Extended Summary:

Twenty-four year-old Dora has lived in Gotham her whole life and thought she had grown accustomed to the rampant crime and corruption. Her life takes a turn for the worse when Black Mask takes over her neighborhood and kills her father for not paying protection money. Even worse, her little sister is hanging out with a bad crowd and using drugs. Forced to support her family in her father's place, and harassed and extorted by Black Mask's enforcers, Dora feels like she's in over her head and that all hope for a peaceful life is lost.

Then one night, a new vigilante saves her life, calling himself the Red Hood. However, Red Hood is not your typical knight in shining armor and he doesn't align himself with Gotham's resident Bat-Family. He proceeds on a rampage of blood and fire throughout Gotham, killing Black Mask's men without hesitation or remorse, only to put his own henchmen in their place and take over their illicit operations. He even attempts to kill Batman himself.

As Red Hood literally paints the town red, battling against both crime and Batman, Dora fights a battle of her own-whether or not to let herself fall in love with a revenge-driven killer.

1. Park Row

"All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy… Just one bad day."
- The Joker

#

The brakes of Dora's rusty old Chevy Impala screeched. The car slowed to a halt in front of the high school. It used to amaze her that the car started whenever she turned the key, but as of late she wasn't in a position to question it, she was just grateful it did. She pulled up the parking brake and waited.

PS 124 was the high school she had graduated from... What was it? Six years ago? It almost amazed Dora how much time had passed, but where someone else would feel nostalgia, Dora felt relief. She was glad that high school was over, glad she never had to go back into that building five days a week. High school was not fun for her. Going to school in Park Row—Gotham's toughest neighborhood—wasn't fun for anyone. A few students managed to graduate. Most students were just lucky they made it out alive.

The bell rang and a minute later hundreds of teenagers poured out of the dilapidated brick building and onto the worn and cracked pavement of the courtyard and patchy lawn in front. Some students loitered to chat, others hurried to buses, some to their parents' cars, just as many walked. Dora waited patiently for her sister Carla to appear out of the crowd. Carla was a popular girl, more than Dora ever was back when she attended PS 124, and loved to linger a bit after school to talk to her many friends.

But twenty minutes later, the crowd of students and the fleet of buses and cars were gone and Carla was nowhere to be seen.

With a groan of annoyance, Dora pulled out her phone. She tapped in, "I'm supposed to pick you up today, remember? Where are you?" Carla was grounded, otherwise Dora would have just let her walk home like she normally did. Several minutes passed and no reply. Dora tried calling her, but it went straight to voice mail.

"God damn it, Carla," Dora cursed, getting out of the car. She jabbed her finger at a group of kids still lingering on the steps of the school building. One was boldly rolling a joint for anyone to see. "Hey, you!" The scruffy kid pointed at himself, unsure. "Yeah, you!" Dora stomped up to him. "Have you seen Carla Montgomery around?"

"Who's asking?"

"Her big sister."

The kid took a moment to size her up, but Dora wasn't bothered. She and her little sister shared a likeness—brown hair, brown eyes, olive skin, a short stature, ample hips. Very short—five-foot-nothing. They were often mistaken for twins even up close, despite being almost ten years apart. Dora knew their resemblance was part of the reason why Carla had teal extensions and more piercings than she could count. She didn't like being associated with Dora.

Dora adjusted her glasses, annoyed that the kids hadn't answered her. "Well? Do you know her? Where is she?"

The kid consulted his friends with a look. They all shook their heads. "Fuck off, bitch. I ain't telling you shit."

"Fine, I'll check inside," Dora said as she hopped up the steps, bumping into the kid. A small bag of weed fell out of his hands. Before he could pick it up, Dora snatched it up instead. The whole group of delinquents jumped to their feet, yelling and starting in her direction.

"Whoa there, hold on." Dora smirked, stepping out of their reach. She overturned the bag and a few buds fell onto the ground, becoming lost in the grass. "Save me the trouble of having to look for her, and I'll save you the trouble of having to pick weeds out of the school's lawn."

"For fuck's sake, would someone just tell the bitch where Carla is? That's the last of my stash," one of them said. There was a round of grumbling, until someone finally spoke. "Heard Carla went to meet some people on Park Row and West 52nd, at the bodega."

"Meeting who? Doing what?"

"Fuck if I know, lady. She ain't my sister."

An address was enough, so Dora decided not to push further. She zipped up the bag and tossed it over her shoulder, letting the stoners scramble over themselves to retrieve it. She got back in her car and drove off.

