Disclaimer: I don't own DC Comics, and thus none of their characters. Batman, Barbara Gordon, Selina Kyle, Harley Quinn, Terry McGuiness, The Joker, Nightwing and all other DC characters belong to someone else. Not me. Too bad, really. I'm not making a profit off of Bob Kane's fine creation.
I own everyone not created by DC. Don't use them without permission.
The saga continues…
Alex sat in his office watching the scenes of destruction play out on a small in-desk monitor. He smiled with satisfaction and clicked it off. An alert popped up reminding him that he had a date with Mandy at seven o'clock. He made a note of it and looked at his watch.
Alex didn't like to be kept waiting. The person he had called was late, and the way Alex figured it, mass destruction of public transit and skyblocks throughout the city were no excuse. As his impatience was about to boil over, one of his bodyguards tapped on the door. "Mr. Luthor?" Alex stood.
"Send him in." He straighten his back and tried to make himself look older. At twenty-two, he looked more like his mother than his father, and that bothered him. Boyishness only lead to disrespect.
His study doors opened and the person he had called for came in. Alex noted with annoyance he was wearing his black hood and mask. As if he wasn't already conspicuous enough in the body armor and spiked gloves. Alex pasted a smile on his face and extended a hand.
"Mr. Crane..."
"Nightmare," came the reply, filtered through a breather and a microphone.
"Excuse me?" said Alex.
"My father is Mr. Crane. Call me Nightmare."
"Whatever levitates your hovercraft, Nightmare." Nightmare's steady breathing didn't change behind the mask.
"What's the job you have for me?" Alex handed him a data reader with the relevant information. Nightmare scanned it quickly.
"Twenty thousand," was his response.
"I'll give you half that," said Alex. "Once you have proof she's dead." Nightmare's black glassy mask eyes fixed on him, and Alex was glad the assassin didn't have x-ray vision. He would have seen the sweat trickling down Alex's chest.
"You don't have your father's negotiation skills, that's for sure," said Nightmare. He handed the pad back. "Fifteen. Half now, half when I deliver the proof. That's fair." Alex bristled, more at the comment about Lex than the price.
"I'll tell you what's fair and what's not, you goddamn freak of nature!" Nightmare stepped up and placed his hands on Alex's shoulders, the jagged claws on the ends of his gloves biting through the fabric of Alex's jacket.
"Don't fuck with me, Mr. Luthor. I can make your nightmares come true." Alex swallowed.
"Twelve." Nightmare stepped away, almost as if he hadn't been aware he was that close to Alex.
"Done." He nodded once and left.
Alex slumped back in his chair and didn't move for a long time.
---
Bludhaven
Regina Grayson's feet pounded along the wooden path above Boardwalk Beach, the sandy strip deserted this late at night. She checked her watch as she ran and cursed.
Late. She was going to get grounded again. Regina wanted to blame her parents, for making her take so many AP classes it necessitated going to study groups almost every night of the week, but she couldn't. She couldn't because she hadn't been at a study group, even though her parents thought she was.
Regina had gone to the Shady Point Lighthouse with her friends, and Rory Coleman, a varsity lacrosse player she was hoping would become her boyfriend. If the way he'd been trying to grope her was a good indication, she was well on her way to going steady.
By the time she'd checked her watch, it was too late to even have a hope of getting home in time. Now she was going to have to face the wrath of Richard Grayson, Chief of Police for the city of Bludhaven and the world's most unreasonable parent.
Regina turned a sharp corner, barely looked to see if the light was right for her to cross Breaker Boulevard, and began the home stretch of the race towards the Grayson's house, once a summer cottage for a Gotham industrialist.
Now it was a veritable fortress, surrounded by a high, decorative iron fence with electrified bars and a code-locked gate that closed promptly at 10 p.m. on weeknights. Regina's father's rule was if you were late, it was your problem. After which, he grounded you.
