Disclaimer: Turtles aren't mine and Batman or any associated characters aren't mine either.
A/N: Years ago, when I was first starting out as a fanfic writer, I had this story titled 'Born of Both Worlds'. It was about an orphan who went and trained with Batman before being sent to New York City. In the end, the story didn't go in the direction that I wanted, so I erased it and tried again. The revised edition of Born of Both Worlds didn't work either, so that was deleted. This is that story all over again, but hopefully I can complete it (Third Time's the charm, right?). I'm trying to make my OC as little of a Mary Sue as possible (That was my biggest problem with the first two attempts).
I slammed my front door shut and leaned against the wooden barrier, tears sliding down my face. My first week as a crime journalist was getting to me, and after interviewing a new bride whose husband was brutally murdered, I was emotionally beat.
I reached down, pulling off my black moccasins and tossing them aside on a heap next to the door, before running up the stairs to my bedroom. Rooting through my drawers, I took out a white leotard and some cloth strips. Changing in the leotard, I ruffled my short, dirty-blonde hair before wrapping my knuckles with the cloth. I kept mussing my hair as I ran back down stairs and down the basement steps. My old, beaten and battered punching bag hung from the rafters. I launched myself at it, pounding it with my bandaged knuckles and allowing my frustrations to ease away with every hit I made.
After I was covered in sweat, and marginally tired, I lay down on the padded floor and stared up at the ceiling. My work hadn't even started yet, and I dreaded getting up and facing the world as who I really thought I was.
Because I born Lyra Cosmins, I used that name. But that was the name of an almost innocent bystander. The important part of me was hidden away, waiting to reveal itself to the scum who lurked the streets of New York City. The important part of me wasn't the contributions I made to society during the day.
It was how I guarded the city at night.
Nemesis's pitch black cape billowed around her as she crouched on the ledge of a sky scraper. An earpiece, carefully tucked into her ear and tuned into the NYPD police scanner, relayed messages ranging from a bar fight to domestic disturbances.
'Nothing for me there' she thought as she withdrew her grappling hook gun from her belt and aimed it at a neighboring building. As it hooked on the building's roof, she tugged to make sure the cable was secure. Satisfied, she swung across the alley, bracing her feet against the wall before she began her vertical ascent.
"I really need to get used to this city. Gotham's buildings aren't this close." She said as she reached the roof. She looked out over the city, illuminated with the lights of apartments and city street lamps.
Glancing down the block, she saw a woman walk past a dark alley and an arm shot out of the alley, grabbing the female. As the woman was dragged into the alley, her cry was muffled. Nemesis took off running, leaping over the buildings towards the victim. She dropped down into the alley and lurked in the shadows, assessing the situation. Two men, wearing purple dragons on some aspect of their being, had backed the lady against the wall and were advancing on her with knives and pipes.
"Hand over da purse an' any jewelry, missy." One said, his knife drawing close to her throat.
"An' ya might not get hurt." The other finished, smacking his pipe against his open palm threateningly. The woman sobbed and reached up to the shoulder strap of her purse.
"That's not very nice, boys." A voice said from above the thugs, and a shape dropped down on the knife wielding man. The man fell, yelling.
"What 'da heck!" the other guy said, and Nemesis launched herself at him, her fist connecting with his jaw. He stumbled back, clutching his jaw, before charging at her with his raised pipe. She unfurled her leg with and with a thud, slammed her booted foot against his stomach. He hit the wall and slid down, unconscious. Nemesis looked over at where the other assailant had been, and saw that he too was out, his attacker no where to be seen.
"Call the police; tell them there's been an attempted mugging on King and 8th. I'll take care of these loons until they arrive." Nemesis said to the terrified woman. The woman bolted out of the alley, tugging her cell phone out of the purse. The crime fighter crouched next to the man she had felled and rolled him on to his back.
The other goon was dropped next to her and she looked over. Her shadowed accomplice stood above her. With a flash of his white teeth, he was gone, leaping onto the fire escape. Nemesis shook her head and pulled two zip ties from her utility belt.
The black clad woman leaned over the side of the building, watching as the cops escorted the two muggers to the police cruisers. Michelangelo crept to stand behind her. With a whirl, the woman used a right uppercut and caught his jaw. He stumbled back, wincing. She came at him again, but Michelangelo was ready. Dropping, he grasped one ankle and heaved, throwing her to the ground. She growled and kicked him. They continued to fight until she pinned him on to his shell, pressing her forearm against his throat.
Breathing heavily, she glared at him "Who are you and what do you want?" she spat.
Struggling to breathe, he grinned "Name's Michelangelo, and I just wanted to talk, which is hard when you're bent on crushing my wind pipe." Slowly, she eased the pressure, and stood up. "Thanks" Michelangelo flipped onto his feet.
"I'm Nemesis. Sorry about attacking you, but it's instinct." She stuck her hand out and he grasped it.
"No problem. So, are you a superhero or something?" He grinned, excited. Nemesis laughed.
"Or something, I think most people call my type 'vigilantes'"
"Even cooler."
"Sometimes"
"Have you been in the Big Apple long?"
"This is actually my first night on patrol"
"Awesome. Do you want a tour?"
She hesitated, and he took the time to look her over. She wore a black, form-fitting black body suit under a knee-length black cape. Her dirty-blonde hair was cut into a pixie style, and her skin was fair underneath a black eye mask. Her grey half boots corresponded with the grey elbow length gloves.
"I think I could use a tour." She admitted, reaching up and tousling her hair.
"Excellent" He grinned again and beckoned for her to follow him.
A couple hours later, Michelangelo turned to Nemesis. "And that's King Street to the End of Manhattan. Do you think you can remember the way?"
She grinned back him "Yep, I'm pretty certain. I think I might even be able to beat you in a race back to King."
"How'd you like to put your money where your mouth is? First one back to King Street owes the other a pizza."
"Deal. On the count of three."
"One…" They both dropped to a starting position
"…Two…" they glanced at each other before looking back ahead
"…Three…" They both ran forward, running neck and neck until Michelangelo pulled ahead. Nemesis frowned and ran harder. Glancing ahead, she saw an alley that, with a few detours, would put her closer to King Street. With a slight grin, she ducked into the alley. She looked up and saw Michelangelo still running on the rooftops. She smiled and jumped onto a dumpster to vault over a wooden fence.
She kept running until something tackled her to the ground and a cool, metal blade was pressed against her throat.
"If you want to walk away with your throat uncut, then you won't move." A deep, rough voice cautioned. Gritting her teeth, she tilted her head upwards. She saw Michelangelo drop down from the roof top and approach.
"No! Wait!"
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