Chapter One

10:25 PM; OCTOBER 13

GOTHAM

That's not right. The wings are lopsided. Dammit. Anastasia frowned at her sketchbook as she erased the lines she had just drawn for the third time. No matter what she did to the piece it still felt wrong. Setting down her pencil she took a sip of her latte and looked around, trying to draw inspiration from her surroundings. It was the same coffee shop she usually came to on nights such as this one, the aroma of coffee beans filling the air with temptation. There were only a few other people scattered around the tables and eclectic chairs this time of night: anyone that lived further than five minutes away by walking tended to stop coming after dusk. It was Gotham after all. As it was, Ana was left listening to the faint song of some local band playing over the speakers and the occasional whir of the cappuccino machine as someone ordered yet another drink. The only people talking were Claire and Isaac, the two baristas behind the counter whom Anastasia had known since high school, and a pair of girls pouring over their homework at a table by the window. It was exactly how Ana liked it.

Claire must have noticed her frowning and looking around in a way that said she was looking for inspiration because before Ana knew it the barista had pulled out the chair across from her and unceremoniously plopped down.

"Having trouble with this one?" Claire asked as she leaned closer to get a look at the sketchbook. At the moment it appeared to be covered in random lines and circles, nowhere near what Ana wanted it to be.

Ana shrugged and took another sip of her drink. "You could say that. I've been trying to draw this one for a while now, but it just won't happen. It's like my hand forgot how to draw." She complained, gesturing at the mess of lines.

Claire chuckled and flipped her curly blonde hair behind her shoulder. "Stop thinking about how perfect it has to be and just let it draw itself. If you keep trying to make it live up to the scene in your head then you'll never finish it."

Ana frowned at her friend's words. Surely the barista had to be joking. Despite them both being artists Ana and Claire had always had differing styles. Claire was more abstract, letting her emotions guide her and creating textures with her paints in no particular order. Ana was representational, relying on scales and measurements to create images that mimicked the real world. Not that neither had tried each other's preferred genres, it was a simple fact that the pair thought and worked differently.

Still, Ana considered Claire's words carefully. If she didn't just get the image on the paper regardless of what the image in her mind looked she would never get it done. "Alrighty, I'll try." She smiled up at her friend gratefully, though unsure if her method would work. Ana was nothing if not a perfectionist when it came to her artwork.

Claire stood and turned to go back to the counter. "Don't worry, I'm sure it will be great. By the way," she pointed towards Ana's half-finished latte, "next one's on me."

As Claire returned to her post behind the counter Ana picked her pencil back up. Taking a deep breath, she bowed her head to try yet again to create a drawing she was happy with. Her pencil glided over the paper in a fluid motion, pulling a light grey line behind it. The lines seemed to create themselves, bringing the image in her mind to life. An angel – or perhaps a beautiful demon – pointed its sword at a human woman, her long hair tangling with his wings. It was a piece she had been trying to get right for days now, working any time she wasn't otherwise occupied. Time seemed to slow as she went back and traced over with a pen, being careful to fix any mistakes and not make any more as she inked the lines. She had just brought up the pen when the bang of the door startled her away from the paper.

Just inside the door stood three men, all with masks covering their faces and brandishing guns. Ana's blood turned to ice. She had heard about the recent robberies in the neighborhood, but hadn't thought that she would be witness to one. Usually the little gang robbed businesses after they closed, not while there were still people inside. Everyone assumed that the only reason Gotham's protectors had not intervened yet was because there had been more important criminals to fight: it certainly wasn't the first time small scale criminals decided to rampage while one of the Dark Knight's enemies was out of Arkham. If memory served her right she believed this time it was the Joker and his little sidekick/girlfriend. Compared to the clown faced villain these men were as important as homeless people to the rich.

All talking ceased as one man – whom Anastasia assumed was their leader – stepped up to the counter and casually leaned against it, his gun pointing towards Claire as she stood deathly still on the other side. "Say, why don't you make this nice and easy for both of us. Give us whatever's in the drawer and we'll leave everyone here relatively unscathed." His voice was sickly sweet, dripping with unspoken threats. One of the other men moved to block the door while the other came over to the tables and put his gun to the head of a young man shaking with fear.

"What do you say? My boys are itching for some kind of reward tonight. Of course if you don't give us the money…" he trailed off as he rather obviously looked the girl up and down appreciatively. Ana felt like a rock had dropped in her stomach. Money or be killed and/or raped. It wasn't a fate she wished on anyone. She could see Claire begin to sweat with panic. Something in the man's voice and posture said that two of the three fates would be dealt no matter what. It was just her choice to choose.

