'I can't believe I didn't get an interview.' Saoirse said while staring into the murky depths of her coffee.

'They could still call.'

'Lisbeth, it's been a week since we submitted my C.V.'

The two were sitting in a tiny cafe, Lisbeth patiently reading a textbook with Saoirse ignoring the urge to check her phone for missed calls. It was horribly unfair that after the downright insane experience of submitting her C.V. she wouldn't be called for an interview. She idly wondered how many people had been called for interviews, maybe the interviews were already over and the job had already been allocated...

'You never told me why you had a lock pick in your car.' Lisbeth suddenly said. Saoirse stopped stirring her coffee and cautiously looked up at her roommate.

'I thought I did…'

'Saoirse, I'm not an idiot, I would remember if you told me why you keep a lock pick in your glove compartment.' Lisbeth said dismissively.

'I don't rob people if that's what you're insinuating.'

'No? Then how is it that you pick locks with relative ease?'

'Boredom.' Saoirse responded truthfully.

'Boredom?' Lisbeth asked incredulously.

'Yes, I was bored one day so I began to roam the streets of Gotham aimlessly and this quirky little shop caught my eye. It had the most bizarre things on sale from lock picks to bumper stickers to shavings of real gold. So I bought a lock pick, went home and after a few tutorials on the internet, managed to unlock my own bedroom door without a key.'

'That is… truly random.'

'Random, yet believable.'

'Were there really tutorials on the internet?'

'Not just for lock picking, there were tutorials about breaking into cars, hot wiring cars, and disabling a variety of alarms.' Saoirse left out the part that she had also watched those tutorials and had tested her skills on her own car, resulting in easy success.

'And they wonder why the crime rate in Gotham is so high…' Lisbeth shook her head in disbelief.

'Without Batman it would be a lot higher.' Saoirse muttered to herself. The piercing look she received made her wish she'd held her tongue. The subject of Batman was one rarely brought up in Lisbeth's presence who despised the "lawless vigilante" whose principals she angrily disagreed with.

'The situation is worse than ever! He upset everything in this city and now the citizens of Gotham are paying the price!' She spat. Saoirse wisely didn't respond to the outburst, she didn't want to create a scene in the coffee shop. Lisbeth glared at her for a moment, angrily awaiting a response which was not coming. She slowly lowered her attention to her book and ignored Saoirse for a few minutes. Saoirse always wondered why Batman provoked such an extreme reaction from her cool headed friend yet to receive an answer just wasn't worth the heated argument. Being a black and white person, Saoirse regarded the Batman from a logical perspective. Since his infamous rise, crime rates had dropped and the city of Gotham was slowly dragging itself out of crime and corruption which it had been drowning in for decades. Yet the hooded figure had caused the death of some unfortunate innocent bystanders.

'Pyloerection.' Lisbeth said.

'What?!' Saoirse asked, completely confused.

'Pyloerection.' She repeated impatiently.

'What the hell is "Pyloerection"?'

'I'm so glad you asked. It's the process where the hair on the body becomes erect in order to retain a layer of heat close to the skin. It's a survival mechanism more commonly known as Goosebumps.'

'Pyloerection? That's a cool word…' Saoirse admitted.

'I know.'

Lisbeth returned her attention to her textbook while Saoirse tried to understand the random information. Outside the Wayne Enterprise building last week, she'd certainly experienced Pyloerection. And with memories of those Goosebumps returned her initial worry: the absence of an interview. All of this suspense was killing her, why didn't they just call to say her C.V. didn't stand up to the competition? It would end all this 'What if?' nonsense which was driving her insane. Her freshly renewed worry coupled with the awkward tension between her and Lisbeth forced Saoirse to make a snap decision.

'I'm going to the gym. I'll see you back in our dorm later.'

'Strenuous exercise is excellent for reducing stress and also releases feel-good endorphins resulting in a relaxed state of mind and body. Go, but make sure you leave your phone behind to achieve said contented state.' Lisbeth said more to her textbook than to her roommate.

Saoirse shook her head slightly before heading back to her room to change. She quickly skipped into some comfortable clothes and twenty minutes later she was in the gym, looking forward to the rush of endorphins. She opened her locker and exchanged her bag for a roll of white bandages. She went upstairs to a mostly male dominated room, and warmed up with a few stretches. This was no ordinary gym, there were no rows of treadmills and bikes here nor could you sign up for spinning classes. This was a place of heart, of spirit: a place of boxing. A picture of Muhammad Ali had pride of place over the entrance with his phrase 'Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee' emblazoned across the black and white print. Boxing bags dripping with the sweat of a thousand angry men surrounded a boxing ring where men elegantly traded blows. Saoirse drank the beautiful image in before grasping a skipping rope and finding a quiet corner to begin her workout. She began to swing the rope intensely, her heart rate rising to the occasion.

This continued for ten minutes until sweat poured off her body, forcing her to lose the hoodie. Next she wrapped her hands tightly in bandages before approaching the training bag. After altering the weight to a suitable level, she raised her hands above her head and began to hit the bag in a circular motion. She focused on her breathing and the steady momentum of her hands. Her pace increased as frustrating thoughts of Wayne Enterprise filled her head. Her fists blurred as the bag rose and fell to the beating of her heart, causing a well-muscled man on her left to pause and watch her onslaught. Her arms ached, muscles begging for her to stop, but she would not. Sweat dripped into her eyes, her ponytail slashing the air violently behind her. She finally stopped and had to wait longer than usual to find her breath. More skipping interrupted the favourite part of her routine: The boxing bag. She donned her well-worn gloves and made sure she was arms-length from the bag. Then the true punching began, left jabs, right jabs, left hooks, right hooks, left body shots, right body shots. Her hips constantly rotated, her feet constantly moved. She punched her anger and worries into the bag, loving the way it absorbed the impact. The punches began to vary, combinations of hooks, jabs and body shots bloomed as her speed increased. She paused to down some water and was surprised to see Old Man Jim watching her. He was the owner of this boxing gym and had no qualms about letting a girl within his territory. Back in his prime he had been an unbelievable boxer in the middleweight category. His speed and agility earned him the nickname flash.

