the spirit of Halloween?"

"I like to think I am." His soft, creaking voice was almost whimsical, devoid of any sarcasm. He believed what he said.

"Modest," she chuckled. Because that's what he wasn't.

"Word association now?" He pulled her head up to his smirking face, "Pretty."

"I'm not talking about you." She said softly, touch he wasn't deformed, she silently admitted. But how can you keep satisfaction away from him?

"I'm talking about you," He whispered and pressed his lips on hers. She held them for a second before she opened her mouth again and pushed further. She felt her leg curling up as his arms lifted her from the ground. She tilted her head and he did the same, creating a dizzying, splendid sensation in her mind and she felt like her heart was jumping around her entire body.

Their faces separated, both beat red. She breathed a laugh, which he shared with her. Jagger lifted her back up and spun the shrieking girl around and around.

She stepped back, "That was…" and laughed, "Oh, boy."

Jagger put his left hand on his right cheek.

"Yeah, wild." He said.

Something clicked in Logan's mind, and as the earbud fell from her ear, she picked up her jacket. She shivered at the touch, hung her head, and took a breath.

"Look," she said, "thanks for…all of that, but I think we're taking things too fast." She tried to read his face; he looked curious, "I mean, it's not that I don't find you cute, but— I mean—"

Jagger held a hand, "No, I get it. I wanna start again."

She blinked, "Really?"

"Logan," He said her name, "I… I was rushing. I'm sorry. It's just— this night goes by so quickly." He turned away, "I get that if you don't want to see me now, but from what I can tell, you seem like the kinda girl I'd want to hang with."

Logan blushed as he turned to face her. He held out his hands in a sort of surrender. She paused to think: could she do it? So soon? If there was anything that pushed him away from her, she didn't know if she could handle the rejection. But then, Jagger didn't seem like a 'rejecting' kind of guy. But then again, maybe that was another trap.

Who knows what made this guy tick? Where did his standards lie? And what would happen in the future when she decided she might dye her hair back and change her hobbies?

"I…" She started, "I need to think."

Logan looked up and saw that Jagger wasn't looking at her. For a brief second, his eyes and mouth were wide with alarm before he blinked and looked at her with an expression of don't-let-her-know-what-I-know.

She narrowed her eyes and spun to catch whatever caught his eye. So far, all she could see were a bunch of kids wearing Robin costumes a few feet away from them.

She looked at him, "You okay?"

He smiled, "Yeah, just— you say you wanna think about it. I say take your time." He said reluctantly, "I'm gonna— I need to catch up with an old friend."

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Birds have something over rabbits, and that's the distance between the earth and the sky.

That was something Jagger had said to his friend. He had built it up as a joke, but it ended up sounding philosophical, and Jagger passed it off as such.

Jagger remembers all of the friends and enemies he made on his trip across the world. But are you a friend or an enemy?

Big Robins and little Robins were mingling about taking pictures, comparing candy, and debating which hero would win in a fight. But Jagger learned it's always the little bird you have to look out for.

Especially the one lodged next to the warning bells of his head that looked less like a cheap costume and more like an efficient suit designed by the Batman. And then there was one such Robin, sitting on a haystack next to a stand, casually not drawing attention to himself and his neatly combed hair.

Jagger sat next to that one— the real Robin.

Slumping his shoulders on the haystack, Jagger waited patiently to see who would speak first. His foot tapped lightly on the ground, and he cracked his fingers as they watched all the costumed kids disperse into the crowd.

"Happy Birthday."

Jagger smiled, "Thanks, man."

"Now, where'd you put the case?"

Jagger sighed, "Nothing else?"

Robin looked at him, "You should at least keep your mask on."

"Why?"

Jagger knew what Robin wanted to say but couldn't bring himself to say it. So, he spared the younger boy of the issue and asked him an important question.

"What's got you in Jump? Business or the sights?"

Robin chuckled, "I guess this is the part where I give you the silent treatment, too."

