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When he comes to, it's dark. His head throbs in waves and his mouth is full of a metallic and sour taste that threatens to overturn his stomach. He tries to focus his eyes in the dimness but dark spots in his eyesight make it difficult. He slowly begins to register his pain as his body protests not only the abuse it had received earlier but the uncomfortable position he had been left in. The sharp pain he feels at every breath assures him he's either bruised or broken ribs. He struggles to lift himself up but finds his arms locked tightly behind him. He wrestles against them briefly before his exhaustion threatens to overcome him. He concedes and figures there's no point as the manacles felt very familiar to the bonds he was placed in back at the metahuman research facility when he was "uncooperative". He glowers at the memory and uses that frustration to shift himself up into a sitting position. He pauses to give himself time to recuperate from the sudden movement. He drags in a ragged breath of air as the nausea and the reverberations of pain subside and takes stock of his surroundings. He's obviously in a holding cell of some sort if the bars were any indication. He can barely hear the slosh of the waves against the hull and assumes wherever he is, it's deep within the ship. He leans his head back against the wall with an audible "thunk" and tries to pinpoint where the night went wrong.
He and Dr. Vidorja had been meticulous in their planning. He had researched all of Namali's cohorts, monitored their patterns, who he was travelling to meet with, even the security of the hotel Namali was at. What he had not accounted for was her.
In truth, he'd never thought he'd see her again since that night. He and the Sakuri Lions had initiated their attack at the hotel Namali was staying at. Namali was to meet an American business man to go over an export trade deal and market for foreign investment in Gotham City. If the deal went through it would have given the corrupt Tarakstani government more power and finances to further push his countrymen out of their homes and livelihoods.
He'd been warned of the Gotham City protector, the fabled demon Batman. He'd brushed it off as a myth. There was nothing the Black Wind could not handle and he'd assured his men of that fact. They'd arrived in the city and he'd found it insufferable, the looming buildings suffocating the skyline, the streets reeking of asphalt and garbage, and the light pollution of the garish lamp posts that drowned out the stars in the sky. He'd wondered who could make a home in a place like this. His disdain for the city kept him from noticing the immense danger they were in.
He'd been monitoring his men's preparations and taking in the surroundings of the lifeless city when he'd begun to hear shouts of alarm, his men barking out commands. He'd immediately readied himself to deal with Gotham's police force but he saw no flashing lights, heard no blaring sirens. What he did see was her, moving so quickly she appeared to be a shadow. His men were sent sprawling, half from her force, and half from fear that the dreaded demon himself had come for them. He was struck by her prowess; there was grace in her brutality, a kind of dance to her onslaught.
He had a moment's irritation knowing he would have to call off his attempt at bringing Namali to justice. He had formulated their attack based on surprise, which they no longer had. Instead he signaled for his remaining men to gather their wounded and begin with their retreat. He'd made the judgement call to live to fight another day. She, however, posed a problem. She would continue to tear through the rest of his men, leaving them to be caught and his cause a failure. Despite this, he leaned up on their transport, a smirk on his lips as he continued to watch her.
Finally she was still, having run out of opponents. Even in her stillness he was intrigued. Her suit was skin tight and gave no indication of her real power. The symbol of the bat was emblazoned across her chest, her mask the very epitome of the demon mythos. Her empty-eyed glare in his direction left him feeling vulnerable, an odd sensation to him. In a blink she'd begun her dance again. He'd had just enough time to react to her fist flying towards him thanks to the bitter years of training he'd undergone in his youth. He'd lifted his arm in a block, finally coming face to face with the living shadow.
"I don't want to hurt you", he'd said. It was less of a boast of his skill and more of a desire to interact with her. She was unlike anything he'd ever seen before; a fighter's spirit housed in a delicate frame. She didn't respond, instead renewing her vigor. She struck over and over again, intent on bringing him down. If he was impressed beforehand, he was fascinated now. She'd found his blind spots, weakness he'd trained to overcome, and exploited them. She was fast, much faster than any typical human he'd come across.
"Easy girl, I'm not going to fight you", he'd raised his hands in a placating manner. She seemed hesitant to stand down but ultimately decided he wasn't a threat at the moment.
"You're magnificent, like a wisp of smoke, a sliver of night. I'd give anything to see your face".
She seemed able to hear the genuine admiration in his voice as she fell out of her stance.
"Who are you?" Her voice is soft, much softer than he'd imagined it to be. He finds himself giving in to her question easily.
"I am Tai'Darshan, The Black Wind."
