Hey all! Okay, here's the beginning of another short story. No worries, I'm still working on the current ones. I updated a few of them a while ago, also. Anyways, things get a little deadly in this story as you already can tell it's taking a potentially dark turn. I don't intend on this story surpassing 4 chapters (5 at the most). I'm trying to work on really condensing this stuff. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the start to this new tale.

Dangerous Woman

Chapter One

She walked out the shady building's back door into the darkened alley with a loud giggle as the voices from inside finally faded away once the rusted, metal door slammed shut, sending an eerie echo about the air that she (unfortunately) took no notice of. The woman stifled the last remnants of laughter as she faced the reality of Gotham's darkened night. Her green eyes struggled against the blackness that surrounded her as it suddenly registered that this night was darker than usual. The young woman – approximately twenty-three with shoulder length stringy blue hair and darkened freckles across her cheeks and chest – heaved an uncomfortable breath as her eyes looked to where the streetlights lining the alley were…only to discover them not on.

Shit. Maybe she should have had Joe walk her to the street after all. Oh well, she was a New York gal – a Gotham one at that – and more than capable of taking care of herself; especially with a can of pepper spray fastened tightly to her hands within her trench coat jacket. Even still, the main road up ahead was so far away…The sound of a cat screeching behind her was enough to get the girl walking forward for the busy road where car lights whizzed by. Her heels clicked musically against the pavement as the tension started to slowly ease away from her like water off a duck's back the closer she got to the main road. Her hand released the pepper spray in her pocket…

As she passed a large dumpster to the side of the alley, a hand reached out from the shadows and grabbed the belt that was tied dutifully around the woman's stomach, pulling with so much force that it literally knocked the air right out of her. Everything happened so fast – faster than she could even comprehend. A palm, warm and rough, grabbed her jacket and nearly ripped it off, revealing the lingerie set she'd worked so hard to conceal. Another hand flew to her mouth, covering it just in time as she released a frightened scream. A voice chuckled as light from what she thought was a cigar illuminated a pair of black eyes – literal black eyes – with whitened pupils. A sadistic grin rested upon those lips as the assailant pinned her against the dumpster and tore at her lower undergarments. Horror filled the young woman's gaze, and the last thing she remembered was a frightening cackle, searing pain, and the smell of her own burning flesh as the hot bud of the cigar pressed against her throat.

And then…

Barbara Gordon scowled with disgust at the sight in front of her before motioning for CSI to head out of the building for a minute; after all, he was patiently waiting up in the rafters behind her. They were at the remodeled Gotham docks inside one of the older warehouses that was pretty much useless by now. In fact, docking authority was going to have it tore down tonight. Barbara scoffed internally as she looked around the warehouse and shook her head; tonight wasn't soon enough, apparently. Gotham P.D. had gotten a hysterical call from a forklift operator about what he'd found while on lunch in the building, and given the circumstances, Gordon was here in a heartbeat. The air was foul and stale, and the corpse didn't help with that in the slightest. Once her men had left her alone – they knew why, and dared not question it – Barbara's eyes shifted to her left. "You're getting better, kid," the elderly yet authoritative woman stated with what unusually sounded like a lace of praise in her tone. "I almost didn't know exactly where you were hiding."

"Yeah?" came a rough voice from the nothingness before a midnight black shape with a red bat insignia glowing upon its chest and terrifyingly white eyes suddenly melted into existence out of its camouflage state, walking towards the Commissioner and ex-Batgirl with a cocky smirk. It was not often when criticism was replaced with praise – not matter how dry – from one of the two originals; he was going to take this and run with it. He was Batman; the only ray of hope this futuristic Gotham had had in a much too long time. Sure he was inexperienced, cocky, brash, hardheaded, a kid – but even the now aged, hard, and darker Barbara had to admit that he still managed to get the job done….somehow. And with all the hell Gotham sank into after the original Dark Knight was forced to retire, "somehow" was still better than nothing. "I take that as a compliment. Try getting the old man to see it like that too."

In spite of her dislike at the idea of a teenaged vigilante with a history of his own practically running her streets, Barbara couldn't help but chuckle at that sentiment. "He always was a perfectionist to a fault." Her eyes squinted with a smile and for a moment she was a teenager, free and teasing once again…but only briefly. "Maybe if he'd checked that, we'd all still one big happy family." Commissioner Gordon's face turned once more for the form lying before her, and all trace of play was gone and replaced with an unreadable expression.

