I need to know what happened all those years ago. I owe it to my grandmother. I owe it to my family. But most of all… I owe it to him.
Crackling thunder roared across the darken skies above the city of Gotham. A heavy mist had settled over the crime-ridden city rather than the forecasted heavy rain. But even on a dark and stormy night such as this, the lights in Gotham were bright enough to reflect off the mist, illuminating the still silhouettes of two figures standing atop the Stacked Deck. The two figures stood, face to face, in stark contrast to one another, a man and a woman. The man, looking to be borderline elderly, hunched over, and nearly bald, stood over a wooden cane and pointed a revolver steadily at a woman that stood nearly three meters away. The woman, young, only just reaching her early twenties in age, stood erect with perfect posture, and had her hands held up to show that she was unarmed.
The woman's body trembled in fear as she nervously licked her dry lips, brown eyes darting all around her surroundings as she realized how dangerous of a situation she had gotten herself in. The pair had been standing outside long enough for the mist to dampen her crimson wool coat. The young woman knew for sure that she could defend herself against one elderly man with a gun, but once she noticed several figures lurking in the shadows around them, she cursed and realized the hopelessness of the situation. As much as she wished that she was capable of fighting back against several armed thugs, the young woman knew that she was as normal as they came. Granted, the woman had a small pistol concealed in a holster under her coat, but that would alert the rest of the thugs in the building below. And while she was slightly better off than most normal citizens, the young lady was definitely no Batman.
But Batman won't be able to save me. The young woman lamented with a grim visage. She should have never ventured to the Stacked Deck on her own. She should have never pursued this cold case. Should have never felt an obligation to her family. Should have never tried to play detective to solve the half century old mystery. But she needed to know if, after all her work and deductions, she had found the man that her grandmother had been seeking all these painful years.
Steeling herself, the woman boldly met the elderly man's cold gaze and inquired, "Are you Michael Walker?"
The older man narrowed his eyes, green, like her grandmother's, and hissed venomously, "Who da hell's ask'n, ya dumb broad?"
Sneering in disgust at the insult and rudeness, the woman narrowed her almond shaped eyes in a fierce and defiant glare that reminded the older man of someone that he knew a very very long time ago. In fact, the woman's entire visage was a near exact mirror of someone from his past. "Isa Walker, your niece, you stupid asshole."
But do you really? Would you go that far? Do you really owe him?
How far are you willing to go, Isa? What will you sacrifice?
Because this is how villains are born.