[English][DC-Batman] Nana - Chapter 14. Warehouse

Alfred bent down, gently placing the girl onto the long couch in the living room.

Her hair fell slightly, like silk brushed by a night breeze, sliding silently down his arm.

He pulled the thin blanket over her, checked her pulse and breathing, then let out a quiet sigh.

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“This sedative... will keep her asleep for at least two days.”

With that, he straightened his back, left a warm yellow lamp on beside her, and returned to the Batcave.

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Nana lay still, like a sleeping doll.

Her eyelashes hung like butterfly wings, her skin pale, unmoving.

The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock.

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But the next second—those closed eyes snapped open.

Her amber irises were streaked with blood, like dawn scorched by wildfire—

still, quiet, but holding something dangerous.

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She rolled silently off the couch and onto the carpet, bracing herself with both hands.

From her throat came a thick, viscous mass.

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It was the sedative—

the very drug meant to flow through her veins and lull her to sleep.

She had forced it out of her body.

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It stained the delicate carpet.

It reddened the corners of her lips.

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She had used that ability.

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She hadn’t spent these years learning nothing.

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She sat up quietly, her eyes now glowing an eerie mix of red and gold.

Rational thought and violent emotion burned together inside them.

Her throat still ached.

She licked her lips and whispered, voice low and hoarse:

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“...I can’t sleep. Not yet.

Jason’s still waiting for me.”

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She climbed over the windowsill like a silent cat.

It was a Wayne window—

there were sensors, alarms—

but she avoided them all.

She knew this mansion the way she knew every old scar on Jason’s body.

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Behind the rose bushes, she knelt and exhaled a misty breath.

Her fingers lightly touched the ground.

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“I need the nearest marker to Todd.”

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A round metal plate dropped into the grass.

Its steel surface bore an arrow and words:

"Pier 4, Warehouse 23."

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Her gaze sharpened instantly.

No hesitation.

She rose.

Nana began to run—

a silent, resolute sprint.

Her black sneakers struck the wet earth,

and the night wind whipped through her long hair like black fire dancing in the dark.

Only after passing the Wayne estate’s detection range did she slow down.

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“I need a quiet motorcycle.”

Her voice was raspy, like a hushed incantation.

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The world seemed to answer at once—

not far ahead, a matte black, whisper-silent, top-of-the-line electric bike appeared,

parked in the shadow under a streetlamp.

There were still some stickers not yet peeled off, and the key was left in the ignition.

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Nana didn’t even glance at it.

Her thought was cold:

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…Unlucky owner. Sorry.

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She swung her leg over, settled in, twisted the throttle.

The sound was barely audible—just a whisper in the wind.

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Gotham was still mad tonight.

But Nana’s world had only one target now—

Jason Todd.

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Her eyes were blades, were fire,

a road toward the abyss that would never look back.

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Nana rode the motorcycle through the chaos of downtown Gotham.

The streets burned like battlefields.

Some vehicles were overturned and smoking.

From alleyways came screams and gunfire.

Red and blue sirens flashed, a storm’s warning lights.

Helicopter beams sliced through the sky like knives trying to cut open the night.

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Nana didn’t look at any of it.

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She didn’t really have opinions about Gotham—

to her, this city was just a name.

She didn’t love it.

She didn’t hate it.

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But Jason guarded this place.

So she guarded it too.

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This was the hell he chose to stand watch over.

Then she would stay in this hell with him—

and help light a torch.

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She swerved past a patrol team, ducked into a side street at a red light.

As she entered the docks, the world grew quieter.

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She had reached Pier 4.

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This was the commercial freight zone.

No people. No lights.

Only moonlight slipped down the edges of metal containers,

casting cold shadows.

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Nana turned off the bike and hid it in the darkness.

She walked slowly—like she didn’t want to disturb something.

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Every step landed on a carefully pre-set path:

avoiding gang patrol routes,

skirting security cameras.

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Her eyes locked on the building growing closer—

Warehouse 23.

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That was where her target was.

“Hahahaha—Sheila, that’s your son!

That’s hilarious! Absolutely hilarious—!”

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The Joker laughed maniacally, his voice so sharp it pierced like glass through the ears.

He kicked the figure on the floor.

The Robin suit was soaked with blood.

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“He’s dead! You see that?! Your son is dead!

And the little Bat couldn’t save him in time!

You lost! You all lost!”

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With every shout, he kicked again, as if trying to shatter the corpse.

The body was twisted into unnatural angles.

Blood spread on the ground like a pool—

as if the whole world had turned red.

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Sheila smoked in silence, standing to the side.

She glanced at him once, then turned away again.

The smoke curled past her lashes,

like a curtain refusing to join the scene.

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