Jagger eyed him, "Or you can pretend I'm dumb and explain."

"Oh, I have to pretend to do that!"

They laughed together, at the other's expense, and bumped fists. They fell into a companionable silence for a few seconds until Robin stared uncomfortably.

"You know, I was kinda hoping you'd just tell me where the case was."

Jagger smirked, "Safe from prying eyes."

Robin snorted, "Eyes don't pry. But hands do." He gave a pointed look, "And there are worse hands to pry."

Jagger gave Robin a look, then sighed, "I take it Batman's in Jump."

"We're looking for the Mad Hatter," Robin said, "He's involved in a nano-technology scheme."

"Nano-technology?" Jagger asked, "That's different."

"Yeah, and there are reports of a big, ash monster chasing an old man in Kensington."

Now, Robin was giving him that see-where-I'm-going-with-this look, but Jagger snorted.

"I'm not denying anything." Jagger raised a brow, "I'm not talking, also."

Robin's face adopted an edge, "Back to your ten-word minimum. You know, I could have just grappled you onto a building and contacted Batman?"

Jagger raised a brow, "I know. What were you thinking?"

"Jagger!" Robin gripped his shoulder, "This is serious."

Jagger rolled his eyes, "I'll drop it off with the police. Happy?"

"No."

Jagger blinked and looked at Robin's hard stare. What's so special about this cash?

"Jagger, it's possible whatever is in that case might be essential to whatever they're planning."

Jagger chuckled, "Money is the route of all evil today."

"Wait, you opened it?" Robin asked, looking alarmed and confused at once.

Jagger nodded, "Yeah, it's just a line of cash."

Robin shook his head, "But— no! That doesn't—"

The sound of a dog barking broke their conversation. A German Shepherd came racing towards them, baring teeth at them in a leap.

The boys separated and flipped away from the canine.

"Catch the rabbit, lose the rabbit!" said Jagger as he landed on top of a statue, his rabbit mask covering his countenance.

"There he is!" yelled a voice of garbage and phlegms. Jagger turned and saw two officers, five average Joes, and the old man from earlier.

"Get that kid and my money!" He yelled, and his motley crew grabbed their bats, pipes, and chains, all lifted over their heads and shouting.

Jagger tilted his head and would have mocked him had his arms not pulled him away from the top of Jason Vorhees' head. People clamored and screamed of terror and confusion, but Jagger could do nothing as the sight became more distant, and he realized that what grasped each arm were two strong hands that launched him onto the top of a six-story building.

Jagger's body bumped and trounced, and he flew one more time before his back hit a brick wall. His frame slipped off, a few bricks falling with him, and Jagger groaned and held his head. His hands automatically went to his chest, and Jagger would have sighed in relief for not losing his player, but suddenly, his neck was hauled by a steel grip.

Jagger grits his teeth at the crushing sensation and, through narrow eyes, sees his attacker.

"Well, howdy, Jagger," said a male, southern dripping in sarcasm and zeal.

"It has been such a long time!" said his sour-pretending-to-be-sweet sister.

Jagger would recognize those identical, square-jawed blondes anywhere. He'd been dreading those faces for a while, looking over his shoulder for them. But because he didn't know better, he said something he shouldn't have.

"Do I know you?" Jagger rasped.

The twins blinked, and the girl laughed derisively— unstably.

"I guess you really wouldn't remember," She walked up, and Jagger winced at the hard tug on his hair, "after you humiliated Tommy and me and cut our hair!"

Tommy's grip shifted, "And if that wasn't enough, Tup and me was the laughing stock for weeks on end!"

----------------------------------------

"Police found the suspects all with," He snickered, "with their, their," he guffawed, "their heads shaved off and at-attached and knitted onto their faces...like long mustaches..."

At this point, the newscaster lost all composure. His mouth was wide, his hand slamming onto the table, and his face absolutely red.

"I-I-I know that's wr-ong, but…" He continued to giggle, "He gave them super long m-mustaches!"

