Batgirl Begins

Chapter One

If I hadn't spent all night trying to play Batman, I wouldn't be late for my first day of College. But it's the thrill that keeps me going through the night, and I've been able to get away with it during the summer. I remember the shock I felt when I first woke up this morning, seeing the numbers on my alarm clock glaring at me. I shot out of bed while I was still in my Batgirl costume I had sown myself. Yellow on the side of my stomach, a yellow Batsymbol on my chest with yellow spikes protruding from the edges of the symbol, yellow banded knuckles, a black cape with a yellow front, a yellow utility belt with smoke pellets, a grapnel gun I'm still getting used to, and custom-made Batarangs. They're not as good as the real thing, but it's something to start out with. And to match, a black cowl with Bat ears and an opening for my straight, dark hair to flow freely. I bought a black wig and took care of it like it was my hair, to throw off suspicion in case someone that I knew closely were to catch me and find out about my red hair. I felt needles in my arm when I tried to get out of bed, and I look in my mirror to see that my suit is cut on my right shoulder.

A blade man grazed me, but it would've been much worse. I had reverse-engineered a police scanner I saw online, and with the money from my job as a newspaper editor, I was able to buy and make the parts I needed. And of course, keeping it a secret from my father. He would never approve of any of this. Especially after last night's incident with the gang meeting at the pier with people reporting that they heard gunshots. After last night, I'd have been grounded until the day I was old enough to live out the rest of my life in a mental hospital; like that'll change anything. I have a life outside being an editor for Gotham Press, and I can't let anyone else know either. Batman wears a mask for a reason. To protect his identity. To protect the people he cares about. Regardless of what the police say when they find the Crime Scenes he always leaves. People said he was a myth, but now that he's being plastered throughout media everywhere, it's hard to deny it now. Everyone knows the Batman. But only the people that have met him know the real Batman. The one that breaks bones and scares them straight. I've been a vigilante long enough to know what he's like. Give or take, three months. He does his thing, and I do mine. But I've always wanted to meet him. Nevertheless, the stories don't scare me, so much as they fuel my thrill.

I go to Martial Arts classes every other night and also do some Yoga. If I want to be like the Batman, I have to start somewhere. Or Batgirl, to be exact. Haven't exactly found any places to help me make better technology while I'm out at night, and another reason for my novice tech is because I don't want to have to tell them what I'm going to be doing with it. That didn't bother me when I was out looking for police scanners. Well, I didn't bother saying anything then. I always expected someone to ask why; fortunately, they never did. I wanted to find a way to incorporate some form of metal into my costume, but quite haven't found a solution to accomplish that feat yet. But when I do, it'll take more than a knife to stop me or give me shooting pains for the next day or two. If I didn't know to treat those bruises, it'd be way worse.

The first night I was Batgirl, it was the greatest feeling in the world. Swinging around the city with my Grapnel Gun, throwing my Batarangs, fighting criminals in a museum, leaving before the police arrived. I remember how I was perched on one of the Gargoyles that were part of a building, laughing at how easy and how fun it all was. Months passed and I've had to step up my game. I was in danger of bleeding out after a gun fight with two gang groups at the Gotham Pioneers Bridge. I had to hide behind a car and wrapped my utility belt over my left thigh, my right forearm was a different story. I had to play it smarter and, since I had already taken out some mobsters, I decided to improvise and throw Batarangs at people still firing their guns, lodging my Batarangs in the barrels of their guns, and then I struck as best as I could. It was a massacre. I'll never forget that night. The next day, I paid a visit for the doctor and he told me I should be resting for a few weeks, but that didn't stop me. Needless to say, when I couldn't do much of anything, I did rest. And when I felt I was mobile enough, I went back into the game. Whenever I hit a dead end in Vigilantism or in life, I would hit the Gotham Fitness Center and let off some steam with my trainer that's always there, or against a punching bag. My life has blossomed into something I've never expected. And every time I'm out at night, I feel the world doesn't exist and it's just me, fighting crime like my favorite hero.