'What's up old man?' She asked, wiping the sweat from her eyes.

'Want to spar?' He asked, raising his hands to show them cushioned with training pads.

'What's the catch?' She asked suspiciously.

'Now why would you ask me that?'

'You've never asked me to spar before.' Saoirse said bluntly.

'You weren't ready before. Come on, lose the gloves. Good now, hands beneath your chin, give me some jabs.'

Saoirse raised her hands cautiously before slowly hitting the targets he set her. She was horribly aware that some of the surrounding men had paused in their routine to watch the girl train with an old legend. Jim's pace slowly increased, forcing Saoirse to keep up. Her punches were clean at first but as her stamina wore down, so too declined the accuracy of her hits. Every time this happened, Jim would clip her over the head with one of his padded hands, deliberately irritating her. He'd mutter words of encouragement to her sometimes as the minutes wore onwards. Tired muscle continued to meet the demands of the Old Man as his pace continued to rise; his hands blurring slightly before Saoirse's weary eyes. She focused on her breathing to avoid giving into the complaints of her body.

'That's enough. Take a breather. And ignore those wimps.' Jim said, throwing the spectators an admonishing glare. Saoirse tried to drink some water but accidently inhaled some into her lungs. She bent over in a coughing fit, resisting the urge to spew her lunch onto the gym's floor.

'Again.' Jim said, raising his padded arms. Saoirse did her best to hide her lack of enthusiasm, her arms hanging limply by her side. She wiped her face of any reluctance and raised her fists. For the next few minutes they had another bout until Saoirse had to call time as her arms screamed with frustration.

'Boxing is all about stamina. Concentrate on your breathing, recover… Now again.' Jim said. Saoirse wanted to quit, to tell Old Man Jim where to stick his training pads but when she looked into his bright blue eyes, the words died on her lips. She raised her hands again and focused on striking each pad cleanly. This bout lasted slightly longer than her second one and in her fifth cycle, she tried hitting through the training pads, resulting in a remarkably clean set of shots. Jim smiled in response and lowered his hands. 'Much improved, much improved.' He murmured while checking his watch. 'I must go now but that was… promising. You managed to improve yourself in those short bouts without me saying a word. Next time you're here, we'll train a little more alright?' Saoirse nodded dumbly, not wanting to question his motives. 'And have a good run before you punch a bag again; skipping is only one type of aerobic exercise.' Saoirse nodded he left her and took up his position in the ring. She picked up her water bottle and left the gym in awe, wondering what she'd been doing to the training bag which would spark the interest of Old Man Jim. Every person in that gym was trying to catch his eye for his expert opinion. Saoirse had never expected any attention from him, not because she was a girl but because she had no intention of pursuing boxing professionally.

She left the gym in remarkably good spirits though her body ached in places she didn't know existed. She wondered if she would be able to make it out of bed tomorrow. As the pavement disappeared into grass beneath her feet, Saoirse reflected on the happy accident of boxing being introduced into her life. It had occurred some three years ago when she had asked someone for directions to a normal gym but had been misdirected. Upon entering, Saoirse had been completely hypnotised by the angry men punching vigorously into their padded bags. She remembered feeling foolish signing up but after she had learned the basics, how to punch correctly, the weaknesses of the body, sheer enjoyment ensued. It wasn't an exercise she dully maintained for her own health, it was a genuine pleasure. It allowed her the comfort of knowing if she ever landed in a violent situation, she would have a decent chance of defending herself. Just as she was turning the key of her dorm room, a second year living next door distracted her from nostalgic thoughts.

'Saoirse! There was a delivery for you but you weren't here to sign for it.' He said rapidly. It took a moment for Saoirse to comprehend his sandwiched words before accepting the bag he offered.

'The postman isn't allowed on our dorm floors…' Saoirse mused.

'It wasn't the postman; some old guy in a suit was knocking on your door.'

Saoirse froze.

'Did he say anything?'

'He said this was for you and then mumbled something about not wanting to pick your lock.' Saoirse managed to stumble over a quick thank you before dashing into her room and ripping into the bag, placing what she found on the coffee table. With heart pounding, she examined an expensive looking bottle of champagne which appeared to be empty. Peering through the dark glass she could see a carefully rolled piece of paper nestled within a bow. After wrestling with the cork and upending the bottle, a delicately rolled piece of parchment fell into her open palm. With trembling fingers, Saoirse carefully undid the bow and slowly unravelled the smooth parchment. An elegant invitation crafted in beautiful calligraphy rose to meet her.

Dear Saoirse,

You have been invited to a meeting with Mr Lucius Fox tomorrow at Wayne Tower. The interview will be held at 12:30pm in room 11 on the 85th floor.

Sincerely: Wayne Enterprises.

Saoirse re-read the note before jumping around the room like a maniac. Trained by Old Man Jim and she had an interview tomorrow! This had certainly transformed into a remarkable day...