Another person would have hesitated to go because West 52nd Street was in the bad part of town… but the whole neighborhood Dora's family lived in was bad. Gotham's Park Row was thirty square blocks of bleak hopelessness, drenched in despair. The highest crime rate of all of Gotham's boroughs, a shooting or two happening every week, drugs being sold on every corner, prostitutes turning tricks along every sidewalk. Not a great place to grow up, but somehow Dora had managed to get by without getting into too much trouble… her little sister Carla, however, wasn't holding up as well.

When Dora arrived at the corner, she parked the Impala on the curb, wondering what Carla needed from a bodega this far away from their apartment.

Fuck.

It occurred to her that the only way Carla could have gotten this far from school by now was if she had ditched the last few periods of class—at least.

Dora's instincts told her she didn't even need to check the bodega, so she rounded the corner, and looked into the alley. She found exactly what she expected—her fourteen-year-old sister. But then she saw something else...

A glass pipe expelling thick clouds of white smoke—in her sister's hands. She was surrounded by several men—not boys, but adult men.

One of them had to be at least Dora's age, twenty-four, which was too old to be hanging out with a fourteen-year-old girl.

"Yeah, babe, that's it… Breathe deep…" One of them held up his lighter and Carla leaned towards the flame for another hit. "Hey! What the fuck?"

Dora had sprinted the distance from the curb to the alley and swatted the pipe out of Carla's hands. The pipe shattered on the concrete, and—just as Dora had feared—little white rocks were among the glass shards.

Crack? No... Dora could hardly believe what was happening. Smoking pot with her girlfriends was one thing, sneaking a bottle of wine or beer from their parents' bar was another, but her little sister had ditched school to hang with a group of older men and smoke crack cocaine.

"Dora!?" Carla reeled back, shocked. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Me? You're grounded, so what are you doing here? You were supposed to meet me after school!"

Carla cringed, remembering her promise. "Oh, fuck. Sorry, Dee, I forgot."

"Sorry? Were you even at school today?"

"Yeah, of course I was!"

"The whole day?"

Carla averted her eyes. "Well, most of it…" At Dora's growl, Carla continued, "Look, it's not even a big deal. All my classes after lunch are electives anyway! I was there for the important shit!"

"You thought you were grounded before, Carla?" Dora shouted. "Well, now you're fucking buried! Let's go!"

Carla didn't move.

"I said now!" Dora grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the street.

"Dora, no! Stop!" Carla whined. "Stop being so lame! Leave me alone!"

One of the men grabbed Dora and pried Carla from her grasp. "Hey, back off! She said she didn't want to go!"

"Don't touch me!" Dora spat at him. She shrugged off the man's hand and reached for her sister again. "We're leaving."

"No, you're not, bitch." The man pointed at the broken pipe and crack on the ground. "You trashed perfectly good product. You owe us, puta."

Dora's anger faltered for a moment, displaced by a tinge of fear. These weren't teenaged stoners, they were members of the Latino Unified gang, judging by the neck tattoos and the black and orange clothes. She was grossly outnumbered and overpowered. She looked at Carla and saw that she was beginning to regret her choice of company.

But Dora regained her composure just as fast as she had lost it. "Fine." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a couple twenties—and her can of pepper spray.

The thugs all took a step back, but their apparent leader still seemed primed for a fight. He slid down his sunglasses. Her pepper spray wasn't so threatening now. With a nervous gulp, Dora tossed the money on the ground and grabbed Carla again. "There, keep the change. Let's go, Carla."

Fortunately, the men hadn't surrounded them, so Dora and Carla were able to walk backwards out of the alley and back onto the street. Before rounding the corner, Dora yelled, "Don't ever talk to my sister again, or I'll let the False Facers know you're dealing on their turf!"

"Dora, are you crazy?" Carla said once the thugs were out of sight. "You think they're afraid of your little can of mace? You're lucky they took the cash and let us just walk away without shooting us."

"Serious bangers won't carry a piece since the gang war, with the GCPD getting all Gestapo and frisking anyone that looks at them funny."

"You could've gotten us killed, Dee."

"You could've gotten yourself killed, Carla. Hanging out with gangbangers? Fumando coca? You know better!"

In the car, the sisters drove in tense silence. Carla radiated typical teenage resentment amid her manic fidgeting—jerking her head around, scratching her arms, and bouncing her foot anxiously. Dora had done three years of nursing courses at Gotham University, so she knew the symptoms. She had gotten there too late—her little sister was high on crack and wouldn't come down for a while. She could only hope Carla hadn't developed a taste for it yet.