Jagger smiled brightly at his handiwork.

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"Oh, yeah!" Jagger wheezed, "I remember now! I didn't recognize you over the overwhelming strength you suddenly have." Jagger tried pinching Tommy's arm feebly, "Speaking of which, what gives?"

Tuppence, or Tup, chuckled, "Just a very generous parting gift from some people you've done pissed, Bunny boy."

Tommy let go of Jagger, and before Jagger could take in greedy gulps of air, he used that air to scream as Tuppence yanked his hair and threw him to the edge of the building. Jagger rolled against the concrete, head throbbing and stinging from the horrible tugging of these terror twins.

That's a good name, thought Jagger beneath the constant, ow, my hair! Oh, my hair! My hair!

Jagger looked up to see the two walking away from the side of the building connecting to the one they were standing on. Two identical smirks were present as they saw no need to rush their moment.

"But you see," Tommy continued, "they only said they might could'a give us powers, s'long as we make this moment last." He scoffed, "Lord help you for what we're gonna do to you."

Jagger pushed himself up, spit out some blood, and reached over his back. The rabbit mask slipped over his face smoothly, and he pushed a hidden button that reconfigured it into what he affectionately calls 'battle mode.'

The once broad face, kiddish and mystical, was now narrower to fit his face and hardest, resembling a real rabbit. The ears, once rounded and casually crooked, had shifted into a streaked back, alert position. Two sticks popped out from the sides of the ears and fell into Jagger's hands.

The White Rabbit cracked his neck, shifted the sticks in his hands, and put one foot back, one forward, held out one hand, and held back the other.

"Usagi, Usagi," the White Rabbit sang quickly and flipped his sticks in a come-here motion, perfectly synced to his tune, "Nani mite haneru, juugoya o-tsuki-sama, mite haneru."

The twins scoffed at the taunt, not understanding the words. The twins had been working on their teamwork for something like this and finally put it to good use. Tommy was the first to rush the boy, pulled back a fist, and found himself tripping over something.

Tuppence watched as the rabbit leaped over her brother and rushed in to help. A loud pop rewarded her, and a blast of ashes covered her face. Tuppence coughed and tried to shoo the ashes away, but something went pop and brought her down to one knee, smacked her face, and then felt a great wave propel her screaming into somebody else.

She heard a grunt, which sounded like her brother, and felt her and Tommy fall off the building. The ground cracked underneath them, and both tons shook their heads, Tuppence coughing profusely as she wiped the ashes from her face.

"Well, that there's new," Tommy remarked before the twins nodded and launched themselves back up, ready to give chase.

To their surprise, there was no need. Jagger waited patiently, sitting on top of the bulkhead, its brick wall coming to pieces. The twins landed, and Jagger's stick popped into an iron fan. He sat with one leg crossed over as he fanned himself most casually.

"Shoot, bunny boy, you a ninja now?" Tommy asked.

"Something like that." Jagger flipped over in front of the bulkhead's crumbling wall, "Look on the bright side, plim and plum."

The twins scowled at the jab yet waited patiently as he heated a brick in his right hand.

"Yeah?" Tuppence said when he didn't continue.

Jagger turned, surprised, then shook his head, "Oh, I don't know, but when you find it, look at it."

The twins rushed him again. Jagger jumped up and lobbed two bricks.

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Old Tom did not have time for bats, birds, or bunnies. So, as the valuable pawns tried plucking the feathers off the bird, and the bird tried not to hurt them in turn, he went over for his case.

But first, "You! You! And you! And all of you!"

Old Tom's bark reached the ears of at least ten random strangers; their panicked faces morphed into hypnotized curiosity.

"Get him!"

Charging towards Robin in droves, Old Tom chuckled and slipped away through the crowd.

He took out a tracking device supplied to him by Cheshire so he could search for the case. He couldn't figure out what the hell was so special about a damn case, no matter how expensive it was!