But Claire wasn't given a chance to answer as a metal bar came out of nowhere and clamped down on the man's wrist and grew into a sort of shell, covering his hand and gun. He let out a shout as the other two men both dropped their own guns, cursing in pain.

"What the hell is this?!" The leader shouted, his other hand shooting out to grab Claire by the front of her shirt before she could move away. "You're one of those fucking Metas, aren't you!"

"No, no, I swear I'm not. I don't know what's going on!" She cried as he tightened his grip on her shirt. Ana cursed under her breath. Claire was nowhere near free of danger from the man and she was stuck in her seat. So much for being the protector friend.

"Don't lie to me, you bitch. I know either you or someone else in here is a meta!" He growled out.

Everyone looked at each other in confusion and fear. Metas were dangerous if not trained and made into a superhero or given a repressing treatment. Most had been found and given the supposed antidote, but rumors that there were still some out there had been floating around for some time now. The Justice League and Star Labs had done their best to find all the metas created by the Reach, but some had escaped their notice. And evidentially there was one within the little coffee shop. No one in the building could deny that.

"Find him!" The leader shouted again over the low murmurs of the hostages. The two henchmen glanced between themselves in concern, a look that Ana did not miss. These people were afraid. They were afraid of the freak that had made their guns flare white hot, that had encapsulated their leader's hand in metal. She fought back a smirk. Good. Let them be afraid of the freak with powers. It sure as hell beat being used or killed by these guys.

Despite their worry, the man that had been holding one of the customers hostage knelt and picked up his gun, keeping his eyes on everyone as he did so. But even as he watched his hostages he didn't take note of the slight twitch of Ana's hand as she tightened her grip on her pencil. A moment later he found that his gun had sunk into the wood floor only to be completely covered up and out of sight, let alone reach. He reeled back as his hand touched the floor instead of the metal he had been expecting and he looked around with the wide eyes of a deer caught in the headlights. There were chuckles from the hostages and the leader of the group let out a frustrated growl.

"You bastard, show yourself right now." He demanded.

"Or what?"

A new figure stood where the third robber had been only moments before, this one familiar and comforting to see. It was a man clad in a black suit of body armor, the only color coming from the blue bird symbol that spread across his chest. A mask covered his eyes but everyone in the room knew his name.

"Nightwing." The man spat the hero's name out as if it was venom in his mouth even as everyone else practically let out a sigh of relief.

Nightwing gave a smirk as he assessed the situation. It seemed someone had already incapacitated the thugs' ringleader, his hand being trapped in what seemed to be a metal dome. The other man appeared to be weaponless and looking more and more worried about his own wellbeing by the second. The third he had knocked out on the way in. None of the hostages appeared harmed, aside from the barista whose shirt was still within the leader's grasp.

"I'd say I was here to save these people, but it seems someone beat me to it." The hero stepped over the unconscious man and approached the leader. "So let's just skip to the part where you're in handcuffs and the police arrive."

The man growled and tightened his grip on the Claire's shirt to the point that it was choking her. "You take one more step and she dies."

Nightwing's hand went toward one of his escrima sticks, but just before he could grab it the man dropped the girl, yowling in pain and bringing his hand to his body. Nightwing narrowed his eyes as the man's hand seemed to be gaining lacerations from nowhere, the skin splitting open and spilling blood all over his clothing and the floor.

"Who the hell is doing this?" He demanded. No one responded. "I don't care if all of you are metas, you will regret this."

"Please shut up." Nightwing muttered as he hit the man's temple with his escrima, effectively knocking him out. He noted with curiosity that as the man fell the metal casing around his other hand seemed to disappear, as well as the lacerations on the hand he had been cradling. If it wasn't for the blood on the floor it would be as if nothing had happened.

Nightwing turned toward the third man, who he found was now kneeling on the ground with metal bindings around his hands and feet. The masked hero glanced around at the astonished and perplexed people for any hint of who may have done this. It was easy to assume that the one who had bound this man had been responsible for the casing on the other man's hand as well, though he wasn't quite sure about the wounds on his hand followed by the instant healing. There may well have been two metas within the group.

Only one person stood out to him, as she did not appear frightened or confused. A slender girl with auburn hair tied up in a messy bun surveyed the scene as if from a distance, her expression detached and bored, though there seemed to be something else hidden in her eyes. Smugness perhaps. Her dark eyes caught his own and whatever hidden emotion he thought he had seen disappeared into fear. Why would she be afraid of me?

