Do not engage with any of Arkham or Blackgate regulars without accompaniment. Do not make yourself known if you don't have to. And never kill, even if that's all your mind is telling you to do.
Don't engage. Don't be known. Don't kill. Three simple rules. One problem. Batgirl was bored out of her mind. Helping people like Bruno was nice, of course it was. It made her feel good. Taking on the armies of misguided crooks in Gotham used to be fun, too, but that quickly got old. Without anything to break up the monotony, she'd lost track of the simple joys of crime fighting. There was no variety, no challenge. Criminals were a...how did it go?
A lot of scaredy cats who were easily spooked. Something like that. She'd have to figure something out Busting gangs and common crooks wasn't doing enough for her. Maybe later she could convince Batman to move the schedule forward...
As Batgirl silently crawled with her predatory stealth, her limbs elongated in shadows, wordlessly stalking her prey, the criminals of Gotham City quickly became afraid of her. After all, she did carry the pedigree of the bat symbol. Especially when she put on her scary mask. Most often, she wore the Domino style mask. The type that the Robins wear: showing her mouth, nose, the expression in her hidden eyes, and her short black hair drifting from underneath her hood. People knew she was human, and could read her face.
(As limited as their understanding would be. Surface level observations, like happy and sad. Not the gospel of the human heart that The Batgirl understands.)
'The Batgirl.' Ugh. My inner voice takes itself way too seriously. Showing part of her face like that was for reassuring people. But when she wanted to scare people, she put on her scary mask. It showed no part of her face. Black canvas, stitched over the mouth like some kind of hideous monster. Eyes completely masked in shadow, as if she were blind, too. In other words: Batgirl thought it was quite spooky. Back in the day she had two big bat ears and a leathery type mask on all the time, but she figured it didn't let her be friendly when she wanted to be. Nightwing had this affable nature about him that she wanted to emulate. She wanted to let common people know that they could trust her. As tempting as it was, Batgirl stopped herself from doing that thing where you sneak away in the middle of a conversation.
You'd think after a certain point Commissioner Gordon would have gotten used to it. I wonder if Batwoman ever did it to her own dad? Does Batman think it's funny? I think it's funny. Where was Batgirl now? People often spotted her out and about. It wasn't an uncommon sight to see the costumed vigilante, armored up and ready to go, just strolling around town. At least for brief moments of time, before she seemingly vanished from view and ended up on the other side of the neighborhood. But if she ever felt like not attracting attention, she would remove the top layers of her armor, stash them somewhere, and go about town as a normal girl. That wasn't the case tonight. Night was the time of Batgirl. Patrolling around town, seeking out danger. Waiting for one of the members of the heroes that had taken her into the fold to reach out to her and ask her to do something.
As the moon loomed overhead, so big and bright it felt like she could reach out and pluck it from the sky, Batgirl stood on a rooftop, fists clenched, eyes closed. Scents and sounds came to her. Honking horns, gas, food, metal. Rain, wet cement. Buzzing neon lights. When she opened them, there was an endless sea of stout brick buildings, highways, and lights. In the distance the forest of steel, concrete, lights and glass that was downtown Gotham erupted forth from the earth. Like waves pounding against pillars of rock, buildings around this central area grew ever higher. Beyond, or somewhere in downtown, the Bat-Signal had briefly shown into the sky. Painting the clouds as a beacon. It looked different from normal. Batman was probably meeting someone. Was it Gordon? Waller? Rogers? Would he mind if she paid him a visit? Or would that be a bad time to try and up her crime-fighting privileges?
To her left the watery sister of the moon watched the world from underneath the waves. In her own dark sky, visible only in the reflection of the water's surface around Gotham, it was much more peaceful. Bridges were rebuilt over it in the seven years since the bigearthquake. Gotham City had almost become a no man's land. Batgirl stared at the waves, thinking about what might lay beneath. What could have slipped underneath there and never returned. When she first arrived in Gotham, it was a much wider, much deeper river. In that rainy season a lifetime ago, the Gotham River had flooded the streets, before receding.
One year ago. Smoke pillars rose from the city. Cassandra Cain, sixteen years old, stood on the gravel covered shore of New Jersey. More than a mile of black, icy water was between her and Gotham. Behind her the ground was uprooted and twisted. Pillars of smoke joined the skyline. Flames danced in windows, the only light available in the darkened city. Chilled winds carried those scents and sounds, though now of panic and blood. Squinting, she saw someone on the opposite beach. A young woman. Isolated from humanity, for she was surrounded by four people who Cassandra could tell had malicious intent. What they wanted from her, she could only guess. To the west, the sun had mostly set, only a single stroke of blue painted the sky and the haze. Grey clouds above gently sprinkled the Gotham River. Ice slushed against the gravel and sand. Cassandra was tired, hungry, and dirty. A homeless, wandering nomad for just under a year. Ratty sneakers clung to her feet, a baggy green t-shirt was tucked into a pair of pants. Over her shoulder a burlap sack full of meager supplies was slung.