As I continue to examine the wound in my shoulder in the mirror, I know I won't have time to care for the wound since I'm already an hour late on the first day of college. To say the least, I do it anyway and will try to makeup for lost time tomorrow. When I finish aiding my wound, I try and get dressed for school, regardless of the time. I only have five classes and it's the middle of the third one. My dad gets home from work and I'm still in my Batgirl costume. I hear him coming upstairs and I quickly lock the door and get dressed as fast as I can. And of course, try to hide my shoulder wound. Last thing I want is having to explain what happened. Before I have time to put my shirt on, my dad wiggles the door knob. He always checks on me to make sure I made it to school or to check on me if anything's wrong with me. A locked door is saying something. He shouts through the door. "Barbara? Barbara? Are you there?"

I put the shirt on and unlock the door, opening it with just my underwear and a black buttoned-up shirt, hiding behind the door. "I overslept."

James's face looks puzzled, and asks me. "Two and a half hours?"

"Yeah."

He sighs disapprovingly. "How long did you stay up last night?"

I answer confusingly. "I forgot. My mind's still a little foggy."

He takes off his glasses and rubs his face with his hand, sighing again. "Okay, just don't do this again. It's your first day of college."

I shake my head in agreement and close the door. I think in frustration. It could be worse. I can't keep doing this much longer. Sooner or later he's going to find out why I do this. I look at the bust on my dresser that holds my wig and my resolve begins to return a little by the second. Remembering the memories. I unclench my fists and slowly slide down the doorframe, trying to recover from making so many lies to someone I love. To catch my breath. And with Batgirl, it's easier. But it'll only be a matter of time before I breakdown

Lately still, Batgirl's been my escape. Nothing is on the police band right now, so I keep looking at that bust. When I think I can stand again, I go to my computer and check on what I missed today at school on the website. I open the files and copy down the notes. After I finish the first notes from my first class, I get a notification in my inbox. I open it and see my teacher sent me a message saying, "This is your first warning. You will have two more warnings before you are dropped from the class. This action is irreversible."

I plop my head down on my arms rested on my desk, letting out a sigh. This is one of the last things I need. I let my head up again and see another notification. I ignore it since I know it'll be the same thing. I go down and eat lunch, because the notes are long, I want something to eat and drink while I do.

My stomach is screaming and my throat is dry. After lunch, I feel so much better and do the rest of the classes' notes. And all the while, my police band is silent except for some chatter from the police, talking about the game last night. Afterwards, I go to the Gotham Press and see Vicki Vale on the television screen in the living room, reporting about something at Crime Alley. The screen turns its attention to a dark alley behind the Monarch Theater where the Wayne Family were gunned down. There is a chalk image of a little boy on a wall standing over the bodies of the Waynes. This is…this is wrong. This is very wrong. My father, sitting in a recliner, turns the channel and sees a reflection on the screen, but I leave before he notices.

Could this be a sign of things to come? Why would someone do this? This is a message to Bruce Wayne, no doubt. I don't think he's taking this very well. And the chalk image was a little boy. How could someone be so cruel? I try and clear the thought from my mind and then it hits me. I'll probably have to edit a paper on this. But I don't, which is a good thing. And a reprieve. I get in the elevator and my friend, Allan, greets me and gets in the elevator with me. He playfully hits my shoulder, my wounded shoulder, and I wince. My concoction has almost settled in, but he may have just made it worse. He informs me. "Still up for the dinner date tonight?"

"I might be." I respond in a pained tone, rubbing my shoulder. Allan asks curiously. "What's with your shoulder?"

I makeup an excuse. "I bumped into a thug last night and he tried to mug me."

"Oh."

I put my arm down and use it to hold my purse again while I needed a free hand to rub my bruise. I ask Allan. "Where's the date going to be at?"

"Gotham Square Diner. And why'd you think you can't be there?"

I close my eyes and tell myself, You do what you do to protect others, no matter how many excuses you have to make. But I open my eyes, look at him and just say. "I might be busy with schoolwork."

