A Wrinkle In Time
Part One: The Angel
It was a remarkably unpleasant thing to wake up face down on the pavement in an alley. As she pushed herself off the ground, disgust at the smells of garbage and refuse and the slick dampness of the asphalt below her was only overshadowed by one thing: amazement at the fact that she was waking up at all.
While her vision began to clear and focus on what the dying daylight revealed to her of her surroundings, her mind spiraled backwards towards the last thing she could recall before cool blackness had shuttered over her consciousness. Falling. A building flashed across her thoughts. A tall one. That was it. She'd been falling from the roof of the Gotham State Building. 102 floors. Her eyes trailed upwards at the buildings around her. Five stories at the most, even if she squinted. Steadying herself with one hand against the wall of the building to her right – a surface just as slick and disgusting as the pavement had been, even with gloves on – she glanced down at her clothing, hoping it hadn't been too soiled. It was near impossible to find time to clean herself off, short of jumping into the Gotham Harbor for a quick "bath." Grumbling to herself in disgust, she brushed her hands over the suit, trying to beat out the worst of the grime that contrasted with the black Kevlar body suit. Her trench coat had already been a mess before the fall: stained with everything from ink to blood; torn, worn, and riddled with bullet holes at its extremities. Her belt…
The glimmer of street light off the black and gold emblem drew something from her hazy consciousness – a name: Martha Wayne. Marti. Her name. That realization drove another thought to the surface. She'd been in the penthouse on the hundred-and-second floor of the state building. She'd gone there to kill someone. To kill the mayor. Another name surfaced in her thoughts: Denmark. The name of the country was important somehow. Not as a country, as an alias. An alias for… a criminal. An organization. MarTech. Led by… Dennis Markinson. The mayor of Gotham. Not the mayor. The man that had killed the mayor and taken over the city.
Marti lost her balance as she was hit with a torrent of memories. A string of assassinations methodically bringing Gotham into the hands of a new mastermind. The carefully placed shot of a single sniper that managed to bring down not one, but two of the city's greatest protectors, shortly after revealed to be the same man. Bruce Wayne. Batman. Her father.
She barely noticed the hand that gripped her arm to steady her as her thoughts, quite against her will, flashed the past few months to the surface. The same assassin that had killed her father had struck numerous times, relieving the city of most of its notable figures: Kenenth Markinson, the founder of MarTech, Denmark's half brother. The Mayor, police commissioner and his daughter, city council; the Joker, the Penguin, and Selina Kyle who had formerly paraded as Catwoman.
Selina… Aunt Sel… The woman that had saved her from a fate worse than death – Swiss Boarding School – and taught her how to become something more than just the actress she thought she wanted to be.
The woman that had died in an explosion meant to kill someone else.
Meant to kill Marti.
Fury drove the thoughts back out of her way, and she became aware of the hand clasped roughly around her arm. Her angry blue eyes snapped into focus and found amused blue eyes staring back at her. Shaking the other woman off, she took a step backwards. "The fuck are you?" she demanded. She'd never seen the woman in Gotham before, and someone like this didn't seem like someone she could miss seeing.
"Your guardian angel." Smirking slightly around the cigarette dangling from her lips, the woman released Marti and tugged the front of her leather jacket, shifting the coat back into place. "Clean up your language, princess," she replied, giving Marti's appearance a brief once-over. "Which ain't the only thing you need to clean up. Feck. He's gonna love you."
Scowling, Marti responded, involuntarily tugging her own jacket over her 'uniform'. Admittedly, it was provocative, it, like her hair and rebel behavior had been a cry meant to get her father's attention, something else that had never come to fruition. "Who's 'gonna love me?' The hell are you talking about?"
"Look, Dorothy, you ain't in Kansas anymore, got it? Think of this as 'It's a Wonderful Life' gone horribly wrong. You're being given a second chance, one that ain't gonna last forever, so make the most of it."
Marti stared. "You're a few bats short of a belfry, aren't you?"
The 'angel' chuckled, pushing away from the wall, starting down the street. "That's funny, comin' where you come from. I like you, princess, I really do. I'll see you soon."
Confused, the young woman started to follow, but was stopped in her tracks by the sound of squealing tires. Spinning, she found a speeding car skidding around the corner and heading, quite out of control, towards the where she stood. She glanced to call out a warning to the 'angel', but found the street deserted. Springing out of the way of the car, she rolled into the street, bringing herself to her feet again. Her eyes widened as she saw an all too familiar figure kick the car door open and stagger out. For a moment, she found herself staring into the face of the Joker.
"Don't tell me the Bat has finally gotten his own merchandise label… What people won't do to make a quick buck now days. Sad, sad, sad…" the mock mourn broke into a fit of laughter as the case was tugged free, sending him stumbling slightly towards her. "Bad taste in dress aside, you may be just what I need…"
The young woman got over her surprise very quickly when a gun was suddenly pointed in her face, it even distracted her from the squealing of a second vehicle around the corner. It was a copy cat, nothing more, not hard to do with a little makeup. And reconstructive surgery… Putting off that nagging thought, she moved forwards, something that the Joker hadn't expected, easily disarming him and delivering her knee to his stomach. Her hand moved to grab his hair, intending to drive her knee into his face next. She was stopped midway as her eyes focused on the second car. A long, black car. "What the-?"
Her question was cut off by the Joker tackling her around her waist, slamming her hard into the open car door, then shoving her into the street out of his way. "Nice chatting with you, girly, but we'll have to save the fashion chat for later," she dimly heard him say.
As she landed face down on the ground, the voice she heard not only sent chills up her spine, but nearly made her heart stop. "I'm sure they'll look forward to your fashion advice in Arkham."