As Dora drove, anger, disappointment, and fear roiled in her chest, threatening to froth over as tears. How was she going to tell her mother that one of her daughters was skipping school to smoke crack with gang members twice her age?

#

"Fuck no, I ain't going in there!"

"Either you go in there and listen to what they have to say, or I tell Mami everything. Everything, Carla. Cutting school, doing drugs, hanging with dealers, todo."

"Fuck you, Dee," Carla spat. "Snitches get stitches."

Dora ignored that—or tried to. "Get straight. Or be another dumb bitch that gets buried in a ditch—by her gangster 'friends.'" She used air quotes.

Carla had no retort, so she just sat there, fidgeting. Dora turned away. She rubbed her temples, wishing for a more comfortable chair and a warmer waiting room. The Park Row Free Clinic had a bare-bones, no-frills decor. White walls, white floors, gray accents. Despite the good work done here, it was a bleak place, one that wasn't accommodating for impatient people—like anxious teenage girls coming down from a crack high, trying to avoid going to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting.

Thankfully, people began showing up a few minutes later, entering the meeting room and taking seats in chairs arranged in a circle. Dora ushered Carla in and put her in a chair, whispering, "You need this, Carla. Make it through one meeting, and I won't tell Mami. You think I'm pissed? You have no idea about her. You're probably too young to remember Dad at his worst, but Mami didn't put up with any of his shit and kicked his ass out. She sure won't put up with yours."

The look in Carla's face could only be read as "fuck you"—pure distilled resentment. But she stayed in her seat and looked forward. As someone began to lead the meeting, Dora walked out, closing the door. 12-Step meetings usually lasted an hour, so she wondered if she could go to her car and have a nap in the meantime.

"Nice to see you back." A tall and slim white woman walked up to her, with gray hair and kind eyes. She wore glasses and a lab coat, a stethoscope hanging from her neck.

"Dr. Thompkins, hi."

"How many times have I told you to call me Leslie?"

"Sorry." Dora tried again, "Hey, Leslie. How are you?"

"Good, but I'm more concerned about how you are. First you quit on me, then you don't see or talk to me for however many months, and now I see you at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting? Dora, should I be concerned?"

"I'm sorry, you don't have to worry about me. It's just... it's my sister Carla. She's... never mind. I've got it under control." It was too embarrassing and Dora didn't want Leslie's judgment.

"Very supportive of you to bring her to a meeting."

"If you say so," Dora said, while thinking, Is it really support? I feel like I'm just dumping her problems on a bunch of strangers so I don't have to deal with them myself.

"How's your mother? And little Mercedes?"

"Mercy and my mom are both good."

"Your classes?"

Dora cracked her knuckles audibly. "Still dropped out, but come on—you knew that already." Leslie was a nice woman, but Dora could now tell her small talk wasn't genuine. It was a little too probing. She knew why. She had to say it. "I'm not coming back, Leslie."

Leslie smiled slightly, more amused than annoyed that Dora had seen through her pretense. "It's hard to find good nurses around Park Row—even harder to find great nurses, like you."

"I'm not fully qualified," Dora reminded her.

"I beg to differ. You stepped up after the earthquake, risked your own safety to provide care and aid when the rest of the country abandoned this city. Then again during the gang war—the three most violent days in Gotham's history, you chose to help people rather than riot, loot, or just stand by. You saved lives, Dora. You're qualified."

"Qualified, but not accredited, then. I broke the law. You broke the law by letting me do what I did."

"Those people needed help. They were in good hands. Your hands. You could be something better than a bartender. Those hands should be healing people, not pouring drinks."

Looking down, Dora couldn't help but curl her fingers into fists.

"You're an excellent nurse," Leslie insisted, "even though you're not fully certified. You're probably better than an RN, and I daresay you could be more. I've worked with trauma surgeons fresh out of med school that don't know half as much as you do."

Dora had suffered Leslie's misplaced praise numerous times. Before, she had been proud to have her mentor's admiration, but now... she felt ashamed she couldn't live up to Leslie's expectations. Helping others and being selfless came at an expense. A personal expense. One she wasn't willing to pay any longer. "Leslie, I can't—"

Just then, the doors of the meeting room flew open. Carla came stomping out. "Fuck this, I'm out. I don't have a problem. Those saps can moan and whine all they want. I'm not hearing it." Carla said that more to herself than anyone. She disappeared around the corner, not looking back at Dora.

"I'm sorry, Leslie, but my family needs me more than the Clinic."

Leslie nodded, understanding—or seeming to. "Take care, Dora."

Dora lingered only for a second to give Leslie an apologetic look, then ran off after Carla.

Notes

Version 41.1