She remains still, her empty eyes meeting his. Their short held truce was interrupted by his men shouting at him. She tensed again, body coiled to spring at the sudden interruption and he took her moment of surprise to make his exit. The van's door slammed shut behind him as they began their getaway. He allowed himself one last backwards glance out the windows. She hadn't moved from her spot as she watched after their retreat. His men lecture him over his inaction but he paid them no mind.
They regrouped at their hideaway and tailored the plan to Namali's next move. He's a man of excess in build and life and of course he'd chosen to make his return to Tarakstan by way of a cruise. They find the ship easily after commandeering a boat from Gotham's harbour. He instructed his men to stay hidden in the bowels of the ship to prepare as he familiarized himself with the ship as well as to locate and observe Namali. They would make their presence known during the evening meal when people's guard would be at their lowest. He'd located Namali and his crew making their way to the dining hall. Namali was accompanied by none other than Ludo, a metahuman he'd had the displeasure of training with at the Metahuman Research Facility he'd been raised at.
He'd run scenarios through his head to best dispatch Ludo when he saw it. Namali and Ludo were making their way to a table when Ludo, the gargantuan mass that he was, pushed into a woman and caused her to spill her drink on herself. He sees Namali reprimand the beast, pulling his tie to bring Ludo to his level. He'd intended to continue his surveillance of his quarry but there was something about the dark haired woman seated at the table that pulled his eye. Every other individual in the dining hall was relaxed and at ease, enjoying their evening and only served to make the dark haired woman stand out. The set of her shoulders, the tension in her arms, her proud straight back brought out feelings of familiarity. His mind immediately flashed back to his confrontation in Gotham. It was at that moment that the dark haired woman turned towards him, almost if she had felt his eyes on her. He saw a shock of recognition flash over her face. He lifted an eyebrow at her expression and smirked. Her shock was short lived and immediately replaced with determination. He exited the dining hall, confident she'd follow.
He made his way towards the back of the ship, intent on privacy and came to a deserted deck overlooking the water. He doesn't get to admire the beauty of the moonlight reflected
on the water long before she melted out of the shadows to confront him. She was striking. Her dress hugged her body almost as well as her suit. She held herself defiant and tall, every inch of her a warrior.
She fluidly approached him, every step calculated but curious. Her suit and mask may work wonders on the denizens of Gotham but here, in that moment, she was far more intimidating. She called out to him, an intoxicating thrill flowed through him at the sound of his name in that same soft voice. He named her Little Bat; a moniker he felt was fitting if she would not give him her name. He also named her beautiful.
She asked him what he wanted and he toyed with her for a moment, said what he wanted to say without truly saying it. She turned her head; his brief play in honesty was too much.
Once again, he gives in to her question easily. He tells her about the need to bring Namali to justice for the wrongs against his people. He wants her to know he is not her enemy.
A shot rang out and caught her off guard. It's a sound he had been expecting; a signal that he was needed. He takes his leave of her and hurries to join his men.
He returned to the dining hall and was pleased to see his men had rounded up Namali and his entourage in the center of the hall. From his initial observation, his men had everything under control. He spoke to the crowd, revealed to them the true nature of Namali and the plight of his people.
A flash of color entered his periphery. One of America's costumed vigilantes had made his presence known. He instructed his men to carry on with their plan and that he would handle the new arrival but Namali had capitalized on their distraction. Many things happened in that moment, Namali's security opened fire on his men, the civilians scattered, and she arrived. He was disgusted at himself as she tore through his men once again. He could not help the feeling of awe and admiration he got as he watched her simply move.
She placed herself between Namali and himself. Their eyes meet in a brief standoff as they waited for the other's next move. The deadlock was broken when Ludo crashed in between them. She made an attempt at stopping his charge and was rewarded with being tossed aside like a rag doll.
Ludo immediately continued his rampage. True, Tai'Darshan had speed and agility but Ludo had brute strength and a simple mind. He swung his meaty fists about, racking them into his sides and slammed him against the far wall. Ludo became distracted by the bright colors and the unending brainless chatter of the other metahuman and allowed him to recover. He's dragged in a shaky breath when he felt her presence. She looks no worse for the wear although her evening gown was beyond saving. He sneered and accused her of having no allegiance while wiping the blood from his mouth. To her credit, she didn't flinch at his biting tone. Before she can respond he feels the thundering steps of Ludo careened towards them. He attempted to shield her but finds it useless when they're both slammed through the wall and thrown into the ocean. He hit the water and lost consciousness. He vaguely felt himself thrown about by the current, floating in and out of awareness in the immense ocean. He began to feel weightless, the edges of his eyesight darkened. The crashing of the waves had begun to soften, and somewhere far away he heard the hum of a soft breeze through a field of wheat and the warmth of sunlight on his face.
