What troubled him most was why she had run. He hadn't recognised her, but she certainly hadn't seemed very suspicious, and didn't stand out as different from the rest of the night-people. At least not in dress, he reminded himself. As soon as he had seen her, he had been struck by her stance, wary and defiant, as if challenging him to confront her. And then she had run. Night-people hardly ever ran from him anymore, they had come to trust him; it was their streets he protected. So he had chased her. And quite the chase she had given, ducking in and out of shadows, running with such speed and agility, he was reminded of...well of himself.

And just as he was overtaking her, or so he told himself, that damned scanner had picked up something about a robbery, and cops coming out of the building screaming with laughter. He was tempted to ignore it, and keep up this pursuit, which was unlike him. But in the end he knew he had to go, the Joker was more of a threat to Gotham than a mysterious woman in black.

***

After returning home that morning, his mind returned to the earlier events. He hadn't been able to see her entire face, it had been partially covered by a plain mask. Her only noticeable feature was her hair. Even though it had been in a tight arrangement, he could tell that it was long, and very thick. And black. The deepest black he had ever seen.

He slept poorly, often awaking, calling out to the dark figure who ran through his dreams. Imploring her to stop. He knew that he would not easily forget the woman, and would work tirelessly to identify her.