But whatever! Villains these days have changed. Back then, it was so simple to tell a bank teller to hand him all his money and not set off the alarm. In those days, Tom could get heroes and villains to do things for him with no problem. And if they somehow broke through the control, he had enough scraps to get him through and run away.

Now, more and more people are resisting, and technology is changing. Tom couldn't move at the same speed that he could, and worse, people with more powerful gimmicks were popping out like gophers— and hunting the best jobs like wolves.

Old Tom tried not to think too hard about that, though. Instead, he used the circular device in his hand and followed the beeping blue dot, leading him to a small vendor stand.

Old Tom maneuvered his way behind it, stepped over the tall helium tank lying on the ground, and looked down to see a little girl with red hair.

"Outta my way!"

"What the hell? Stay away!"

"Gimme that!" Old Tom caught the girl in a death grip, a reminder that he once had the strength to punch a man unconscious or hold onto something like his life or livelihood depended on it.

"Help! Someone!" the red-haired girl squirmed and tried hitting him.

"Hey, man!" shouted a new voice, "Get your hands off that girl!"

Old Tom's green eyes landed on a tall man in a grey hoodie coming his way with an aggressive stride.

The girl got her hand loose and punched Old Tom. The old man grunted and slugged her out of reflex, knocking her out.

The figure's stance became hunched, and his fists clenched.

"Oh, now you've done it, man!" He said and turned his walk into a run.

Old Tom jumped, "Obey me!"

The figure took his fist and knocked a piece of the roof off. Old Tom stumbled back but jabbed a finger.

"I said obey me!"

The man paused and seemed to jerk his upper body robotically.

Tom sucked in a breath, "Obey me now!"

The man shook his fist, slowly lowering it to his hip. Finally, this interloper dropped his stance and settled into a casual tone.

"Alright, sorry, man." The man said.

Old Tom released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. His heart pounded in his chest, and he clawed at that part of his body as if forcing it to stop.

"Anything I can do for you?" asked the new man.

"What?" Old Tom mumbled something, "Oh, yeah. The case! I got this." He moved toward it, hauling the sack from on top of it, "Why don't you pick up the girl?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"I've got a few reasons!" said another new voice.

Old Tom whirled to see the Boy Wonder darting towards them, breaking into acrobatics, before launching his shuriken things at him.

Old Tom pushed himself out of the shuriken's path; they punctured the wooden space he was in.

Robin jumped over the space between the table and the roof, launched his grapple at the case's handle, and as Robin caught it, he threw it over the other side and leaped again.

"Get him!" growled Old Tom. The man in the hoodie turned at the boy, who landed in a roll and bulled his way toward him, uncaring of the vendor stand's pillar he demolished.

Robin, in such a rush from trying to detain Old Tom's unwitting victims carefully and desperate to know and find out what was happening, hadn't observed the destroyed roof or what caused it. So, when he heard the sound of wood and aluminum getting trashed, he hadn't thought that Old Tom's newest victim would be much of an issue.

Robin turned and gasped as the newcomer barreled towards him.

----------------------------------------

The plan was to overwhelm Jagger. That was Tommy and Tuppence's chosen tactic: take all his fancy fighting moves and slam them like a wrecking ball.

"C'mon now, Pilm and Plum! You can do better than that!"

"Why do ya keep calling us that?" Tommy snapped as Jagger weaved through a punch and slid beneath him to deliver a kick to his head.

"It's one of those things that sounds right, you know?" Jagger chuckled, "Like say, 'Why you no-good, bushwackin', son of a kangaroo! You plim plum done gone did them, there, and it now and pushed the bull too far, son!"

Tommy regrouped with his sister, her face covered in ash, to share an equally bewildered and bedraggled face of incredulity.

"Wh— you— that there sounds nothin' like us!" Tuppence shrieked, eyes wide and ponytail undone with hairs popping out.

Jagger shook his head, "All I'm learning about you two is that you don't watch enough Looney Tunes."

Instead of answering, the Terror Twins charged him.

