Within an empty church situated just inside the downtown area, a woman sat in one of the pews, eyes forward towards the altar and the various iconography lining the place. Her hands were locked together and placed in her lap; if she had been on the kneeler in front of her, it would appear that the woman was deep in prayer. Helena Bertinelli sighed, unlocking her hands, placing her right hand under her chin and her left hand under the right hands elbow. Another quiet night, another boring night. Her life had been full of them since returning to Gotham in the wake of that whole incident two years ago. In so short a time the most she had managed to do was convince her neighbors and fellow church board members that she wasn't like the other Bertinelli family members. Organizing and running a fund raising bake sale or three tends to make even the most skeptical of the devout that your intentions are good. But Helena hadn't come back to Gotham, to her place of birth, to sell brownies and cookies to churchgoers.
A small thump caused Helena to turn her head to the left slightly. Next to her sat a slightly plump man whose light-black hair was stuck in the various processes of falling out. His skin was lightly tanned, his face had lines that showed either his age or incredible stress catching up to him. Around his neck was a white clerical collar showing behind a black full-sleeve clerical shirt. In the man's hands was the daily newspaper which he tossed next to Helena before turning towards her and giving her a stern look.
"Was that you?" the priest asked, pointing out an article.
Helena picked up the paper to look at the article in question.
"No, that's Bruce Wayne," Helena answered, rolling her eyes at the stock photo adorning the front page. The wealthy got to hog the front page headlines just because his company was hosting a party. A man reveals a drinking problem and still he gets to be on the front pages and on the news and come out smelling like a rose.
"Helena..." the priest spoke as if trying to coax a child to admit wrongdoing.
Helena's eyes scanned the title of the article just to the right of the article detailing the Wayne Ball. She gave a slight smirk just from the headline itself.
'SIXTH VICTIM DISCOVERED IN GOTHAM ALLEY'
Helena continued to scan the article, turning the page to finish it. The newspaper seemed to think this was the work of some sort of serial killer. True, the six bodies had all been found in alleyways, but other than that the only similarities the bodies had were that they were dead...and each was a member of some crime family, but that was beside the point. It may have technically counted as serial killing, but Helena didn't see it that way.
"Yes, Father Marco, that was me," Helena nodded, smiling at the news coverage, and placed the paper back onto the pew.
Marco sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. He removed the glasses from his face and lightly rubbed the bridge of his nose. The woman would be the death of him. Marco and Helena had something in common. They were both members of the Bertinelli family, though while Helena can claim a blood relation, Marco was a former member of the crime family, a soldier in the Family who went straight; what was straighter than a Man of God? The realities of the organized crime world was too much to handle for Marco who never quite grew accustomed to seeing dead bodies or handling a gun. When Helena Bertinelli entered his church one Sunday he feared the worst, feared that the Family was looking for him. Maybe that would've been preferable to what Helena really sought.
"Helena, you told me you wanted to clean up the mob," Marco was softly shaking his head. When Helena first asked to use the church attic for a base of operations, he wasn't aware it would be a place to house a murderer. He was rapidly becoming an accessory.
"Which I am doing, Marco. The man was a criminal. He got what he deserved."
"That's not for you to decide. That's why we have the legal system."
"And that's worked so well in Gotham so far, has it, Marco?" Helena fully turned her head to face Marco, her eyebrows raised in defiance and anger.
"Crime was at an all time low. Now there have been six murders this year alone. Last year you told me you sought two men. TWO." Marco held up two fingers to illustrate his point.
"And I got one of them last year. The other is in hiding and one of these mob guys is connected. Eventually one of them will talk. And when they do talk, they'll live. They might have trouble eating or walking again, but they'll live."
"Helena, what happens when you find the one you're looking for? What happens when he's out of the picture and his replacement takes over?" Marco placed his glasses back on, looking towards Helena with worry in his eyes.
"There are a lot of alleys in this city, Marco." Helena stood up and exited the pew, leaving a highly disappointed Marco looking down towards the carpet. "I'm going out tonight. I'll lock up when I get back."
"Try not to make the papers this time."
"What, you think another death could knock the mighty Wayne Enterprises from the headlines? I'd have to start killing cops for that to happen," Helena smirked as she entered a confessional that had a small 'CLOSED' sign hanging in front of it.
"That wasn't funny!" Marco shouted at the confessional before grabbing the newspaper and began shutting off the lights.
On the rooftop of an empty church situated just inside the downtown area, a woman stood perched on top of the cross, gazing out towards the city proper. Huntress had a decent view of the area from her perch, though the skyscrapers dotting the city prevented her from seeing the whole city from here. There were bright lights coming from Wayne Enterprises, the gala was no doubt underway by now. There would be a large police presence there, no doubt, what with Jim Gordon attending. Huntress respected what the police did, or tried to do, but she didn't want to be close to them. She was technically wanted for murder and though she was relatively unknown as a vigilante, it wouldn't be hard to connect the dots from the corpses to her.
Besides, if the cops were at the Ball, the criminals weren't. Unholstering a crossbow, she loaded a bolt and aimed towards the roof of a higher building across the street. Huntress soared through the night sky, landing on the rooftop and continued traversing the skies, heading further downtown. The hunt was on once more.