5500 feet of freezing water between her and someone who needed help. Someone who had been chased to the lonely edges of a broken city.
It was then that Cassandra made a deal with the universe. Smirking, the girl kicked off her shoes. There were no socks underneath, just the calloused soles of her feet.
Here. A deal. Let's settle this. Thud. Burlap against rock. Next, she pulled her t-shirt over her head. Under it was a black tank bra, and uncountable scars.
I'm going to swim for it. I'm going to go help that person that needs it.
(Don't. No point.)
Shut up. She unbuttoned her jeans, pulled them down, and kicked them off into the dirt. A pair of briefs, and on her legs a latticework of regularly spaced bullet wounds. Right around the arteries.
If I make it, I'll save him. If I drown, then consider my scores settled. I'll just wash up somewhere, pale and bloated.
If I help im, I'll help someone else. And so on. Until my luck runs out. My work won't be finished until I am finished. Deal? A cold wind howls.
Deal. Cassandra took a running start and dove into the Gotham River hands first. Immediately she was drenched in freezing cold water. The powerful heart within her chest tensed up in surprise. Muscles twitched from the shock. But she pounded forward anyway. Arms wheeling through water, she surfaced and shifted her head from side to side to take in breaths. Swimming wasn't her speciality, but when your body has been modified with techniques, training, and rituals, one can reach times that make olympians blush.
All you gotta do is trade your life for it. Dedicate yourself to being the perfect weapon, and you can swim real fast. It's definitely worth it. Cassandra thought to herself.
She wouldn't be able to focus on this glib monologue for long. All of her focus had to be on treading through this icy abyss beneath her. Lest she slip underneath calm river waves. Freezing fingers seemed to wrap around her arms, legs, and shoulders, dragging her back and under. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Was the person even still in trouble? Or had the danger passed, one way or the other? She didn't know anymore, and didn't particularly care either.
Four. Five. Six. Over halfway across. No one should be able to swim this fast. Mechanically, rhythmically, the human projectile pushed and pulled her way across the surface of the water.
On the shore, a man had found herself inside a broken down car, unable to outrun his pursuers. Tears down his face, the man desperately clung to a paper bag with only a few cans of beans in them.
"Thief!" A woman in heavy black clothing shouted, making another go for the window. All of the doors were locked, leaving only the windows to enter. But as she did, the frightened men inside lashed out with a knife. The henchwoman swore and backed up. Her face was mostly hidden behind a face mask, her red hair was covered by a beanie with the symbol of a predatory looking penguin skull on the brim. She glanced around at her fellows, the rest of whom were men, wearing similar outfits. One of the men slammed a metal pipe against the car, earning a frightened shriek from the man on the inside.
"How are we getting in there, boys?" The woman asked, clearly frustrated.
"I dunno." The guy with the pipe replied. "I know I don't wanna get stabbed."
"One of us is gonna have to take one for the team." An unarmed bald man said. The fourth one was kicking at cans and rocks, not really paying much attention.
"When I get my hands on him..." The female thug walked over to the window. "Nobody steals from Cobblepot! Gimme those cans!" Jasper kicked at her. He knew she was going to be on the receiving end of a beating. A hard and brutal beating. One hhe might not walk away from afterwards, in this cold, with so little energy. This man's name was Jasper, and he had nowhere else to go. A criminal before the flood, and a criminal now, though he broke different laws of different orders.
"Alright. Anyone got any bricks to throw?" The man with the pipe asked. He went over to the window and began poking at Jasper with the pipe, more like blunt stabs, to bruise and break. Jasper, like a cornered animal, couldn't back up too far lest the other woman grab him from behind. The unarmed man began searching for bricks and heavy stones.
"Yeah, we've got him now." He said casually, kneeling down to heft a stone in his hands. As he looked up, he blinked in surprise. From the nearby shore, about a hundred feet away, a ghostly figure had emerged from the Gotham River. Shivering, exhaling moisture from her open mouth, a drenched teenage girl in her underwear had crawled her way from the heavy waters.
"What the fuck?" The bald man said, rising to his feet. The other two were two busy harassing their prey, and the fourth member was still kicking absent mindedly at the ground.