He looks at me and frowns, retorting. "Why do you always have to make an excuse?"

"Because I can't predict the futu-"

Before I can finish, he exits the elevator and goes off to his booth, and the door closes in front of me. I grit my teeth and slam the side of my fist against the elevator, thinking of how much I want to tell Allan about my identity. How I'll never know whether or not he'll keep the promise of keeping it a secret, and have it spread like a wildfire. And by now, with all the rejections, he's more than likely to look for someone else. While I wait for my floor, I take the time to try and steel myself for the rest of the day. As I reach my floor and go to my booth, I go to my computer and turn it on to start editing whatever it is I'm supposed to edit today. The topic is Armored Car Robbery. I look through the article and don't see that many errors aside from the "no name", most likely he or she was in a hurry. A woman in a dark green sweater and jeans steps by my booth, answering my question. "Sorry Barbara, I was in a rush and forgot to title my newspaper. The name's Carol Tarbrough."

I move the hair out of my right eye and smile back, "It's all right."

And with that, she's gone. I go through the day thinking, What's going to happen when I can't be Batgirl? I usually answer this question like this. I'll live a normal life where I don't have to worry about identities, a world where there are no excuses. And a world where people are dying with only the Batman and his sidekick, Robin, fighting against the corruption of Gotham City. What if, instead, you're the only one who can help them? And I am. At least, right now. What about twenty years from now? Will I even be alive then? Will they even be alive then? Well, there's only one way to find out. And plus, twenty years from now, my cloth won't be enough against criminals, and I'll have to step up my game even more. Lately, I've needed an upgrade, but Batgirl is my escape and I forget about being better than the criminals. I need to find a way to meet with Batman. That Bat-Signal could be the Most Effective Way. But then I'd have to use it myself. I see where it is every night anyways, but turning it on is a different story. Not to mention telling my father about it. I'll have to be sneaky, suited-up of course. Unfortunately, Batman may notice me when my father wouldn't. Batman doesn't earn the title of Prowler for nothing. So I've heard from crooks. But it's worth a shot.

That night, I camp out on the roof of the GCPD Building at a time I know will be suitable enough. Ten-fifteen PM. That's the time it always seems to turn on. Every now and then, I'd look in the sky just to see the signal when I was first starting out. When I first saw it, it was like a beam of light in the darkness. I make an effort to arrive at least five minutes early, and no one seems to be there yet. There's not a lot of hiding places on the roof, except for a doorway to the roof and the Bat Signal. It doesn't leave me with a lot of options, so I try and stay out of sight near the door. If I camp out near the Bat Signal, considering where Batman may glide in to action, he may notice me. I have to ask him before he leaves, though. Not when he arrives or else I'll have to deal with explaining myself to him before my father has a chance to tell him what he needs to do himself. Either way, I'm going to have to explain myself. But then I'll also have to speak to Robin, someone less threatening in my opinion. And then there's the matter of me keeping Batman from keeping our city safe because of my stalling him. What I presume is that he'll have Robin take me to their HQ, but I doubt it. Not a complete stranger.

I reach in my utility belt and get two Batarangs, sliding them against each other to sharpen them, thinking about my plan. What if this is all pointless? What if he'll just say no? If I bring up the fact that I'm risking my life to help do the job he does, it may work. It's worth a shot.

Minutes pass and my father comes rushing through the door and I keep as quiet as I can, watching him turn on the Bat Signal and wait for Batman to arrive. My father looks fidgety. Something big is up. At least ten minutes pass and I see him for the first time. The Batman. He's like a giant walking shadow with black armor plating, but it isn't reflective. And then there's Robin, of course. He's less of a shadow. Red armor plating with a black Robin in flight on his chest as an emblem with a black cape. My father tells them about how there's a mass murder going on at Crime Alley. Batman answers back in the darkest tone I've ever heard, a tone I didn't even think was real. "Crime Alley?"

My dad scratches his head and replies nervously. "Yeah, the place where the Waynes were murdered. The same place where that chalk image was drawn."