"Just you wait, you lil' twit!" Tommy said, pulling his fist back, "One day, Tup and me are going toe to toe with Superman!"

Jagger fanned himself, the ashes from his satchel sprinkling around him. He spun around to shift the ashes toward his feet and rushed them. Tommy threw his fist forward while Tuppence launched a kick, but Jagger closed his fans and flipped toward them. He spun horizontally as the ashes under his feet grew at the heel, and they connected with Tommy's forearm.

Jagger knocked the brother's arm away, but his fist didn't close. Resulting in Tuppence getting a thunderous pounding into her gut, sending her flying off the building, a great cloud of ash accelerating her flight.

"Sister Tup!" Tommy's eyes narrowed, his rage breaking. He was ready to pluck the ears off that rabbit, snarling and bellowing to show him how he done messed up!

But Jagger was gone.

Tommy's eyes widened, spinning his gaze around in a hectic desire to find him, only to vent a yell when he couldn't find him.

He raced off the building to help his sister up. When his impact broke the cement, he found her in a crater, busily wiping the ashes off her face, which reminded him to do the same to his arms and forehead.

"You alright?" He held out a hand.

Tuppence took it, "Nothin' but my dignity." and slammed her fist into Tommy, earning a loud grunt, "And my belly."

Tommy coughed out, clenching his stomach, "I'm sorry! C'mon, Tup! You know I didn't mean to!"

Tuppence was about to speak when a loud whistling resounded across the sky. A thin, white light streaked the night's mass, maybe from a building six or seven miles away from them, then exploded in a brilliant light that transformed into a pale face with green hair and a giant, red smile.

The stomachs of the twins sank, but they remembered their role and nodded to each other.

"That up there is our cue," said Brother Tom.

"I'm inclined to agree," said Sister Tuppence, "but just so you know, I'm not looking forward to this next part."

The Terror Twins leaped into the air and bounded from building to building, careful not to draw too much attention. To the trained eyes of one, however, they failed to deflect.

The pale moonlight created shadows on top of buildings and behind them and next to them and on their edges, and on one such edge, the brooding eyes of a predator had seen them escape. He had seen the super-powered duo leave and had seen fit to throw a tracker on the brother before they got too far.

The man in the shadows also saw a white rabbit emerge from a window on the very building they had fought. The man watched as the White Rabbit jumped from the window, landed on his feet, and rushed through alleys back to that festival.

The man in the shadows stood on his feet, deliberately imposing his will on the unwitting suspect. He knows he should be chasing the twins, but instead, he glides in the air, his grand cloak now wings as a bat stalks a rabbit.

He was a bat. And he was also very disappointed.

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Thankfully, the disaster had yet to reach the ears of a Dairy Queen. And Jagger had more than enough money to buy a cake and three large cups of ice cream. And some fries, because why not?

The taxi driver had raised an eyebrow at the large bag and various sweets crowding his backseat but otherwise said nothing to a hefty pile of twenty's. The driver took Jagger as far as he wanted, down an old warehouse fated to be demolished in four days. It was close to 10 o'clock, so he still had some time before returning to the land of the living.

The White Rabbit kicked the door in and winced at the sound of his hinges breaking. Then, he realized battle mode was still on and threw his back to press a button and let the mask shift back into its casual self and threw it away to the far side of what he called his bed. It was five sets of covers stacked on top of each other, but it was comfortable.

Jagger breathed in, taking in this night's events, and stretched his whole body, letting every joint realign itself. The boy winced at the scratch on his shoulder and his sore back and his pounding head and that's when Jagger began to lament his special night. He still had at least two hours left to be himself.

"Well," Jagger shrugged, then grunted, "at least that girl was cute. I should visit her at some point."

Jagger kneeled on the creaky floorboards, opened up his prize, and made preparations. Jagger's little cake was ready. Now, he took the lighters he stole and lit all 16 candles. Delicately, in both hands, he felt satisfaction from the two tiny flames in both hands, in some ways feeling like a mad scientist.