Regina looked at her watch: 9:59. The gates were within thirty feet, and she poured on more speed. She wasn't captain of the Bludhaven High track team for nothing. There was a creak as the hour flipped over and the gates started to shut. Regina sprinted, and pulled up short, nearly falling over as the electricity began to hum through the bars.
"Shit," she muttered. She steadied her breathing and approached the gate. Her situation became less dire when she saw that her father's police-issue black hovercraft wasn't parked on the landing pad.
He was working late. Regina sprung into action, taking off her backpack full of books and notes to cover her partying, flinging it high. It cleared the gate and the protective lasers at the top and landed on her driveway with a dull thud. Regina walked around the fence to where a tall oak tree bent it's branches into her yard and started to climb. The trunk was smooth, but Regina got a foothold and scrambled for dear life.
It wasn't the first time she'd made this entrance to her house, but Dick had finally caught her one night and metered out a good yelling as well as punishment. But what he didn't know...
Regina edged out on the longest branch until she was sure it wouldn't hold her weight anymore, and then stood, balancing on a piece of wood no wider than a large man's thumb. She tensed her legs, and then launched herself towards the upstairs window, catching the sill with a clunk. She opened the window with one hand and pulled herself inside.
"I'm telling Dad!" Regina looked up from the floor and heaved a sigh.
"Oh please, Sammy. It's 10:05. Cut me a break." Her little sister crossed her arms.
"Your necklace, the black beaded one you wore to homecoming." Regina lay on the floor for another moment, feeling where she was going to have bruises on her arms from the jump, and then nodded.
"Okay. Take it. It's in my jewelry box." Samantha Grayson bounded out of the room to collect her prize, and Regina pulled herself to her feet and went to get her backpack off the driveway. When she came back in there was a letter sitting on the table in the front hall.
Ms. Regina Grayson
1255 Seaside Ave
Bludhaven 01288
There was no return address. Curious, Regina dropped her backpack and opened the letter.
Dear Ms. Grayson,
On behalf of police commissioner Daniel Thorne of GothamCity, you have been invited to join a counter-terrorist team composed of unique individuals such as yourself. We believe your talents and skills will be very useful to us. If you are interest please report to:
12010 Meridian Ave
Southwest Ward
GothamCity
No later than 12 p.m. two days from now. If you do not attend, we will assume that you have no interest in our team.
Please consider this opportunity carefully. We await your decision.
Sincerely,
Barbara Gordon
Special Attaché to the City of Gotham
Regina looked at the signature line for a long moment. She realized her hand was shaking and put the letter on back on the table, face up. It stared her in the face. A team composed of unique individuals such as yourself...
Regina knew all about Barbara Gordon, her father's tenure as Robin and the identity of the first Batman. Dick had used his experiences as bedtime stories since Regina had been in diapers. But Barbara had been the one thing he never talked about. When she'd gotten older, Regina had figured out that her father and the commissioner's daughter had been in love. At least, her father had. She didn't know if it went both ways.
And now Barbara wanted her to follow in Robin's footsteps. "But if I have to wear that dorky costume, I am so out of there," Regina muttered to herself.
"Who are you talking to?" Regina jumped.
"Shit, Sammy. Don't sneak up on people like that!"
"I'm gonna tell Dad you said 'shit'."
"Go ahead, and I'll tell him who took out his windshield with the magball." Samantha pouted.
"But that was an accident!"
"Dad doesn't know that."
"You're such a bitch, Regina!" Regina rolled her eyes.
"Love you too, sis." Sammy saw the letter and snatched it off the table.
"What's this?!"
"Give that back!" Regina exclaimed. "That's private!" Sammy danced out of Regina's reach, reading quickly. She stopped as she came to the end.
"They want you to be a superhero."
"There's no such thing as superheroes." Sammy regarded her sister with wide eyes.
"Are you gonna?" Regina shrugged.
