Plane tickets?

Check.

Wallet?

Check.

Are you out of your mind?

Yes.

I sighed. What was I thinking, moving to Gotham? Home of the infamous Batman? And those other people running around in spandex? Home of blathering psychos, murderers, and all the stuff nightmares are made of.

Okay, so you think I'm being very paranoid. Yes, I do know that Batman and Robin are superheroes, they reinforce law in Gotham. Beat up the bad guys, protect the innocents. Blah blah blah. You know what? I don't really care. Or may I do. One of these days, I just might need rescuing myself.

Okay, now I'm just talking to myself. Creepy. Whatever.

So here's the 101. Please note the sarcasm.

I have a name (Ta da!). Angel Ma. I ain't no angel though. Never will be. Never will. Maybe my parents should've called me the Holy Terror instead. And I am... was...

I'm 10. You must be thinking why the hell is a 10 year old is talking like I'm one of those angsting teens (which I will be, in three years. Big whoop). I'm very small for my age. It's along the borderlines of being petite.

I'm half Chinese and half gwai-lo*. I have slightly wavy hair that's a deep brown colour. A sort of reddish tint to it. I usually leave it alone, tying it up so it'd be out of my way. The most striking feature about me is probably my eyes. They're a silver colour. Not grey, but a striking silver colour. Usually they'll take on some tint of their own but most of the time they stay silver. It's what startles people when they look at me. Given my heritage, I should have brown eyes. Oh well.

People say I'm a bit of a charmer. I can charm my way out of trouble when I'm not busy terrorizing people. You name it, I've done it. From simple gag tricks like whoopee cushion to huge elaborate ones, like rigging showers so they'll spit out blue dye that will ensure that the unfortunate person would be blue for a whole month. That sort of thing.

My parents are dead.

Whoa. 180 degrees turn here.

Which is why I'm flying to Gotham. Good god, I'm going to live with NORMAL people.

It still stuns me. Anyway, I'll go back to my parent's dead issue thing. You see, a few weeks ago, they went to Gotham. And for the love of God, I don't know why. Why Gotham of all places? I mean, they just had this huge earthquake and everything. They're still getting it all back together.

Anyway, my parents get this crazy idea that they want to live in Gotham. My parents are... were so weird. So they go, buy land and planned to build a mansion there. Talk about crazy, huh?

They were driving through Gotham one day. There was a shootout. My parents were caught in the crossfire. They died at the scene. Big thing. Made the news. I was swamped with reporters. I was at Hong Kong at the time. It was where I've lived since I was born. With my Mummy and Daddy.

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

My parents were private investors of sort. I didn't really know what they did but they were in partnerships with big companies like Wayne Corp. and Drake Industries. They didn't really talk about business around me. They thought it'd bored me.

I'm a very intelligent child for my age. Or so I'm told. I have a high IQ, not that I'm bragging or anything. I love technology, constantly fiddling with it. I'm a good computer hacker. I'm not amateur, that's for sure.

I had to go to Gotham to identify the bodies. Or at least, my auntie had to. Aunt Mimi. We were instantly flooded with reporters. It was like trying to walk through molasses, they were so thick. And annoying as mosquitoes too. Luckily, there was a nice reporter in them. His name was Clark... Clark.......... Kent? I think that's his name. He managed to get us to the morgue without any really incidents. He was nice. In a boy scout sort of way.

Commissioner Gordon was there to meet us. I wasn't allowed in the morgue to identify the bodies. I mean, what person on their right mind would let a child in to see their bullet-holed parents. Not that it would've mattered, it's not like I'm going to collapse into hysterics. I've seen plenty of dead bodies. It's no biggie.

I sat on a bench while I waited. In my cargo pants and black hoodie. I refused to wear a dress. I hate the smell of the morgue. It was a smell I knew absolutely too well. A man came to sit next to me. He wore an expensive Armani suit. I can tell, my Daddy wears them all the time. I didn't know who he was at first because I was concentrating on not to cry. He sat next to me and asked me whether I was all right. I muttered something. There was something haunting about this man. Old ghosts haunted him. I'm a bit of an empath. Though it wasn't hard to see that the man sitting beside me was fighting demons. A lot of them.

I'm not a huggy feely person but I gave him a hug, right then and there. I felt there were old memories tugging inside of him. He was a bit stiff at first, a tad awkward from receiving a hug from a kid, I s'pose but he gradually softened up and hugged me back. I caught a flash of something.... Zorro? Gunshots? A necklace of pearls, laid broken on the cold concrete...

He stayed with me until my aunt came out, tired and haggard. She came over to the bench and thanked the man who had stayed with me. She took me by the hand and together we walked to the exit. I learned later that the man was Bruce Wayne.

I should explain about how I know and feel so much. You see, the Ma clan women are gifted. Magically. No, we don't pull rabbits out of hats. We're not like Zatara and Zantanna, donning the superhero suit. We're of a much darker magic sort. And no, we are not evil. We're necromancers. We deal with the dead.

And right now, I'm heading straight toward the city where the dead are no strangers.

And I can only think of just one word.

Cool.