"Better run, before we kill you two." Her black hair hung over her eyes, but he could feel her staring right through him. The girl, shaking, holding her arms, began making her way closer with staggering steps. "Are you listening to me, you little shit?" The bald man backed up, a curious creeping feeling crawling up his spine.
"Jones." He indicated the fourth, distracted member. "Take care of her." Jones perked up, looked between his boss and the newcomer, and nodded. With that he strolled the remaining 80 or so feet to get to the girl. As Jones approached, he began to make out details about the girl he couldn't before. A tapestry of scares wove itself along her densely muscled form. Haggard, surgical, wide or narrow. Long or circular. This girl stared straight ahead at the car.
As he reached out to grab her roughly, she slipped right through his grasp by turning slightly. "Come on, kid. You're not supposed to be here." As he went to grab her again, he found his leg swept out from under him. Stumbling forward and to the side , he landed on his hands and knees in the soaking wet gravel, scraping his hands.
Baldie turned around from his prepared stones through into the yet unbroken window the car Jasper was hiding in. "The fuck's the problem?"
Jones, face turning red from embarrassment, stood to his feet and wiped his hands on his pants. "All right. I mean it." He went to wrap his arms around her entirely from behind this time. Once again his efforts were frustrated. It wasn't even like she was doing anything. He couldn't notice the movements she was making. It was like someone placed an invisible barrier against his knee and pulled her aside. Suddenly he fell over again. The girl kept walking, making her way to the car.
"What are you doing, dumbass?!" The bald man shouted. This got the attention of the first henchwoman and her accomplice, who glanced up from trying to ensare their trapped victim. Now Jones clambered to his feet, not wanting to underestimate this girl again. Spurred on by his superior, he moved in for the attack.
"I tried to warn you!" Winding up his powerful punch, he prepared to knock the kids head off if he had too, and drag her away.
His fist caught nothing but empty air and he was on the ground, a knee against his chest. From beneath her wet, ratty hair she stared at him, eyes like pools of silver. A startingly piercing gaze that froze his breath. She jerked her head to the side, and then winked at him knowingly. Shoving Jones against the ground again, the shivering girl rose to her feet and began making her way to the car again.
"...fuck this." Jones muttered to himself. Scrabbling up to his feet he sprinted away from this otherworldly encounter.
"What the fuck!" Baldie shouted, watching Jones run. "Hey, Tyrone, get over here." The man with the pipe was watching this now, walking over.
"What's the problem?!" The woman shouted. "Just get rid of her!"
Yeah, come on. Try. Cassandra found herself smirking, uncurling her arms around her body and spreading them wide, taunting the two six foot toughs. She had already affectionately nicknamed one Baldie, and the woman in the back was now called Meanie Bo Beanie. Some kid called her mom that while Cass was sleeping behind the dumpster of a supermarket and it made her laugh. Unfortunately, she learned Tyrone's name so she couldn't call him Lackey, or the Pied Piper.
Growling, Baldie narrowed his eyes. "You take the left, I'll take the right." Baldie whispered. Of course, Cassndra easily heard him. But she was in the open, and not nearly fast enough to avoid their flank. Instead she watched them intently, figuring out what they were going to do.
Baldie had a rock, he was going to clobber her over the head. Tyrone was more cautious, going for her knee. Tired of being criticised for it, these two goons were going to attack the hero at the same time. People always gave them shit for that. But it was harder than it looked. Nevertheless, they were going for it this time.
Once it came in, Cassandra lifted her targeted leg and fell forward, avoiding the strike to her head. She rolled forward and landed on her feet, but Baldie slammed the rock into her belly. Skin rippled and her organs bounced into each other.
Oof! Cass bent forward.
Oops. I'm too slow. Shivering, Cass dashed/stumbled towards Tyrone and away from Baldie. Tyrone swung and she took the hit on the arm. With a crack she fell to the ground. Tyrone kicked her, but she caught it and swept his leg out from under him. Gravity slammed him into the dirt and he grunted. Baldie approached, but she swung Tyrone's pipe swiped out at his knee. As Cassandra rose, so did the pipe, and it smacked into his ribs. Prone Tyrone kicked out at her legs but she jumped over it and stomped hard on his knee. It felt like she was jumping on Jupiter. Legs like jelly, she fell onto all fours and began crawling to put some distance between her and the two large men. Baldie was complaining as loudly as he could about his injuries while Tyrone quietly moved his injured leg back and forth, wondering if it was broken.
(Shatter them!) They're hungry, desperate, scared. It's made them cruel. Or merely given them an excuse? I don't know, I don't know. But their violence can't go unchallenged. Cassandra struggled to stand. Veins full of ice. Teeth chattering. Flesh pale. She sat back down.