"I don't know. Why, do you think I could?" Sammy frowned.
"I think you should."
"Why?" said Regina. "I'd probably get lots of fame and money and then you'd be jealous."
"Maybe you and Dad wouldn't fight so much if you did." Regina heaved a sigh.
"Sammy, get a grip. We'd fight more. Dad hates that caped crusader crap."
"He's scared," said Sammy. Her small hands were crumpling the letter into a ball. "He's scared and you need to show him." Regina softened, going over to her sister and putting her arms around her.
"Relax, Sammy. Dad's okay. We're all okay." Sammy sniffled a little, and Regina pretended not to notice.
"I've been having the dreams again." Regina squeezed her sister.
"It's alright. Nobody's going to hurt you." Sammy looked up at her.
"You need to go. If you go, I don't think I'll have as many nightmares." Regina patted her sister's head.
"We'll see, okay? And I really don't think that me putting on tights and a cape is going to make your nightmares go away."
"Why not?" said Sammy.
"Because," said Regina. "Now go to bed. If Mom hears you up she's gonna yell at us." Sammy nodded and shuffled back upstairs in her slippers. Regina watched her go, and then smoothed the crumpled letter.
"Why not?" she muttered to herself, mimicking her sister. Because I still have nightmares too, Sammy. And I don't know if this will make them better or worse.
---
Gotham
Stefan Freze was sitting on a stool watching his mother sleep when he heard a shuffling and saw a white envelope being pushed under the door of his lab. He ran to the door and opened it, but saw no one.
The envelope was marked with nothing except his name. Stefan went back to his stool and opened it. "I got a letter," he remarked to his mother. She said nothing, her silent face immersed in the cryogenic liquid that kept her alive.
Or at least would allow her to be brought back from the dead. Stefan opened the envelope and scanned it quickly. His first reaction was that it was a hoax, but then he realized that it must have been sent by the woman in the wheelchair.
So that was Barbara Gordon... Stefan went to the glass of his mother's suspended animation tube and pressed the paper against it. "What do you think?" he asked her. She was silent. "I know it's not exactly...usual... for our family, but they might give me a lab, a real one. Then I could finish the cure. For you and for father. His work could be completed." Stefan waited almost desperately. The filter released some bubbles into his mother's tube, obscuring her face. "Please," said Stefan. "I have to. I can't...I can't do it alone anymore." He looked down, almost expecting rebuke. There was only his mother's impassive face. "Thank you," said Stefan softly. He folded the letter carefully into his breast pocket and went back to his vigil.
---
"Someone sent you a letter, babe," said Alex as he took off his leather jacket and tossed it on Mandy's bed. Mandy looked at the envelope on the table.
"Who sends letters anymore?" Alex shrugged.
"Open it." Mandy giggled, putting her arms around him.
"I'd rather open something else." Alex disentangled himself gently.
"Your roommate is still awake." Mandy waved a hand dismissively.
"Kara doesn't mind." Alex went to Mandy's small refrigerator and took out a soda.
"Read your letter, Amanda." Mandy pouted, but quickly tore open the letter. She read and then frowned. Alex came over and took it out of her hands, also reading.
"This is a joke, right?" said Mandy. "I mean, who's Barbara Gordon?" Alex's expression darkened for a minute, and then smoothed out into a smile.
"Has to be. I know you're faster than a speeding bullet and all, Mandy, but superheroes? Come on." Mandy laughed.
"Throw it out, will you, and come here." She lay back on the bed, beckoning seductively. Alex tossed the letter into the trash and joined her.
---
Arkham Asylum
There was a time when the visitor waiting room at Arkham had been full to capacity every day--with husbands, wives, girlfriends, siblings, but mostly with reporters eager to catch a glimpse of Two-Face, Poison Ivy, the Penguin or maybe even the notorious Joker.
