Batman – Apocalypse
Chapter 6: Endurance
She skittered to a halt, sliding on one knee as if she were taking a dive for home plate. She watched Cyborg's heavy, metal body fall to the ground as she passed him, a cloud of dust rising around him upon impact. Misty stood up slowly, locking eyes with Bruce from roughly fifteen feet away. He shook his head, ordering her to remain where she was. He approached Victor Stone, still clutching the Disruptor in his hand. Pinning him down with one foot, Batman leaned in, forcing his former ally to meet the furious, white-eyed stare of what many considered to be the night itself. He brought down a heavy fist, knocking Cyborg's face aggressively.
"What's going on? Who is making you do this?" He growled. His next action was a punch to his dysfunctional chest, which broke into what was essentially his control panel. The cybernetics were functioning— barely. Just enough for the Bat to open up a faltering, projected frame, and call off what appeared to be Stone's backup.
"Blackeagle," he said, walking over to her side. She didn't look at him, but up toward the sky above them; although shrouded in a smoky haze, dusk had fallen upon Gotham City. "Come on, we need to—" Bruce stopped himself short, looking his daughter over with an apprehensive glance. He began to say "head to Arkham", his mind still attempting to compensate for the day's events by driving him to do everything he could in as little time possible. With one look at Misty, he stated, "We need to take a look at that arm. It looks like it's still bleeding." His tone wasn't low and commanding, as she expected it to be; it was composed, vigilant, and persuading, almost identical to the way he spoke when he had first met the disheveled little girl. When she took a moment for the words to register, he sighed ever so subtly, pulling her close, and firing his grapple gun onto the nearest rooftop. It seemed to have gotten her attention, as she pulled out her own line the instant her boots touched the ledge.
"Sorry," Mysteria apologized quickly, avoiding the use of her right arm. She winced as her father grabbed her shoulder, barely lifting her chin to look him in the eye.
"Listen to me. I want you to wait right here. I'm going to find somewhere that we can rest, and supplies so we can tend to our wounds." He paused for a moment, trying to read her. "Mysteria, I swear that I will be back before you know it. If anything happens to you while I'm gone, don't look for me."
"But—"
"I want you to get the hell out of there if you're in trouble. You're fast, and you're smart. Those are your weapons right now. Understood?" She nodded, quietly repeating the word "understood" before squeezing her father's hand tightly, gesturing for him to go. She watched him vanish into the shadows of the back alleys they once ruled. It seemed as if Park Row had overflown, pouring its contents upon the entirety of the city. Crime Alley's first true victim, along with its former inhabitant was all that the gloomy maze of concrete had left to lend its hope to.
That was, for whichever hopeful souls remained.
"Misty, wake up." The raven-haired sixteen year-old jolted at the sound of Bruce's voice, blinking several times to find that she was unmasked, her upper right arm was under stinging pressure, and she wasn't on a floor, roof, or street. Her pounding skull rested on a pillow, having curled up tightly on a squeaking bed, in a room she couldn't recognize. It was dark— like a power outage in the middle of the night. She groaned, looking to a cowl-less Batman, his expression alert, yet laced with hints of stale worry. Misty looked at her lower shoulder, gently running her fingers over fresh sutures.
"D-did I pass out…?" she asked, massaging her temples.
"Yes." He reached out, lightly brushing his fingertips against a bruise on the top of her head. In two hours, he had snagged meager medical supplies, and scoped out a small house that they could take refuge in, until they were both in halfway-decent standing. He had returned to find her unconscious, but fortunately, with no more harm than she'd already been dealt.
"You aren't concussed, thankfully." Misty forced herself into an upright position, throwing herself at Bruce with the force of an offensive tackle. She didn't make any effort to speak, wrapping her arms tightly around his back until her hands clasped together. "I came back and I thought you were dead," he told her. "You were completely still."
"Oh God, I'm sorry—"
"Shh. Don't worry, it's okay. You're alright, that's what matters to me right now." He combed his fingers through her tangled strands of black hair, finding solace in the opaque silence. At this point, Mysteria would have broken away from the embrace with whatever amount of force she felt necessary. This time, however, she had no intention of loosening her grip. She had deemed him as the solid, level ground she was trying to get her feet on.
"I don't know why I lost consciousness like that… I didn't mean to scare you, I—" Misty stopped with a sigh. Bruce knew where she was going, what she was trying to say. "It's not a real weekend unless our hearts stop at least twice, right?" A phantom grin tugged at the corner of her mouth, attempting to brush off the past few hours.
"Don't tell me you saw Paul Walker." Batman said with a slight sigh.
She scoffed, rolling her eyes with disappointment. "Dammit. No." Standing up, she winced, stretching her arm to ensure that the stitches would hold if it came to an inevitable fight. Bruce stood with her, raising his hands. It was a routine she had practiced a majority of the eight years she had trained under him; primarily during winter patrols, where staying still wasn't an option. She exhaled, getting into a defensive stance, relying on her non-dominant arm. Misty drilled several quick blows against his palm, her teeth clenched. It was painful; not agonizing, but irritating. There was no blood, no splitting skin.
"You're welcome," Bruce remarked, smirking ever so slightly. He pulled the cowl over his head, gathering his things, as Misty did the same. "We need to go to Arkham. We still have a few hours before the sun is up." She nodded, adjusting her sleeve and cape to cover her shoulders.
"What about Talons? Or anyting else?" She seized her grapple gun once again, peeking out the window before pulling it open.
"We'll deal with that when we have to." He murmured.
She aimed toward the nearest roof, spreading her artificial wings, shrouded by the night, at the point in which its darkness was most oppressive.