He tossed them away and rubbed his hands. Some part of him hesitated. He couldn't understand why, so he shook his head.

He opened his mouth but closed it. Now, he was hesitating again. Either something was very amiss, or Jagger was feeling wrong about something. Those feelings were easy to mix up these days, but Jagger couldn't be bothered. He was tired, and his time among the freaks and spirits was almost up.

He cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

"This is my," he sang softly, "Once-a-Year Day. Once-a-Year Day, felt the evening moon and knew that this," he breathed, "is my Once-a-Year Day. Once-a-Year Day, that makes me entitled to be wild, be a child, be a goof, raise the roof," and held the last notes, "Once-a-Year!"

He blew out the candles. Nobody was here to cheer, so he clapped his hands to fill the gaps. He made sure to do it fast and loud, resembling a crowd's pleasure. He thought he was doing a good job, making it sound like more than one person was here with him.

Come to think of it, he was doing too good a job. That's when he heard it: someone else was clapping!

Jumping across the room, he retrieved his usagi mask and took out the tessen fans from the ears. When he saw the tall figure obscured in shadows, he didn't know if he should relax or jump out the window.

For reasons he definitely didn't understand, he said:

"Oh, hey."

"Happy Birthday." said the deep voice of the Batman. Jagger stood straighter, cautiously observing the black and grey figure in the doorway. His cape draped over his body, giving him a domineering appearance over the shadows and towering over Jagger. The sliver of light from the window did no favors: Jagger imagined there was no way for the Bat to appear casual.

Even so, he smiled at his words.

"Thanks, just in—"

"Do you know what that case contained?"

Jagger wilted, "Straight to the point, you're more brutal than Robin, as usual."

Batman ignored him, "It contained a chip. Stolen from S.T.A.R. Labs, carefully embedded into the case's body."

Jagger pursed his lips, "Well, it's good that I was giving it to the police."

Batman's head moved barely a fraction, so minutely, it could have been missed with a blink. And Jagger knew his detective's eyes noted his loot.

"So I see." Batman said, "Didn't we discuss this?"

That wasn't really a question. "I was going to give their wallets back tomorrow!"

"And their cash."

Jagger threw his hands up, "As much as camping out with bears sounds fun, I can't buy food without making a big scene." Jagger scoffed, kicking his foot, "They put anything in their mouths."

Batman only glared.

"If you had called at least one of us, you wouldn't be in this situation. Unless you want to be arrested for theft and destruction of property." his voice hit a note that pushed Jagger back a few feet, "And child endangerment."

Jagger's face twitched, "Okay, I'll give them their stuff back! And what do you mean by 'child endangerment' Bats? I didn't even hurt Robin!"

"Not Robin." Batman only took two steps, "The red-haired girl you were dancing with."

"Logan?!" Jagger had realized he'd backed into the wall before stepping forward, "Wait, what happened?"

"She's been kidnapped by Old Tom Sawyer. Robin's been taken as well." Batman slouched down, closing in on the boy's alarmed face, his intense voice ramping up, "It's not only our history that's keeping me restrained. It's also the fact that I know that this," He pointed to his loot and cake, making Jagger flinch, " is beneath you. If you're not a malicious criminal who delights in chaos and destruction, you'll follow me and clean up your mess."

Jagger dropped his usagi mask. He looked down at it, and the rabbit looked back at him. Two vacant slots where his eyes would be stared up at him, the rabbit itself seemingly smirking. Jagger wanted to look at his haul and his hands and his cake but couldn't. Instead, he met the Batman's glare with a fierce look, nothing at all like the conflicting emotions whirling in his being.

Jagger wanted to wither away on his bed, sleep the rest of tomorrow, and pretend that yesterday would never catch him.

But instead, he said to Batman:

"Everybody catches the White Rabbit at some point." Jagger reached down and grabbed his mask, "But they all forget," and slipped it on, "rabbits have claws."