I Need A Hero to Save Me
My heart's pounding keeps me focused on the task at hand. Just one more trap to avoid, and I could be out of here. I am just a step away, just one shaky breath away from the objective! Sweat trickles down my right temple as I swallow the lump in my throat. The room is illuminated in florescent lights, the eerie glow not easing my stun. There, standing to my left was my mentor, my partner and pretty much all of the Justice League. The bath of light feels like Bane ramming into my ribs, except, this, this is right in the heart.
"Bat... girl?" Robin's expression was one of horror. I couldn't bear to look at Batman's face. My nerves would crumple in an instant. I could feel Superman trying not to burn holes into my lithe frame. I, Batgirl, am stealing a priceless artifact that they risked their lives to recover only weeks before. I was supposed to be one of them—not on my own agenda; a role model for Robin.
Trembling, my locked elbow raises in a mechanical wave, my fingers unable to hold in place. "It's... not what it... looks like?" My partner only grits his teeth, clenches his small fists and attempts to lunge. Had it not been for the heavy, raven gloved appendage resting on his left shoulder, I'm sure he'd be on top off me wrestling for an answer. I have to move. My other arm still outstretched for the target behind the tempered glass moves quicker than I thought possible considering my fear.
Grey smoke erupted from several smoke pellets, but I knew it wouldn't deter my mentor or the Man of Steel. Punching into the small case, I enclose the item as best as I can into my hand before leaping into the air. Maybe it's because he couldn't believe his eyes, but Batman didn't tackle me to the ground like he normally would have to any other criminal. Instead, he allowed everyone's favourite big blue Boy Scout ─the same one he wasn't too fond of most of the time─ to chase into the shadows after me.
X-ray vision or not, super speed or not, the Justice League's leader wouldn't catch me. I was trained by the League's most ultimate member, whom was trained by darkness itself.
Launching myself above some priceless totem pole thing, I warble out my employer's name in desperation, falling with the as much grace as a duck into a white, cyber web-like portal, disappearing before Earth's hero could tangle his fingers into my wild locks.
Landing with a grunt of pain on behalf of my tailbone, a hiss escapes my lips at the figure before me. Dropping the item to the cool, gritty stone floor, I narrow my eyes in disgust. However, my look wasn't aimed at him. It was targeting me. How could I be so weak after training vigorously under Batman's tutelage? Crying sounded great right now. But I have to keep it together. What little pride remaining in this outfit has to be maintained until I could return to Gotham.
The man's sickening chuckle vibrates in my ears and sends a sick chill down my spine. Praised, another one of the man's time-space continuum rule breakers was summoned. His hints were as subtle as Robin exposing Kid Flash to the girls in the Young Justice team. In no way was I associated with the mock team, but when Dick returned to Gotham for school and the "dynamic duo" ─aren't I part of Batman's team now? ─thing he always had a story of how he slammed "KF" in front of Miss Martian and Artemis.
Slowly but surely, I collected myself to my feet, sending one last glare the planet's leader's way, before stepping into my escape. I didn't even make it to the end of my transport before I collapsed in tears. Dragging the rest of my way out, I barely registered that I was in an alley nearby one of Scarecrow's old hideouts. My body shook with each sob. Life just freaking sucked at this moment.
I hiccup and claw at my mask, sobbing my heart out. Sure, I'm terrified of the Batman hunting me down, especially when he knows where I live, especially since it's his fault the league knows who I am. But I'm rooted to my perch, curling my knees in, allowing the entirety of Gotham's low lives know Batgirl is a traitorous baby, no better than they.
Daddy would kill himself if he knew about any of this... I sniff at the thought. More than anything, did I want the "Commish's daughter immunity" I have at school right now. It probably would make things a little easier.
Who am I kidding? No criminal's life was ever easy. Not at thirty, certainly not at fifteen. I debate on ripping off my mask; I had no right to wear it. My body snorts poorly in response. I never had a right. Dick did, but not me. I was new to crime fighting, only entering the scene a few months prior to tonight. The only reason why I knew about the Team was a mishap from my nosiness.
Batman was never friendly to me like he was with his other students. This only makes me cry harder. I need to split. Throwing my gymnast body toward the unforgiving, glass decorated asphalt, my body clambers erect, my shoulders still bouncing in shame, pathetic whimpers escaping my throat. I can't go home, I can't ask a criminal for refuge when I've helped put them behind bars before. I can't even call a friend to stay with because Dick was my rock. And he loathes me; his obscured eyes said all they needed to back there.
My cycle—a gift from Mr. Fox—was parked a few blocks away. Bruce probably tracked it while I was finishing the job, either demolishing, or booby-trapping it for my sweet little figure to sit on. The brood had enough experience with crime to last ten lifetimes; any trap he'd configure would be far more horrifying than anything the Joker could cook up. Another snort erupts from me. At least the Joker would receive mercy.
Refusing to risk anything, I pace over to a payphone, cursing the streetlamps that signal my presence. I've had enough spotlights for one day. Lamely, I push spare coins in from my utility belt, shaking digits punching in an unfamiliar number. The line rings four times, five times, before the other end answers, deep, silky voice layered in sleep.
"H-hey Roy," My voice breaks, bottom lip trembling horribly in a pout I used to practice in the bathroom every Friday morning to use on my dad. "I need help," I hardly reach a whisper, the shrill tone picking its pace.