He's torn from his reverie and finds himself floating in the ocean, a pair of thin, strong arms wrapped around him. He can feel her struggle to keep them afloat, her slight frame pressed against his as she fought against the waves. His arms and legs felt leaden. He pleads with her to let him go, knowing if she held on they would both go under. She gives him a resolute look and grips him tighter.
He closes his eyes, dispelling the recollection. He'd failed, not once, but twice. His people were relying on him to champion their cause and he'd let them down. Now he was stuck in a cell where he'd no doubt be turned over to a metahuman holding facility. Sleep evades him. He's in too much pain and discomfort to do anything but wait and wallow in self pity.
He tears his eyes open and jerks his head around. He's gotten the distinct feeling he isn't alone. The dark spots that had been clouding his eyesight finally settle. He scans his pitifully small cell and catches just a flicker of movement. It's a solid shape, small, but there. He exhales a sharp breath, knowing the only person on this ship who could access his cell at this hour of the night so easily.
"Come to finish me off, Little Bat", he asks into the darkness. She melts out of the shadows in front of him. She looks him over; he knows he cuts a pitiful figure, half drowned and bloodied. She finally closes the distance and to his shock, reaches out to touch him. She places a firm hand on his side, pinpointing with accuracy the cause of his laboured breathing. He stiffens in pain under her surgical scrutiny as she prods his aching ribs.
"Broken", she says, matter of factly, pulling back and sitting on her heels.
"Imagine that", he shoots, challenging her. She doesn't take the bait, only gives him a wry look.
She rocks up off of her heels while digging in her belt. He's about to ask her what she's doing there when she's seated next to him. She places her hand on his back in a command to lean forward. Pain be damned, he does what she wants. He hears her fidgeting with the manacles and is greeted with a sudden release of pressure as his hands pull free. She quickly has her hands on his chest to prevent him from slumping to the floor. He locks eyes with her as she slowly pushes him back against the cell wall.
"Your jacket", she gestures to him. He takes it that she's asking him to remove it and is more than grateful to do as she says, rubbing his arms and wrists appreciatively.
"Will you need my shirt as well?" he teases, too tempted not to.
She doesn't respond but if the lighting were better he'd swear she were blushing. She pulls out what looks like medical supplies and sets to work. He watches her with raised eyebrows as she reaches for his shirt and rolls it up enough to expose his abdomen. Her movements are resolute and clinical; she once again uses her hands to search for the point of his broken ribs. He braces himself for the coming pain but is surprised when instead she is gentle. She delicately places a pad of gauze against his side and uses tape to keep it in place. She threads her arm through the space between his back and the cell wall and brings her other hand around to begin wrapping his side. It's an awkward embrace but she works quickly, lightly pressed against his side. He can't help but to notice her closeness. She's slight, yes, but he knows better than to judge on that. She's also warm, a welcome presence to his waterlogged self.
She's efficient and finishes quickly, tying up the loose end to prevent it from unraveling. He tests a breath and finds he's able to take more than short shallow breaths without feeling his side splitting open. She's still seated beside him, pressing at the bandages to ensure she's not tied it too tight. She must feel his focus on her as slowly brings up her gaze, her eyes traveling his chest.
He savors this quiet moment and her stillness, knowing how she can disappear back into the shadows at a moment's notice. He knows that she will disappear, return to her home and fight for her ideals. He'll return to his and do the same. He knows not to entertain foolish thoughts, that their happenstance meeting would not be anything more than each other doing their duties. Still, he
The jangle of keys and creak of a door pulls them back into reality. He turns his head to confirm that the interruption is his men, coming to free him. He stands to meet them as they unlock his cell door, not bothering to turn back to her. He knows she's gone, back into the depths of the ship from where she came. He follows his men wordlessly and they make their way to a waiting boat and take their leave. He watches the mass of the ship dwindle into the dark until it melts into the inky blackness of the night, taking his thoughts of the Little Bat of Gotham with it. He whispers a farewell onto the wind in his native tongue and turns towards his homeland.
She pulls her jacket tighter around her shoulders against the chill of the night as she watches the boat's departure. It quickly becomes enveloped by the darkness, the hum of its engine a distant memory. She whispers a goodbye into the empty night as the wind carries it away and turns towards Gotham.