As with most nights, a lone figure dressed in black leather stepped out of the 107.7: WWJD studio a little after eleven PM. His sermons had worn on his throat particularly that day. A guest minister from Central City would be handing the bulk of the work the next day, so at least he'd have some time to catch his breath. Cameron Gram was tired, it was time to get home to Joanne and get to bed early so he could help with the kids in the morning.
Gram had never been especially wary of his surroundings. Perhaps if his senses were better, he would have noticed the figure who covered half of the "J" in his studio's neon sign. But his mind was too full for such distractions, mostly about entitled high school children and how they wouldn't be so impudent if Christ hadn't been pulled from their educations.
His fingers were on the handle to open his car door when something whirled out of the sky and clanged against the side of his vehicle. Gram got only a moment to ponder it before a green substance erupted from within and sealed him in place. The radio preached shouted and pulled against the green goo as the figure on the rooftop descended.
"Great sermon today, as always," the figure said. "Sorry, you don't understand subtlety, so you probably wouldn't get sarcasm either."
After the initial shock and fear passed, Gram's expression formed into a snarl. "What's this supposed to be? And here I thought you were the other one."
Batgirl stepped into view, the bright purples of her uniform and the blonde of her hair became clear. "No, but it'd be a lot of fun to see her take a crack at you."
"You do realize you're detaining me illegally, don't you?" Any fear in Gram's voice had dissipated into a mellow rage. Whether he genuinely wasn't afraid or masked it extremely well, Batgirl was not sure. "What are you here for? To tell me to quit dragging your boss through the mud? Because you're not helping your case."
"My dad was a C-rank criminal that Batman beat the snot out of on a regular basis. You couldn't hate him half as much as my old man did."
"Well, you'd better give me something to get this gunk off my hands and my car before you end up in a cell near his." After some struggle, Gram slid a phone out from pocket and prepared to dial. "You're just a kid, I can tell. Don't do something you're going to spend decades regretting."
"As much as I'd like to pound you for talking about my dad—something I'm totally allowed to do, but you aren't—I have a much more pressing concern."
Batgirl stepped forward and for just a moment Gram shrunk against the car in fear. Faster than he could stop, she grabbed the cell phone out of his hand and, thanks to his preemptive unlock, started to flip through his recent calls.
"And they call me the fascist!" Gram tugged harder against the glue. "What in the world are you looking for?"
"I know who you really are," Batgirl said. "I'm just giving you a chance to confess it to me before I turn the case over to the guys with the badges."
"You're out of your mind," Gram said. "I don't know what you're prattling on about, but apparently you know something about me I don't, so why don't you enlighten me if you're so wise?"
"Victor Lipov." She enunciated every syllable. "And the Reapers. And HIVE. Or whoever you were working for first."
Gram's mouth slid open and he stood silently for a moment before he demanded, "What?"
"I'm on to you. I know you're—"
"What do those words even mean!?"
Batgirl paused. She'd hoped the exclamation had come from being found out, not confusion. After a second she resumed with her previous energy. "You know good and well who the Reapers are. You did a whole piece on your stupid show about how colleges were making kids liberal and that's why they were criminals."
"I'm on the air five days a week. Why don't I ask you who you were punching weeks ago?"
Batgirl clenched her fists. She didn't exactly expect it to be an easy interrogation, but she'd hoped Gram would crumble as soon as she confronted him. She wasn't sure if he was ridiculously bold or her blonde-haired, 5 foot 10 frame simply wasn't intimidating enough, however hard she tried.
Whatever, she thought. I can be stubborn too.
"I guess you just believe it's a coincidence that every single time you throw one of your little temper tantrums, the Reapers pick a new target," Batgirl said. "I've listened to the sermons on your website. You say something stupid about Muslims, they attack a mosque. You talk about gay people, they target a nightclub—"
"How dare you!" Gram's voice almost cracked and his face twisted with rage. "You—You—You insolent child! Typical, maybe, but still brazen! I never once told my listeners to act in violence, I told them to act against it! I do remember those children now, so tell me, have you cornered and interrogated the people who built those suits of armor they're wearing?"
Batgirl said nothing, but the shakes of anger still moved through her body.
"Have you tried seeking the actual root of the problem? Of course not, you've decided to scapegoat it upon God's people!"
"I'm a Methodist!" It was almost a scream and it came when she could hear no more. "I'm not blaming religious people, you freaking narcissist, I'm blaming you! There's over two dozen people missing right now, all of the attacks in relation to stupid things you keep saying on the radio. Even if you aren't working for Lipov, are you telling me you don't feel a shred of blame for that?"
"My conscience is clear." Gram sounded like he almost spat the words. "Take it up with the true wrongdoers, I came to this city to save people."
Across the parking lot there came a lurch and a shout of, "What's going on out there?" from a security guard.
"Jackson! Jackson thank goodness!" Gram waved his free hand as he shouted. "Come quickly, I'm under attack!"
Batgirl scowled in the guard's direction and muttered, "Crap." She turned back to Gram, took ahold of his jacket and thrust him against the car. "Listen to me." Despite Gram's shouts, she was sure he still heard her. "I know you're part of this. And the second I can prove it I'm taking you down."
"Hurry! The bat's sent a violent protestor—"
Batgirl pulled him back and shoved him into the car again. "Shut up!" When he had stopped for just a moment, she spoke again. "My best friend is a better Christian than you're ever going to be, and you dragged her through the mud. I promise you right now, even if God forgives you for that, I never will."
The thought of a single punch to his jaw crossed her mind, just as a last taste of catharsis. But the security guard was already rushing toward them and commanded her to freeze. Bruce would soon learn of the excursion and she had no confession to present to him. She'd be chewed out for her impulsiveness again, and she was still trying to recover his graces after the Bunker incident. A fight with a totally unrelated security guard who was just doing his job wasn't going to make things any better.
Her bike was parked just out of sight. She reached it and escaped into the night before security had even reached Gram.
The next morning, between her Bio 101 and Rhetoric, Stephanie briefly paused at a gaggle of other students who stood around the TV in her dorm's communal space. She peered past the assembly and only gave it a momentary thought. Usually it was only something Batman related that got so much attention.
"If not for the brave work of the building's security force, who knows what more she would have done to me."
Stephanie froze. The speaker was obvious. There he was, being interviewed for the morning news.
"I want all of the citizens of Gotham to know that the Batman and those in his employee came for me last night, but they could very well come for you tomorrow. The time has come to demand our rights back, we can no longer be made to live in fear. If the Bat and his underlings want to play God, I know someone who will take serious, personal offence to their actions!"
Within seconds Stephanie's cellphone buzzed to indicate she'd received a text message. Her heart sank when she confirmed it was exactly who she feared.
BRUCE: Watching the news on Channel 13. Come to the manor as soon as you're off for the day. We need to talk.
For all the trouble the ordeal had turned out to be and how empty her hands were, Stephanie deeply regretted not getting that punch in.
[[Author's Note: We're coming up on Angel's fourth anniversary here very soon. Sadly at this point I don't think I'll be finishing this story within the two-year mark as I'd hoped. But I've gotten a lot more writing time on my hands recently thanks to my new job, so hopefully the pieces are in place for me to move into the endgame. This arc will hopefully end on the anniversary, leaving only what I'm envisioning as a relatively short climactic arc to follow. Hopefully the surprises on the way there will only be good ones.]]