Chapter One
She loved dinner parties. There was a certain charm about them - the warm glow and scattered happiness of such a gathering that she loved so much. She stood, smiling, in a little dress her father had fixed up for her hours ago. Someone was speaking, but she couldn't catch the words. She never could.
Her dress itched, and she felt uncomfortable in such awkward attire. It was the first time she had ever worn such formalwear - her father didn't have the opportunity to entertain guests often, and she was still a mere girl of eight. Regardless, she was glad to have a sorely needed break from the games she had been playing with her father almost nonstop for as far back as she could remember. They were fun games - she enjoyed them, and she had the feeling her father did too.
The man finished speaking. He sat down, but motioned for the men behind him to remain standing. They carried black, long items that shared an uncanny resemblance with the black objects she had used in some of the games with her father for so long, putting them together and taking them apart for hours on end, her eyes bound.
Her attention quickly shifted away from them when her father tapped her shoulder. She turned to face him, noticing his smiling face. She smiled back, and she could see anticipation and satisfaction in her father's smile. It made her feel proud.
"Remember the game we played last week?" her father asked. She nodded, smiling, remembering with fondness how her father had tried in vain for two hours to win the game. First he had tried a direct route - throwing punches and kicking, all of them missing her almost as if she knew they were coming beforehand. When physical means failed, he had pulled out the weapons - crossbows, guns, anything he could think of, and fired at her relentlessly. Even then she evaded his attempts to subjugate her, and her father had finally conceded defeat, though he didn't seem particularly upset at his loss, a fact that she had noted curiously.
Her father pointed over at the man who had just taken a seat, shaking her out of her recollections. The man was talking and laughing like he had not a care in the world, his carefree attitude a stark contrast to the stoic men in black toting heavy weapons behind him. Her father spoke in a friendly tone, "I need you to go play the game with that man over there."
This wasn't immediately alarming to her. Her father had, on occasion, asked her to play the games with other people. She had had a jolly time and most of the time worked up quite a sweat. Still, this man didn't look like much of a gamer.
She hesitated. "Come on, sweetie. Do it for me." Her father's eyes twinkling eyes coupled with his reassuring grin set her mind at ease.
Determined, she stepped forward to the table the man sat behind. Her father had taught her how to approach people playing the game. She couldn't be too obvious, she had to be subtle, she had to be agile if she wanted to win. As she approached the man, she kept her eyes lowered, trying to present herself as as small a threat as possible. She wanted her opponent to underestimate her.
The man grinned at her. "Cute kid, Cain."
Suddenly, she sprang into motion, leaping onto the table in one fluid motion. She read in the man's face that he was about to move - move backwards, evading her, resisting her early attempt to win the game. She read all of this precious seconds before it really happened, which bought her enough time to thrust out her hand and deliver a crushing stroke to the man's neck.
A spurt of blood exploded from the man's neck, followed by a steady stream of blood that began to pour out of his mouth and nose like a gushing waterfall. She reeled, shocked, her arms soaked in blood. Loud bangs and smoke filled the air as she collapsed to the floor. She stared at her bright red palms, uncomprehending, not understanding, not understanding why the man fell backwards like that, why the man wasn't breathing, why the man didn't get back up and congratulate her on winning the game.
Then she realized, and wished she had never realized at all.
"NOOOOOOO!"
Cassandra jerked upright, her body trembling. Her mouth was open, quivering with the exertions of a silent scream. Her long black hair, usually neat, lay strewn in messy threads across her pillow. She was momentarily disoriented, then remembered herself. She was in her room in the clock tower, a woman of 17, not the little girl she revisited so often in her dreams.
She slowly pulled herself out of bed, her cold sweat mingling with the warm covers. It was still light out, so she didn't need to wake just yet. But she felt restless, haunted by an incurable guilt.
Slipping on a robe, Cassandra stepped into the main atrium of the small apartment at the top of the clock tower where she spent her days. She was a creature of the night, much like her namesake the bat, and she spent her evenings prowling the streets of Gotham, acting as watchful protector of the city. Where Batman lacked, Cassandra fulfilled. And she did a damn good job of it.
