DC Infinity Presents

Batgirl # 32

A Life's Mission

Finale.

Gotham, Kent's Theatre

Batgirl strolled down the center isle of the theatre, taking in the angles and dimensions. She cast her eyes towards the stage, large enough to perform 'MacBeth', 'Book of Mormon' and several others before the company holding the lease went bankrupt, while she reviewed the schematics in her head.

Once that was committed to memory, Batgirl looked at a digital pad. On it were over a hundred videos, some as long as two hours, some as short as ten seconds. The caped mistress of the night clicked on the first one, and watched with trained eyes.

A grainy, Soviet era propaganda came up of a young man smashing apart a Nazi panzer with his bare hands, shaping steel with his fists as if it were clay. Batgirl saw the sheer awe of a young Ivan Illyrich Gort, the Steel Wolf, as he used his powers to their fullest for the first time.

When she was done watching that video, she called up a second video clip. It lasted all of twenty seconds, but for her that was enough. It showed Gort and Deathstroke exploding onto the scene of a telemundo set in Argentina, locked in furious combat. Due to the nature of how the video was taken, it wasn't long before both men were out of sight of the camera, still trying to kill one another.

When the clip was over, Batgirl called up Gort's medical report from after his mission. Officially the mission had ended with mutual failure and both men wounded. Slade had taken the worst of it, but he'd still managed to leave Gort with some wounds of his own.

She repeated that pattern, as she watched his battle with Firestorm, confrontations with the Suicide Squad and other battles he'd waged in over his six decades of service. Gort was an experienced intelligence operative, but no one with his sheer amount of missions could stay forever in shadows.

"Batgirl?"

Bagtirl tapped the radio in her cowl, "Here, Oracle."

"I saw that you swung by the armory. Dare I ask why you needed a completely titanium fireman's axe with self destruct mechanism?"

"Gort," Batgirl said simply.

"…of course of course," said Oracle, "according to your transmitter, you've barely moved all night. Is everything okay?"

"Planning."

"So that's a yes?"

"Okay," Batgirl said absently.

"Right," Oracle rubbed her eyes. She knew that Batgirl was barely paying any attention to her, "anyways, good news. I found Gort. He was actually at the…:"

"Russian Embassy," Batgirl finished, "so obvious that we'd never look. Should have. He is a professional spy."

"Yeah, I've been looking there, actually," Oracle said, "but there wasn't any indication he was there. He only just set off the seismic sensors, and there wasn't any real chatter until just now. How did he hide so well?"

"He wasn't hiding," said Batgirl.

"No?"

"No," Batgirl said, "the wolf was sleeping."

oooOOooo

Elsewhere

Jacob Thorne opened a bottle of twenty year old scotch, poured a glass, and offered it to his guest.

"I realize that this isn't your preferred drink," Thorne said, "but it will sooth your nerves all the same, trust me."

"It's not my nerves that are the problem," Victor Babkin took the glass gingerly. In times of war, he hesitated to indulge in anything that might dull his wits, no matter how slight. On general principle, and because he'd killed many of his foes in the midst of their own celebrations, "my problem is a ruthless countrymen willing to slaughter me on the orders of a man he's never met."

"With due respect," Thorne said, "does that not describe half your countrymen?"

"No," Victor said, "at the moment, it describes them all."

"Sad to say," Thorne replied, "there is no honor among thieves, but one would hope better of fellow countrymen."

"But not so sad for you, is it?" Victor said, "you invited me here for a reason, did you not? To have me betray said countrymen?"

"Is it a betrayal when they never had any loyalty to you?" Thorne said, "and young man, don't act as if you're not giving thought. You'd never have come out of your rabbit hole otherwise."

"How do I know you'll be any better?" Victor said, "your own family is as…old fashioned when it comes to sexual preferences, are they not?"

"Sadly, yes," Thorne said, "but I am not. My dear boy, this is Gotham. You have no face-paint, and no chemical weapons. But what you do have is a pipeline for guns, and many, many foreign friends. And, currently, no friends within your own people."

Victor was silent.

"I have some loyalists," Victor said, "my crew is reliable. What's to keep me from simply striking out on my own?"

"Because you could have done that already," Thorne said, "and you don't expand when you're under assault. When this matter is settled, you would be welcome, with my blessing, to have the territory that is currently controlled by your once countrymen."

Despite himself, Victor took a sip of his scotch.

"And my current situation?" Victor said, "all this talk is just talk, if that ancient monster kills me tomorrow. Or the one they send next, should he fail."

"The Steel Wolf is the only one they dare send," Thorne said, "the State Department is absolutely furious at Russia. Gort will be disavowed should he fail, and, young man? This is Gotham. Rest assured, that your problem has a problem of his own. I speak from experience, they are a gifted line of bastards."

"Perhaps," Victor said, "but so is the Steel Wolf."

oooOOoo

The next day

Cassandra stood at the mouth of the auditorium, and took a deep breath.

"Not worse than Shiva, not worse than Shiva," she whispered to herself before she stepped inside.

There were over a dozen booths, each labeled something different. Some advertised law enforcement, but Cassandra couldn't see herself doing that. She'd dealt with so many dirty cops, and heard of so many more, with so few to balance them out, she couldn't imagine herself joining any police force. She still couldn't understand how Nightwing had done it all those years back.

Her mask was all she needed to find justice.

"Hey Cass!"

Cassandra turned her head, and saw her friend Josh approach.

"What're you doing here?"

"Pressure. Marnie and friends…twisted my ankle," Cassandra grumbled.

"You mean arm. So your counselor's making you come too?" Josh said.

Rather than fully explain, Cassandra simply nodded.

"See anything that you like?"

"…I don't know," Cassandra said honestly, "hard to think about, really."