Ana looked away quickly in a vain attempt in pretending that she hadn't met eyes with the hero. She didn't need the attention from someone like him and quite frankly his presence was only a nuisance to her. She didn't want to be anywhere near Nightwing - or any other superhero for that matter. What she needed and wanted was to get home. But she knew that wasn't going to happen until Nightwing gave the okay. She glanced over towards Claire, who appeared to be trying desperately to keep a panic attack at bay as Isaac attempted to calm her down. She needed to get home quickly. Knowing the blonde, Ana doubted that she had her medication with her. Claire rarely brought a purse with her anywhere, let alone to work.

She didn't know why she was the first one to move. In hindsight it was reckless and only drew more attention than necessary towards her. But both she and Claire needed to get home and she had spied her ticket out before the police could show up and question her. Slipping her sketchbook and pencils back into her backpack, Ana hoisted it onto her shoulders and stood, ignoring the stares that followed her. She was halfway across the room when Nightwing stopped her.

"Miss, you're going to need to stay here for the police to question and make sure you get home safely." He spoke gently but with an authority that came from years of having to take the savior role.

"I just want to make sure she's alright," Ana gestured towards Claire who had taken up refuge in a corner of the space behind the counter and was hugging herself tightly despite her coworker's attempts to calm her. "She and I live in the same building and if she doesn't get to her medicine not even the police will be able to question her. I'm sure you can allow that."

Nightwing glanced at the shivering barista. He had seen enough panic attacks to know that the red head in front of him was right. The girl needed to be somewhere she felt safe. The police could take her statement tomorrow. "Alright. I'll have them question her in the morning."

Ana wasted no time in slipping past him, repressing the urge to run out the door immediately. "Come on, Claire, let's get you home."

Ana groaned as she unlocked the door to her apartment. Tonight had been a close one. She was almost glad that Claire had been on the verge of a panic attack. At least it meant she could get out of there sooner. She couldn't stand being near superheroes, even if they were considered the heroes of the city or even the world. They were a danger to her.

Kicking off her shoes and slinging her backpack down beside them, Ana made her way to her room, leaving a trail of clothes as she stripped. She would clean them up in the morning. Right now she was too mentally drained to care about the state of her apartment. She had more important things to take care of.

A meow sounded from the bed as Ana entered the room and made a beeline for her dresser, pulling out a set of black pajamas and slipping them on. The cat strutted over to her, head cocked to the side and eyes wide with a desire to be pet. Ana smiled and picked up the feline. She had gotten the little cat, whom she had named Persephone, back when she was still in middle school as a gift from her aunt after her mother had passed away. Her brother had told her she was being morbid by naming the little torte colored cat after a goddess of the underworld, but Ana had been optimistic. Perhaps if the mythological Persephone could come and go from the underworld with the seasons maybe her own despair would turn to some sort of hope come spring. Regardless, the cat had become an anchor in her life and it was a relief to see the furry feline after the evening she had had.

Carrying the cat with her, Ana made her way over to her desk and opened the bottom drawer. Pulling out a large black journal, she placed Persephone on the ground despite the cat's indignant and demanding meows for more attention. Taking out a black pen, she flipped to a blank page and began to write.

Date: October 13, 2017

The powers manifested in public. Nine, possibly ten witnesses. Location: Venus Coffee, Ravenwood Street, Gotham.

Witnesses: 2 baristas: Claire Lukas, Isaac Gardener. Three robbers (victims of the power). Four customers. Possibly Nightwing.

Occurrences: Once with metal encapsulating a man's hand and gun. Once burning the hands of two men via their guns. Once creating a portal in the floor through which a gun fell. Once creating lacerations on a man's hand: total seven lacerations. Once creating new skin where said lacerations occurred. Once with metal bands around a man's wrists and ankles.

Classifications: metal, infliction of injuries, healing, portals.

The power is stronger than before. No signs of physical illness or fatigue after using the power. Mental exhaustion lightly due to stress of the situation. No one suspects who the meta is. Avoided the suspicion of Nightwing.

She sighed and closed the log book. She was tired of writing these things down, trying to track who may have seen what and who may trace it back to her. For nine months she had been doing her best to hide and keep track of any time her powers manifested. She usually avoided using them at all costs, though there were exceptions such as tonight in which she was grateful to have been given her abilities. If they acted only at will she would perhaps consider herself lucky. After all, not even most superheroes had powers quite like hers.

A/N: I have been trying for so long to figure out how to write a YJ fanfic and I am very happy to have finally started writing. This chapter is just kind of an introduction to Anastasia who is far more than she appears to be. I'll post the next chapter as soon as I can.