I'm dying. That's all right. I just need to win, first. (We can't just win. Not like we usually do. Hands are shaking too much to stop their hearts.)
I really don't think I want to stop anyone's hearts.
(Fine. Target Tyrone's knee. Break his stoic composure. Baldie is angry- make him angrier. Snap his pinky and break his toes.)
First, I have to get up.
(So get up, Cassandra.) So she did. Darkness crowded the edges of her vision. Breathing came in shallow gasps, her limbs were apart to come apart at the seams. Drenched, it was like she was fighting underwater. Sluggishly, Cassandra lifted herself to her feet. Tyrone and Baldie were up, too. As they got closer, Cass lunged forward and kicked out at Tyrone's knee. He blinked in surprise as it hyperextended, he had to fall over to prevent it from breaking. Baldie went in for a punch, but Cass glided out of the way and snatched the tip of his pinky, twisting it as the fist soared past. There was a sound like popping bubble wrapper and the man cried out. Grimacing, Cass stomped on his foot and then practically punctured his abdomen with her fist, sending him wheezing to the ground.
Growling, she whirled on Tyrone, who scrabbled backwards. As he turned to crawl away she threw Baldie's rock at his hand, sweeping it out from under him and sending him groaning to the floor. Both men were incapacitated.
"A-all right..." Meanie Bo Beanie said from her position outside the car. "Don't come any closer." She reached into her jacket pocket and produced a handgun. A simple little pocket revolver, but lethal enough. Jasper ducked.
(It's-)
Yeah, it's empty. Can see it in her eyes.
(You should have picked up on the empty gun in her coat from a glance.)
I just wasn't paying attention- whatever, it's fine. Mouth screwed up into a defiant pout, Cassandra stared Meanie down. Each step was a topple forward, halted by a stagger.
"I mean it. I'll shoot you." Meanie said, face darkening. Cassandra put her hand on the car for support, walking around to face Meanie.
(Wait. Wait a minute.)
Oh. There is a bullet in there.
(How did you miss that? Idiot!)
I really am compromised. Cassandra's eyes widened, and she stared at the guy. Slowly, her hands came up. Satisfaction lit up Meanie's face. Emboldened, she smirked. Cassandra could see the lust for power in her eyes. The way she had successfully hidden this secret gun from her companions. With how difficult it was to find a gun and ammo in the new, broken Gotham, she was waiting for the right time to reveal it. With this little thing, she could move up in the hierarchy of respect. People would start taking her more seriously. Even though she always knew she could take Baldie and Tyrone in a fight. All of this played across her features and posture like someone had projected it onto her for Cassandra's benefit. A slideshow of shadows.
"Yeah. That's what I thought." Meanie said. "You." She pointed the gun at the man in the car, who froze up. "Crybaby. Out." Hands up, Jasper slowly opened the car door and rose to his feet.
"Bring the- bring the cans, dumbass." Meanie order. Jasper, desperate for a stay of execution, scrambled around inside for the paper bag of stolen goods.
"You... weird girl." Meanie said awkwardly. "Hands on the car. You too, crybaby. Wait, what's your name?" She asked.
"J-jasper."
"All right. Jasper. Hands on the car roof or I shoot you." She levelled the gun at Cass. "You. Tell me your name."
Fuuuck. Not so death wishy now, huh, Cassandra? Man, I'm screwed.
(This is what you get for trying to play the hero.)
I'm not a hero. I'm just trying to... "Bitch!" Meanie interrupted her thoughts. "Gimme your name!"
Cass compressed her lips. Raising her shoulders, she shrugged.
"What? You don't know? Bullshit!" Meanie looked Cassandra up and down, seemed to consider where she had come from, and what she had done, and what she looked like. "...So, what? You a freak or something?" Cassandra knew Meanie was considering the possibility that this weird person didn't actually know her name. Meanie was now thinking about shooting Cassandra straight up and bullying Jasper with the empty gun. Cassandra was an unknown variable, Jasper wasn't. On the other hand, she didn't want to waste the bullet. And Cassandra appeared to be dying in front of her eyes. A mountain of buildings slowly sloped upwards behind the gun woman, the vertex of the peak being marked by a looming, crooked W.
A pause in the snow. Nothing happened for a moment, a brief moment. Focusing on the gun as hard as she could, Cass was trying to think of a way out. Mind, body, and skills; all were failing her. All were frozen and damaged.
Aaaah. Hmmm. (Hm, hm, hm. See her drifting? Wait for it to drift upward a few millimeters, duck, and then go for it.)
What if she brings it back down a few milliseconds later?
(She won't!)