Realizing it was time to get to business, the young Batman of the future started to make his way around Gordon's side as he pulled up next to her and asked, "So, what've we got-?" He looked down and the whitened eyes of his full faced cowl widened in absolute disbelief as he swallowed and coughed in an attempt to regain his composure. On the cracked and unseemly concrete floor before them was a heap of fishnets, scattered throughout with mud, underwater foliage, and even fish…and in the dead center of all that was a body: a young woman paled significantly by death with stringy blue hair wearing lingerie which looked almost nonexistent by now, soaked to the bone with open, lifeless green eyes – she was covered head to toe in blue and black bruises. One side (only one, which was odd) of her face was beaten to the point that it was almost unrecognizable. A worm-like specimen crawled out of her mouth and Batman had to turn and bend over on his knees as he heaved in a deep breath and quietly urged his self not to lose anything despite having an empty stomach. "Oh God," the vigilante murmured.

Of course this would be his reaction – he still didn't have much time in as they once had at his age. He'd seen some messed up stuff over his short tenure wearing the insignia, but the neo-Batman's psyche had yet to dull itself to the force of it. "You okay, kid? Too much for you?" asked the Commissioner with a very blatant tone of disrespect.

Batman narrowed his brows and groaned in irritation at her. "Give me a second. Maybe if you would've gave me some warning-," after a couple more deep breaths he stood upright and faced the old woman with exasperation, taking note of her callous and unnerved expression. "Doesn't that bother you?!" he demanded, motioning for the deceased female who couldn't have been much older than twenty. It wasn't just the fact that she was dead that bothered him, but that her appearance showcased the method in which she died had been obscenely brutal.

Barbara looked at the woman's remains for a moment after his prying, and her eyes hinted somewhat at some miniscule level of grief. "More than you know."

Confusion crossed the vigilante's features. "But how can you hide it? I mean. You-."

Barbara turned from the body and approached her part-time associate as she answered simply, "Years of practice, kid." In her tone was something that made Batman falter – and even caused the man behind the screen who was listening and watching this exchange between his old partner and new predecessor back in the bat cave to feel a twinge of something he hadn't in a very long time: guilt and regret. "Anyways," stated the Commissioner, turning away from the body once more and facing the new Dark Knight, "ordinarily I'd say this has nothing to do with you, but I purposely contacted Bruce given the...situation."

Batman raised a brow, not fully understanding what Gordon was implying. "Care to elaborate?"

Gordon sighed and took a look at her watch, knowing that the time she gave her men to stay out was almost up. She'd have to make it as quick as possible. "I'm saying that she's not the first." Batman gasped but she continued. "In fact, she's case number 12 within the past month. That's an average of 3 a week that this guy is going through."

"Guy? What makes you sure it's a guy?"

"I see no reason why it wouldn't be – after all, all the victims had one distinct thing in a common. A job."

"And that would beee-?" pressed the vigilante as he was starting to get impatient.

Barbara Gordon looked towards the door. "Strippers. They were all strippers."

For whatever reason, Batman seemed somewhat relieved. He was thinking the answer would be simple after all – they had a common factor to look into. "That should make it easy to find this guy, right?"

"Wrong!" yelled Gordon through furrowed brows of anger, causing Batman to take an involuntary step back as he heard a whistle of admiration at her hostility coming from the old man over the com. "Do you have the slightest idea how many strip joints are located just in downtown Gotham alone? Twenty-seven, McGinnis!" The Batman winced at the use of his true identity, proof that he'd righteously pissed the Commissioner off. "And except for a few in that freaky district, most of them aren't exactly close to one another – you know, eliminating competition. The majority of the victims came from different spots, but whoever this guy is, he was crazy enough to hit a couple joints more than once. We can't trace his actions – they're too sporadic. We couldn't figure out where he'd hit next if he left a sign taped to the department door." Gordon jabbed a finger in his direction, "Now some people may not care as much just for the fact that these are strippers, but they are still people, Batman. Still innocent. Some of them had kids and were only trying to make extra money to keep afloat."

Barbara's shoulders sunk with exhaustion as she placed a hand against her forehead. God she was tired. "Look. I can't track this guy. He's a serial killer, and I can't stop him. Do you have the slightest idea how much that pisses me off?" She didn't wait for him to try and answer before staring him straight in the eyes. "It physically pains me to say this, kid, but: I need your help. Batman was always good for taking down any criminal, no matter how big or small. And right now, I'm struggling just to keep the petty ones in control. I'm not giving up bringing this killer in, but I need you to take the forefront on this one, okay? Can you do that?"

She was pissed still, but she was also relying on him – and whether he was Batman or Terry McGinnis, he couldn't disappoint her. "You can count on me Commissioner."