Robin reassures in a teenaged-voice, but doesn't make much of an effort to shield his voice. His isn't as dark. "We'll get on it."

"Wait." There's a hint of intense anger in his voice, but he keeps it in check. Somehow.

"This seems like a mission for me. Head back to base in the Batwing, I'll go to Crime Alley on foot."

Robin, or so called Boy Wonder as I've heard and read in the papers, isn't available for this mission so I'd rather ask him instead. My dad exits the roof through the door and is spitting out orders to the GCPD to get to Crime Alley as I hide behind the roof door so he doesn't see me hiding beside it. Robin takes off in the Batwing and, when my dad's off the roof, I reach in my utility belt and throw a homing beacon on the jet. With that done, I make my way to the alley. And of course, I came prepared with making an addition to my left glove. The addition being a communicator that I had duplicated and miniaturized to both keep up with the police and use my tracker when I'm done here. If this keeps up, I'll make my own advanced suit. If I had taken up the courses of being an Innovator, this would be easier. But I took up Data Entry and Data Mining.

Once I get closer to the alley, I hear gunshots, lots of them, accompanied by screams of terror and voluptuous laughter. Batman is already on the scene, I suppose. I follow the sound of the laughter, and hid behind a wall when I hear the laughter is getting closer, and closer still. It reverberates off the corruption of this city like an alarm, waking it up, showing what exactly it's created, and realizing what a monster it is. But I'm not afraid. No matter how demented laughing at someone's death may be.

I clench my fist tightly, crushing today's problems and ready to hit the next one head-on. And when that bleach faced psychopath shows his face at the first second of revealing himself, I slam my fist into his face, probably breaking his nose. I get a better look at him and see he's wearing a purple trench coat, white clown gloves, and green scraggly hair to match. On top of that, a pointy nose and an extension of his smile painted in red, with scars on the smile. He rests his hand on his nose, one not holding the gun, and looks up at me with those light yellow eyes and opens his mouth, laughing, showing his seemingly cavity-laden teeth. He keeps laughing, and the sound reverberates off of my body, trying to shake me with fear. But I refuse to give into the fear. I see that asking why he's doing this may be pointless. As would be the answer to anyone else reacting to a somewhat broken nose in this manner. He takes the hand off of his nose and remarks. "Well, at least hit harder next time! I like the sound of broken bones."

A knife pops out of his left sleeve like it's an addition to his jacket, and he starts swinging at me at speeds I've never seen any blade man go. He grazes my shoulder I was hit last night and it makes the pain even worse, also cutting through my stitches. This knife isn't like any other knife I've known either. It's sharper and deadlier. And even after one swipe, he's still swinging. He's not stopping and making quirky remarks like the others. And the worst part is, is that he's still laughing. Every second that passes, it's like it gets worse. He stabs me in the abdomen and I place my hand on my stomach, trying to staunch the blood flow. I risk being cut again and I grab his knife arm, bringing my elbow as hard as I can on his wrist, and to ensure he doesn't use that hand again; at least for a while, I twist it. I had learned this method in Martial Arts class two weeks ago. And I follow this tactic with blows to the face, the last one knocking him back.

The man laughs at his broken wrist and kicks me hard enough in the stomach to exasperate my injury, knocking me down. This guy's no joke. He leans down to pick up his knife, putting his gun in his jacket pocket and putting the knife back into his pocket, taking out his gun to which he points at my head. He readies the gun and jokingly replies. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. And we were just getting started."

A humongous grin appears on his face, showing all of his teeth, and is seconds away from pulling the trigger pressed against my head until Batman sneaks up behind him and grabs his gun arm, bending it backwards at an angle that you'd think wouldn't make him laugh, but it does. The unidentified man head butts him and elbows him in the cheek bone. I never thought I'd see Batman in action like this, but he doesn't look happy. His suit is a little cut; and plus, I don't see any definite markings on his suit like there are on my suit. He must be equipped for the modern knives, and not these. On the bright side, it won't be that much of an issue until the knife swaps end up making marks on his chin.