Oracle was, as usual, up and typing diligently at the various keyboards she had scattered around her control room, the only area that looked out of place in the dingy, plain apartment. A revolving hidden wall normally hid the control room from sight, but with the clock tower secured, precautions were compromised in favor of convenience. Her light glasses complemented her bright green eyes, and her distinct red hair flowed freely down her back. She sat in a wheelchair, and Cassandra noted, somewhat sadly, that she would always be confined to one. Oracle had never confided in Cassandra exactly how she had received the crippling injury, but Cassandra knew how much it had cost her. It was precisely because of that cost that she now stood, retrieving her Batgirl costume from the closet and beginning the arduous process of putting it on.
Oracle noticed Cassandra's silent presence at last and, disengaging herself from the massive computer systems sprawled out in front of her, turned to greet her. "Not eating today, Cass?"
Cassandra shook her head and motioned towards the holo room, an ingenious development by Oracle that allowed a user to participate in training programs against a multitude of simulated enemies. Oracle understood Cassandra's intent and turned back to her computers. "Just don't break anything."
Finished dressing, Cassandra headed into the training room, flexing her muscles. She was determined to get better, to prove she was worthy of the cowl and insignia. She had done this for so long, she didn't even feel any apprehension at all as she set the training console to the highest level possible and readied herself.
It had barely been ninety minutes before the training console abruptly shut itself off. Cassandra's carefully timed punch hit empty air, and she looked around, confused. Oracle's voice shone through the speakers in the training room.
"Cass, there's something you need to see."
Obliging, Cassandra pulled off her full-face mask and stepped out of the training room back into the control room, gazing with some alarm at Oracle who was seated in front of a large display. She wondered what event could have happened that would be large enough in scale to warrant the interruption of her rigorous training sessions.
Oracle turned the monitor towards Cassandra, gesturing with her hand towards the images on the screen which were coupled with some intelligible words. Cassandra immediately recognized one of the images as Police Commissioner Gordon, longtime head of the Gotham City Police Department and Oracle's father. The other pictures on the screen, shadowy faces of mysterious-looking men, were foreign to her.
Oracle caught a glance of Cassandra's concerned face and was quick to console her, assuring, "My father is fine." Her face darkening, she added, "but not for long." She turned back to the computer and brought up some new files. "The League of Assassins. Have you ever heard of them?"
When Cassandra shook her head, Oracle continued. "Not many do. It's a small organization, one that likes to keep itself hidden. I haven't bothered with them, and they haven't bothered with me. But…Cassandra, I've just received some disturbing intel. The League is going after my father. Tonight." Cassandra shot her a questioning look. "Why would they go after my father? Plenty of reasons. First, he's head of the police department here in Gotham City. Killing him could potentially destabilize the institution enough to cause serious damage. Second, he's been known to have worked with Batman at times as a key ally. Someone seeking to weaken Batman would obviously head for his allies first. But they're assassins, Cass. The only logical reason I can think of for them doing this is money. And I don't know who paid them. All I know is that they need to be stopped, and you're the only one I feel is capable of doing so on such short notice."
Cassandra nodded, as if it was just an assignment like any other. She gazed outside the windows of the clock tower. "Where is he?" Oracle supplied. "Knowing my father, at this time of day he'd be working late at police headquarters, drowning himself in caffeine. But no need to go looking for him. I've found the location of the assassins - their temporary hideout in Gotham, if you may." Her fingers tapped quickly across the keyboard, bringing up a map of Gotham. "I've marked the coordinates. Take them out, Batgirl. But…be careful. They're extremely dangerous, probably the best in the League, as I can't imagine them sending mediocrity to assassinate the head of authority in Gotham. And you…you know how dangerous assassins are firsthand. You have… personal experience." Oracle turned her head away slightly, wondering if she had offended Cassandra with her last statement.
If she was offended, she didn't show it. She simply nodded and pulled her mask back on, equipping her utility belt and patting it down to check for content. Satisfied, she waved a campy good-bye at Oracle, as if they were two good friends at school who were parting temporarily for the summer. The wave was returned a little uneasily and a little late, as Cassandra was already gone.