I can't find a sidekick OC story that makes me happy, so my only option is to write my own.
This is an action/thriller/horror story taking heavy influences from comics and novels.
Using creative liberties with timelines and changing them to suit my own needs.
Will be dealing with multiple villains at once, like with the Arkham video games. See my author page for more details.
Orange and Black
Chapter One
Experience is a brutal teacher, but God, do you learn. -C.S. Lewis
Gotham City was a labyrinth surrounded by cold concrete, steel, and bright neon signs. The streets were bathed in the white fog of city lights refracting off of each individual raindrop which clouded the stormy midnight sky overhead like a classic horror film. The alleyways and sewer gutters were frosted with grime and disease. It was beautiful and disgusting, as was the charm.
Typical urban sounds resounded off buildings into foreboding alleys and barely softening at the pitch rooftops, rumored to be home to a giant far below in the rat's maze, a car backfired then a slight but unmuffled chime touched keen ears. Few moments passed before the musical tinkling of glass morphed into a not unfamiliar sound: a burglar alarm. Some kind of handgun bit back at the insistent screaming of the anti-theft system and laid out a red carpet for anyone foolish enough to partake in the dangerous game. From a few blocks away, thin white slits narrowed at the audacity. On my way, jack-off.
High up on the walls of a crumbling gothic cathedral church sat a shadow among the significantly larger mounted gargoyles, offsetting the symmetry of the building. A young fool's teeth shined behind a smirk as a taxi sped by the church, its brights breaking the guise of the shadows and revealing the anomaly to have disappeared.
Underneath the glare of the street lights, a sense of adrenaline that could only come from a pull on the trigger of a gun washed over LeBlanc. He needed the cash the jewels would pawn for no question but considering his location – Hartfelt's Jewelry in the Diamond District – an argument could be made that he was thrill seeking. He was feeling more ballsy than ever and that pinch in his chest he got when the alarm went off was better than speed.
A powerful snap of a heavy fabric like a flag in the wind alerted him to the above attack and he turned to intercept but LeBlanc was much too slow. Orange boots crashed onto his broad shoulders and sent both he and his assailant to the ground in a collective heap. His gun, a Zoraki 914, fired as it struck the ground hard then clattered away. LeBlanc didn't feel his head hit the ground the first time until it had bounced up then slapped the asphalt again. An unevenly edged yellow cape fluttered down after them, blanketing LeBlanc's lower body. In his final moments of consciousness, the crook's eyes locked onto the figure crouching over his chest.
From LeBlanc's position on his back with a concussion blackening his vision, he could vaguely make out the body of a woman clad in the colors like wild fire. Stringy dark hair slick with rain curtained around her face and tickled his nose while shadows cast from the street lamps above laced her face, exaggerating every feature into a horrible maw.
With a grunt the thief's head fell back against the ground, electing a scoff of frustration from the vigilante. She rose from her crouch and stepped off the criminal, glass crushing beneath her bright boots. Every time, every damn time, she went out doing what she pretentiously referred to as "ass-kicking", criminals always thought she was some new lacky sidekick of the Batman. What was worse was that they passed out before she could properly introduce herself.
Snatching up the burglar's half empty bag, she examined the contents before upturning the bag. The sound of expensive jewelry scuffing on the glass littered floor inside the broken display window skittered into her ears.
While she had no social interests with the criminals of Gotham's underbelly, she knew the only way to earn respect in the city was through fear. Cops, the mob, murderers, , The Batman – they were all the same in that respect: gaining control through fear. Call her impatient, but six months of working her ass off and all she had to her reputation was one little one square inch report on page eight of The Gotham Times last week, where the writer had called her "the nameless sidekick." There wasn't even a photograph to accompany the shoddy and anonymous eye-witness report.
It was all complete bullshit. She scowled, pulling plastic handcuffs from her knapsack. Using the toes of her bright orange boots to kick the man onto his front, she bent over and applied the restraints.
From above, a shadow fell across the brightly clad woman. Wings flapping sounded close-by, yet nearly inaudible under the siren call of the alarm system. She looked up to the ledge she had moments before leaped off. Glistening wet with the rain and black against the blackened sky, a monstrous winged beast hunched forward, paused at the building's ledge and cocked its head.
It didn't take deductive reasoning to tell it was observing her and she glared back, reproachful. Remnants of streetlight glanced across the gargoyle's back and across its massive shoulders, down its craned, cabled neck, across its skull, striking a triangle at one pointed bat's ear. It rose to stand, the wings now a fluttering cape wrapped tight around the body of a man.
"Gonna take all the credit again?" She shouted up at the cloaked figure, not caring her words were probably blocked out by the combination of the alarm and the bucketfuls of rain. No response. Without a sound, nor second glance, the shadow took a running start before leaping from the rooftop, cape spread out like wings as he glided through the sky. The shadow faded into the steamy fog. Then it was gone.
The white slits in her domino mask narrowed dangerously, "Not this time."
Snatching tape and a piece of pre-printed paper from her bag, she returned her attention to the passed out thug on the ground. After getting him set up all nice and pretty in the display and smacking the tape tight to his shirt, she sprinted to the nearest alley at the sound of police sirens. In this city, she wouldn't put it past them to try and arrest her if she tried to stick around.
The crook's head hung back on his relaxed neck while his body lay crumpled in the display window, the paper on his abdomen crackled as the wind blew. The note was plain white with three simple words on it:
You're welcome,
Claw
\~/
End Chapter One
Credit to Frank Miller who was a direct influence on this entire chapter.