I try to stand and help him, but the clown almost shoots my sternum as I manage to dodge it, dealing with the pain. Batman smashes the clown's face into a window, shattering it and slamming the face into another. The clown steps on Batman's foot repeatedly and a crowbar slides out of his other sleeve, using the wrist that I didn't break after all.

Either he's really strong, or he know how to deal with the pain. He swings it at Batman's rib cage and uses the sharp end to hack away at the Dark Knight's chest. I lean against a wall, trying to regain my resolve and force myself to help the Batman, even if I know he can handle this. And at this point, I'm going to assume he's never going to stop laughing. I get a Batarang out of my belt and jab it into one of the clown's shoulders, followed by a whack in the face with the crowbar, repeatedly. I collapse to the ground, clasping my bleeding face. I've never been in so much pain before. Inside I'm screaming bloody murder, and outside there's no use to trying to keep the pain inside, so I just scream. I know I shouldn't, but I peek through the openings of my hands to see the following events. Batman puts the clown in a headlock, cutting off his oxygen and a laughter trying to creep in, and then something strange happens. He gasps for air and stops laughing. Batman kicks the back of one of the clown's legs, bringing him to his knees and releasing the headlock only to elbow the back of the clown's neck, grabbing his hair and slamming the back of his head into the pavement. The clown doesn't give up and sprays the clown flower on his jacket, spraying Batman's chest and melting some of the armor plating so he can shoot him there. Batman, I can tell, can feel that one. But it's not that much of a bother to him since he keeps going, even after being kicked in the knee. The clown manages to get back on his feet and, like a zombie, trudges his way towards Batman, laughing. I can't let this man get away with doing this.

The world I knew is replaced by hysteria of insanity and a sensation of fear creeping in. I gather up what strength I have and, even if I'm about to die, I'll die helping the man that made me the person I am today. But in this moment, I think to myself everything I've been through, and how's it dwarfed right now. How they also forged me into an unstoppable force.

Never being able to fit in. How I was always seen as the "geek." I was gossiped on. Pranked on. Cheated on. Never made it into the police force as a detective because I was too "small." How I scared away people with my intelligence. How I've seen people die in my line of work. How I've come close to dying at least twenty times. Never being able to tell my friends about the feats I accomplished as Batgirl. How I'm helping to keep this city safe. How I'm looked at as, "one of the lowlifes that aren't cleansing the corruption." Regardless, almost half of the GCPD is corrupt anyways, which always led me to believe my father had been keeping some secrets, but I've been caught up in my own world. How my tears always seemed to be my own, and rarely had someone with me. They seem minor now; they were a big deal then. Explains also why Batgirl was my escape, but now, Barbara Gordon is my escape. I guess this day would've come eventually.

My face is dripping blood to the point where I'm afraid I might slip and fall on it. I grit my teeth, clench my fists, try to build up my strength and, when the clown turns around after being so intent on killing Batman, he looks at me and shows the scars on his face from Batman's blades on his gauntlets. He won't. Stop. Laughing… He swings at me with the rusty crowbar and I let out a yell every time I make a rapid strike. I jab his throat, hoping to end his laughing fit. I grab the crowbar when he tries to hit me with it again,, trying to keep from him hitting me with it and I knee his stomach repeatedly. He still keeps laughing and I still keep fighting him. But when I elbow him in the arm, he uses the knife in the other hand to cut open my suit like my dad chopping a loaf of bread, from my waist to my sternum as blood spews outwards.

The next thing I know I wake up in a cave on a metal bed with a mirror adjusted above me, and I see I'm in a cast that spans to my waist to my sternum, and a bandage over my shoulder and face where something hit me. My mind is a little foggy and I can't exactly remember what happened. Then I hear the screeching sounds of…Bats. I hear a beeping sound and look to my left, seeing that my vital sings are okay. At least something is, because I'm still not feeling well. My dad must be worried sick, literality. There's one thing I know right now, even with my concussion, it's only going to get worse from here, and my days of just "making it" as a makeshift vigilante are over. And I'm going to be up against threats I can't take on alone.