How do you know?
(...)
I can barely see straight.
(Well. Maybe we just lose. Let her beat up Jasper, take his food, and then hopefully she'll spare your life.)
I can't let that happen. He's exhausted, and not as durable as me. Regardless, if she hits me...if I even just fall over into this snow...
(You're dead.)
I just don’t know if I’ll be be able to get back up. No, we need to win. Somehow. I'm warm, and getting warmer. Hypothermia is setting in. "Hands on the car." Meanie said hesitantly.
(Jump over the car.)
What if she takes him hostage?
(Who cares?)
Me!
(Well, gosh dang it. Is it too late now? I don't feel good...)
Hold on a second. Just hold on, we need one more thing. One more move. "Hands on the car!" Meanie ordered. Cassandra didn't move. "Now!"
Shivering, Cass's blue eyes slowly drifted upwards to the night sky.
"Hey!"
The girl wobbled to one side, then the other. Meanie kept her gun trained on her center of mass. Cass stumbled a few feet to the left, and then collapsed on her side. Cold, wet gravel pressed against her bare arm and face.
Meanie trained her gun on the fallen girl. Circling around to see her face, she saw her eyes were closed. Her breath, slow and shallow, was visible in front of her mouth and nose. "Shit" Several options ran through her head. Kick her while she's down? Plug her anyway? Ignore her? Meanie wasn't sure what to do. Her main priority was on securing the cans, and punishing the thief. Kill him, probably. Maybe give him a brutal enough beating that he could crawl to a safe zone and die as a warning. But this weird ocean girl had really creeped her out.
"You-" As she turned to face Jasper, she found he was already making a break for it.
Meanie swore and went to aim at him. At that moment, glass shattered against her hand. A beer bottle thrown at high velocity crashed into her arm. The gun went off into the ground, the bullet ricocheting over and into the river. Cass barely heard the gun go off.
Cass was up on her feet already, silently screaming against the cold death that had gripped her. Faking passing out from hypothermia almost turned into the real thing. Running forward, she tackled Meanie, knocking them both to the ground. "What?!" Meanie exclaimed. Cassandra struck her in the face, but got punched right back. Like a bobble head, she swayed and fell onto her side.
Kapoot. That’s all I got. Show’s over, folks. More like Cassandra in Vain. Cassandra rolled onto her back and Meanie wrestled on top of her. Cass squinted at her as Meanie wrapped her hands around her neck and began to squeeze. The penguin thug had a manic, angry look in her eyes, warm blood running down her hands from where she was cut. Trembling hands came up to her wrists in a vain attempt to pull them away, but Cassandra knew it was over.
I guess I saved one..? Better than nothing.
(stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid) "You..! Ruined everything!" The tough cursed down at Cass.
On that, you and I can agree.
(no no no nonononononono) Cass grimaced and kicked, bucked in vain.
Ow. Bonk!
Huh? "I don’t like the little birdies..." The penguin thug trailed off before tumbling off Cassandra and landing in a heap. Through the spots in her vision Cass turned her head and saw the man who had fled, holding a can of beans as a weapon. A knife in the other. He chose.
Running up a few moments later in a huff was an older woman. They started talking about something. Had she been attracted by the gunshot and Jasper decided to lead her back there? Something like that, she would later find out. This older woman, who's name was Candice, hooked her arms under Cass's armpits. Jasper lifted Cass by the legs.
Huh. After that, her memory gets foggy. Cassandra was dragged to one of the safe zones in the city in crisis. Warm enough tents, hypothermia treatment from travelling nurses. Fresh pairs of clothes. Above her tent, tucked against the wall of a highway overpass, was a symbol. A yellow symbol of a bat, like a torch to ward off evil hiding in the dark. Those people saved her life, and before she was done recovering, she left them in the middle of the night. As to why, she couldn't be sure. Maybe she just didn't want to hear, or see their questions. Or maybe there was just more work to be done.
Blinking out of the memory, Batgirl cast her eyes over the calm waters that surrounded Gotham. Watched the stars stare back at her like distant eyes. Judging and damning. Cloying seaweed lay in wait for the moment she returns to the water. Or perhaps, a moment where it can once again take over the land, devouring the city whole. Cassandra Cain should have died that night. Maybe she did. Maybe a Cain went in, and a Batgirl emerged. A baptism of ice. A deal ongoing.
I haven't drowned yet. Batgirl turned away from the river facing side of the island and back towards the concrete jungle she called home.
I'm hungry. Pizza sounds good. With that, she took the plunge over the edge, carefully and quickly descending into the depths. Submerging herself once again in the shark-infested waters of Gotham City.
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