Only one of the famous inmates of Arkham still resided there, and Poison Ivy was old news. She hadn't made an escape attempt in close to ten years. Arkham was now just another place for the unwanted and unstable. No reporters thronged, no grand escapes were made. Batman no longer brought any criminals down the long hallway leading to the maximum security wing.
The only denizen of the waiting room today was a short blond woman, a little old around the eyes, with a little of the blond maybe coming from a bottle, but still attractive and youthful enough to draw the guard's eye. She smiled at him and waved a little. He smiled back.
Another orderly opened the heavy steel door that lead to the visiting area and whispered to him. The guard motioned. "You can go in, Ms. Quinzel." She stood, slinging her purse over her shoulder. The guard looked her up and down as she went through the door, and thought to himself that it really wasn't fair a woman his wife's age could still have a body like that. A woman who wasn't his wife, anyway.
The visiting area was divided into locked cubicles, one side in the asylum and one side for the visitors. Bullet and acid-proof glass separated them. There was only one occupied cubicle, and the blond woman plunked herself down in the plastic chair opposite a sullen, purple-haired teenager.
"I should kill you with my own bare hands!" The girl rolled her eyes.
"Gee, Mom, I love you too."
"How do you think I feel, seeing my daughter paraded across the ten o'clock news like some kind of criminal?!" The girl put her feet on the small counter top on her side of the glass, looking incredibly bored.
"Mom, I am a criminal."
"You watch your attitude, Cally! I'm still your mother!" Cally Quinzel, formerly the bomb-maker known as Marionette, sighed.
"Okay, whatever. Assert your parental authority if it makes you feel better about yourself." Harleen Quinzel, formerly the costumed criminal known as Harley Quinn, bristled.
"Do you know what your father would say if he could see you like this?!" Cally smiled a little.
"'Good job, kid—now let's get in some real quality time by making more bombs and blowing this shithole city off the map?'" If Harleen could have reached through the glass and slapped Cally silly, she would have. Instead, she settled for glaring. Cally was unimpressed. Harleen's lip quivered.
"I try so hard," she said, dropping her head into her hands. "And this is how you repay me! You're an ungrateful child! After everything I've done for you…"
"Oh for the love of…guard!" Cally shouted. "Will you please get this crazy woman away from me?!" A guard appeared on her side of the glass.
"Are we having a problem, Miss Quinzel?"
"No, but I think she is," said Cally, pointing at Harleen and making the 'crazy' signal with her index finger. "She's having the delusion she was actually a decent mother to me at some point in my life."
"Ma'am, time's up," said the guard. Harleen continued to sob.
"Enjoy wallowing in self-pity, Mommy!" Cally chirped before being led back to her cell. She whistled the theme from Cabaret as she walked. Harleen waited until she was out of sight, and then pulled herself together and walked back to the exit. There was a time when she would have seduced the guard, stolen his passkey, and gotten her loved one locked inside the hell out of there.
But that time wasn't now. Harleen fished in her purse for a tissue but couldn't find one. "Are you alright?" said the door guard, handing her his handkerchief.
"Sure," said Harleen. "Just...emotional, y'know?" He nodded.
"You're Harleen Quinzel, right?" he said. "I was a junior orderly here...ah...before."
"I see," said Harleen.
"I remember your escape with, uh..."
"The Joker?" supplied Harleen snappishly. He nodded.
"So the girl in there, she's your daughter? I mean, the both of yours? Because excuse me for saying so, ma'am, but that's a little strange." Harleen had the sudden urge to reach for her cork gun, or even a rubber chicken with a good heavy brick inside, and wipe the smirk off the rent-a-cop's face. Instead she just raised her chin and didn't give the creep the satisfaction of seeing her start to cry again as she left the waiting room.
---
A/N: Sooo…who's your favorite character so far? Going for the OCs or sticking with the old standards? Let me know! I want to know who's popular and who you can't stand. Sorta like American Idol, only less singing. And everyone wears tights. Just leave a review, okay?