"I didn't know you hated it that much," Stephanie repeated in a rather high pitched voice as she drove her beat-up car up to the entrance of Gotham.

Of course, the town sign would now include a bat signal. She sighed and turned up the rap song on the radio.

"Stupid Carrie," Stephanie muttered as she entered Gotham, driving through the connecting streets behind the harbors.

It was a special talent of Gotham that when you had to drive slowly everyone managed to look as criminal as possible. A shipyard worker with a rather unfortunate scarring on his face cast her car a look.

She became acutely aware of the fact that everything she owned was in this car and that it would be hard to live for the duration of two months with absolutely nothing.

It's times like this she wishes she stayed in the ass-kicking business.

She finally reached a portion where she could speed up and return to the highway from what she had previously assumed to be a 'good' shortcut.

She started to press her pedal to the metal when a red blur appeared behind her.

Ah, a motorcyclist, god's favorite type of asshole.

This guy honestly didn't care she was there as he was practically in her asshole.

Man, he even had a douche haircut, black hair with a white stripe.

"Stop being a fucking yeast infection." She replied as the guy tried to past her.

Fuck, she must have run over something because her car just leaped in the air.

That guy is doing some weird hand signals.

It's probably a gang sign.

Oh no, he's just gesturing for her to pull to the side.

As if. She accelerated far too much.

Is it even safe to us both of your hands to signal?

Another leap.

It slowly dawned on Stephanie that there might be something wrong.

She thanked god that she was in the right most lane of traffic on the freeway and started to pull to the side as she came up the bridge.

Other cars seemed to shoot away.

The man on the motorcycle was coming up quick and shouting something.

Stephanie cursed her inability to read lips.

"Flow? What? Does he want me to look at the river?" She screamed in return, "It flows nice, yes!"

The man approached even faster.

Something earth shattering must have hit the ground because the next thing she knew him trying to turn his bike to ride up next to her car turned into his bike flying at her head and her collapsing to the ground as she knee-jerk reacted and pulled douche man off his cycle.

"Are you crazy?" He screamed at her.

He was quite beautiful.

Very well built, very nice blue eyes, a bit heavy feeling but it must be hundred or so pounds of muscle above her.

He rolled off her as something smashed next to her head.

"For god's sake, are you stupid?" He yelled louder at her.

She wasn't quite sure what his face looked like at this moment, as she had reflexed and closed her eyes.

She opened them now, it seemed pretty man moonlighted as a luchador.

Wait-

She rolled away with a yelp.

Pretty man/doucheguy turned into the Redhood while both the luchador and her weren't paying attention.

She struggled to her feet as the database within her brains tried to come up with a Mexican wrestler vil- Oh.

Bane was turning to grab her car.

Bane was luchador man.

…Her car.

"Oh fuck no." She muttered.

"Step aside blondie, I'll take care of this." The Redhood replied.

"Like hell you are, he is not going to smash my car." She retorted.

She began marching up to the larger man.

"Blondie, I have this handled, I'm a professional."

"Like hell you are!" She screamed, approaching the luchador like a wild cat stalking its prey.

The luchador paid the woman no heed.

She set off her car's help button, starring at Bane defiantly.

"You should leave things to the heroes!" Mr. Sexyface Dumbpants yelled to her.

Steph clapped her hands over her head to get Bane's attention.

"Hey, asshole!"

The over muscular man turned his head to her with a confused expression.

"Dick for brains!"

He tilted his head.

"Literal dirty thong of a person!"

Oh, now he was ticked. He tossed the woman an irritated smile.

"What is it, Chiquita?"

"That's my car."

"It is?"

"It is."

He slightly tilted her car.

"I don't have insurance." Stephanie quickly lied. "Do you know what a bitch this would be without insurance?"

He seemed to consider his. "Ah, but the paperwork."

"I'd rather do paperwork than have to buy a new car," Steph replied. "Can you just put it down?"

Bane squinted at her. "I have to throw this at him, see."

Redhood made a grunt.

Ah, he was loading something.

Who shows up to fights with guns unloaded?

How un-superhero.

"You can't throw something else? Tackle him? Man, how are you even lifting that car?"

"Venom."

Jason rolled his eyes as he ran up beside her.

Who the fuck was this woman?

"Okay, well does venom give you the right to lift a car?"

"I'm a villain."

"And I'm a reporter. You think I can afford to replace a car?"

BANG.

Oh god.

Her ear fucking hurt.

"What the literal hell, man?" Stephanie turned back to Redhood as Venom slowly crumpled under her car. "Warn someone!"

"I'm sorry to interrupt the wonderful conversation." He rolled his eyes, passing by her.

Venom was currently a speedbump under her car.

"Man, if my car is fucked up— "

"What?" He taunted, "You have no insurance, so less paperwork for me."

Oh, the retorts she could come up with.

I'll bill Bruce Wayne.

I will crush your self-esteem, wheel boy.

But Redhood doesn't know who she is, and she doesn't know who Redhood 'really' is, aside from crazy dead Jason guy.


Her car did drive but also now made a sound like a thousand butterflies screaming.

She sighed as she began to unpack the five boxes containing all her earthly goods into the far nicer than she expected apartment.

The diamond district, of course they'd want a reporter to live in the most luxurious place in all of Gotham when she was writing a piece on them.

Like diamonds, Stephanie supposed, the Waynes were a bunch of overpriced rocks found in dangerous holes.

And by that, she meant, mainly Tim.

She supposed, as she unpacked her box of clothing, that her hatred of Tim was something that developed slowly, like a cabbage or some other lesser vegetable.

It isn't the one day when your boyfriend goes crazy and kicks you that really gets you, nor is it several assholish encounters, or him telling you that you'll never be a hero.

It's probably his reaction to you finally hanging up the cape when your mother sobbed in the hospital room after you nearly killed yourself.

You just barely manage to limp your way out of the hospital and he grabs you, listens to you say it, then he says his killer word.

"Good," Stephanie muttered it under her breath, more bitter than a yellow warheads candy.

She sighs, shoving the unfolded shirts in a drawer and keeping one aside to put on after a shower.

She unpacks a few more things like this, pulling out her bathing supplies after she's deemed her unpacking done for the day. She makes sure to grab the t-shirt, some underwear with a sassy saying on the ass, and a towel before ducking into her bathroom to shower.

The bathroom is immaculate and white, like the rest of her apparent was. Modern and boring. There are no stains in her shower, unlike the one at home, and this one has a far nicer tub.

She sighs and decides today warrants a bath, turning the knob.

A t-shirt that says "Get you an AquaMAN", underwear donning the word "Freakday", soaps; She's forgetting something.

Radio.

Big metal horrible radio, yes.

She exits the bathroom, leaving the door open for her immediate re-entrance.

Marching back to the bedroom where she threw the radio upon her bed she hums to herself.

There's shuffling and scooting in the background on her way to the bathroom.

She places the radio in the bathroom with a confused look on her face before beginning to explore what could possibly be happening.

Bedroom, clear.

Bathroom obviously clear.

Living room, okay.

A throat clearing sounds in the background as she peeks under the couch. Her head darts up and she sees it, a black silhouette placed upon her kitchen chair.

A large gulp of air is taken in.

She makes out the red and—

"What the fuck, man?"

Stephanie Brown stands up and faces her arch nemesis sitting happily in her dining chair in his costume.

Tim Drake.