Barbara nodded and turned back for the body as the sounds of her men approaching the door grew louder. "Good. I'll copy and send every file we have on this to him. It'll be there within the hour."

He placed his hands on the utility belt and prepared to activate his camouflage, "Got it."

"And kid?"

Batman paused. "Yeah, Commish?"

Barbara bit her lip. "Be careful." She could practically hear his smirk as the door finally pulled open and the officers and detectives poured in in full force, finding only their Commissioner standing over the victim's body in mute silence before she turned for them and ordered, "Alright. I want this scene searched down from head to toe. Give me pictures, samples, fingerprints, SOMETHING! If a roach took a shit within twenty feet of this building, I want to know if it's married with kids. Got it?" A chorus of "yes sirs" erupted from everyone as the immediately took to work.

No one took notice of a glass pane on the ceiling opening up and then closing with a silent squeak all by itself…no one but Barbara, of course.

Max Gibson raised both arms above her head and stretched with a groan of exertion before leaning against the locker she was in the process of emptying. It was the last day of school for summer vacation and Gibson was more than willing to charge head on into this break. Her plans consisted of sleeping until noon and having no regrets about it in the slightest. Originally she had a summer internship at the "GSM" (Gotham Science Museum and Research Center) in the biology and astrophysics departments. That was, until a certain vigilante battled against the villain Shriek and practically destroyed the whole western wing and damaged some structural points throughout the building. They were still making repairs and the building wasn't expected to be open again until the fall. Now Max was free from her job…and free from making some extra credits to pay the bills. Oh well. She didn't like the director of the Museum and Research Center anyway.

After tossing her last belongings into her backpack, Max swung the strap over her shoulder and made way out of Hamilton Hill High alone. Dana and Chelsea were out shopping (Max hated shopping with those two. They had a certain skill for clearing racks that Max never could imagine having), Nelson was probably somewhere messing around with a cute freshman, and Terry didn't show up at all. Max's cell chimed and she looked at the screen to see a text from McGinnis. Speak of the devil. "Need your help. Free tonight?" read the text. Max's fingers flew over the keyboard and pressed send before she left from the school grounds and made her way for the people mover station (the above ground train that ran around town on elevated platforms). Already the school crowd was thinning significantly and Gibson felt the cool summer breeze pushing through her pink locks.

She prepared to turn the corner and go up the steps for the station and platform when a horn blew to her right and a large luxury car pulled alongside her. It was silver with rich, black tinted windows – obviously costing a fortune. At first she thought Terry had come to pick her up in one of Bruce Wayne's chariots – but when the passenger window rolled down, she caught sight not of her best friend, but a handsome young man (32 at the oldest) in a partially open black collared shirt and dark jeans with paled skin and white hair wearing a pair of tar colored sunglasses. "Excuse me," his smooth and alluring voice urged. Max looked around for a moment, taken back by this guy's glamour and beauty before realizing that he was addressing her. Of course, this was Gotham and the genius teen knew that trust was not a liberty for strangers; even still the street was full of teens and adults commuting around and, sure that she was safe, the pink haired dame stepped towards the car and bent over into the window.

The man looked even better up close. He had the face structure of a super model, and the body of someone into sports like boxing. Built. He turned his face for her and grinned sweetly. "Sorry to bother you, but could you point me in the direction of the Catalpa District? I'm new to town."

Max smiled back, trying to be polite and ignoring the ringing of her cell phone as she pointed straight ahead. "Sure thing. You take this road to the expressway – it's the ramp on your left. Ride it out for about ten minutes and you'll see the Catalpa exit."

The man nodded his head, taking in the information before turning his attention back to the African American beauty before him. "Thanks, I really appreciate it."

Max shrugged. "We're not all assholes in Gotham."

The man chuckled, obviously amused by her wit. "Good to know." Max nodded her farewell and began to walk away when the stranger called out after her, leaning into the passenger seat, "Hey!" Max turned once more to face him. "Maybe we should exchange numbers. In case I need more directions. I'm Casper. What's your name?"

And he tried it. Gibson slouched her hips to the side and briefly folded her arms. "It's Max." She adjusted the strap of her backpack and smirked. "Look, I'm flattered, really. But, sorry Cas. I think you're too old for me. I hope you find what you're looking for, though." She turned away from him once again and started to make her way up the station steps to catch the people mover in time when his melodic voice stated for one final time:

"I just might have, Max." He watched her curvaceous frame disappear up the steps before pulling off in the direction she'd prompted him with an oddly dangerous smirk on his face, adjusting his sunglasses. "I just might have…"

To Be Continued…