"Yeah, I know," Josh said, "I still got time to make a decision sure, but I suppose some direction couldn't hurt."

"Lot of directions here," Cassandra said, as she observed the booths that dealt with medical care, IT and Foreign Service. She and Josh wandered past, but Cassandra couldn't bring herself to stop. She was all too conscious of the wide wealth of basic knowledge that she lacked, and covering it again with a stranger didn't seem all that appealing.

And more than that, a part of her wanted to incorporate her training and experience as Batgirl. She didn't want to just set it aside. She knew that so many other heroes preferred a wall between their civilian and costumed life, but that wasn't Cassandra. She worked so hard, put so much blood and tears into who and what she was now, that she didn't want to just leave them on a shelf.

Being a Ba was as much a part of her as breathing, and she couldn't exactly confide that in some random stranger.

"Well, where do you see Cassandra Cain in a few years?"

oooOOooo

Later

Batgirl checked her equipment for the third and final time. She was carrying a specialized heavy weaponry utility belt, the kind she would carry into battle alongside the Titans, filled with explosives, acid and tasers. She wasn't here to investigate a crime, she was here for heavy combat, and nothing else. There wasn't an ounce on her that wasn't for combat of some kind.

"I'll be home late," Cassandra said, without looking over her shoulder.

Tatsu nodded.

"Will call when it's done."

"Of course."

Cassandra looked at Tatsu.

"Don't worry."

Tatsu's reply was to embrace her daughter in a hug.

"That I can never promise. Be careful, and come home."

oooOOoo

Later, Kent's Theatre

Batgirl watched as Gort stepped into the theatre, his eyes watching every shadow. She admired how silent the man moved, given how much he weighed. Given the sheer power of his frame, as well as its age, he moved much like his namesake.

But for all his skill, stealth was not his strongest suit. He looked right at the shadow that secreted Batgirl, barely suspecting she was there.

Batgirl saw his body language, taut and wary. He knew this was a trap, but he also knew that it was an opportunity to flush out a relentless enemy who might have him at a disadvantage later. Batgirl had seen his file, and knew of Gort's reputation at turning traps on their heads. The man had a gift for this line of work.

"Little bat, little bat," Gort said, in a sing song voice, as he walked down the aisle, eyes sweeping from side to side, "come out, come out wherever you are…!"

Batgirl pressed a button in her cowl.

"Gort," she said, and her voice boomed throughout the theatre, "I'm offering you an opportunity. Leave Gotham, and never return."

Gort laughed, despite himself.

"Or what, little girl?"

"Or I take you down."

"Child, I've fought your mentor off," Gort said, "do not think you are better than him. Hubris is a poor death."

"This isn't your fight. This isn't your passion," Batgirl said.

She saw Gort pause, and knew that her words had struck true.

It wasn't the first time that her words had struck an enemy personally, but it was the first time that she'd actually planned it. Despite the danger, Batgirl felt a little pride.

"So what?" Gort finally said, "I have my orders, and you stand in their way. For now."

In one fluid motion, Gort leaned down, and scooped up the concrete floor as if it were sand, and threw the rocks towards where he heard Batgirl's voice, high in the rafters above the stage. He heard no cry of pain, but saw something fall from up high, the size and shape of a human.

Gort sprinted towards the stage. He had long since joked that 'heroes rising from the dead' wouldn't be a cliché if people bothered to confirm the kill. So many decades ago, his drill instructor had taught him plainly, if you didn't confirm a lack of pulse with your bare hands, the enemy was still alive. Period.

Advise for the ages, really.

Gort approached the figure carefully, wary of a trap, and ready to leap away at a moment's notice.

That was why Batgirl detonated the directional explosives when Gort was only five feet away, instead of pressing her luck.

A wall of flame and force washed over the unprepared Russian super soldier, pushing him back but little else. Gort dug his feet in on instinct, bringing himself to a stop, as his feet dug a shallow gouge into the wood

Before Gort could catch his breath, Batgirl leapt from the shadows, axe in hand. She swung it like a baseball bat, and landed it just to the side of Gort's left knee.

The Steel Wolf winced as pain shot through him, despite the fact that no blood was draw, no flesh sundered.

Gort swept a backhand towards Batgirl, but she ducked underneath it without effort, drew the axe back, and then swung it at Gort's third rib, just near his heart.

Like before, Gort cringed, pain rippling from the strike despite no flesh rent, no mark left.

Then Batgirl danced backwards. Just out of reach, but in sight.

The Daughter of Cain knew that this was the most dangerous part of her stratagem. Allowing Gort time to recover meant him bringing all his skill, all his cunning to bear.

But at the same time, if what she suspected was true, and when she looked at his body language, she knew it was, she had to allow him time to breathe, time to think, and most importantly, time to feel.

"My offer stands, Wolf," Batgirl said, "walk away. This all started in hate. Hate I know, you don't share."

The Steel Wolf snorted, "And how do you know that?"

"Am I wrong?" Batgirl said.

Gort said nothing.

"Your superiors have other killers they can send. It does not have to be you."

"Enough!" Gort charged, and to his credit, Batgirl barely saw it coming. She had just enough time to step to the side and swing the axe, catching Gort's instep at the exact right time to send him sprawling, and he crashed to the ground like a sack of bricks.

Batgirl's hand went to her belt, and removed three bataranges.

As Gort scrambled to his feet, he was beset by explosive bataranges hitting him like hammers. The first hit the back of his neck exactly where Bronze Tiger had struck him years ago, the second hit him in the back where Vixen had slammed into him with the strength of an elephant, and the third struck his hip, that had taken a tank shell in the latter days of World War 2.

When the smoke had cleared, and Gort had finally risen to his feet, Batgirl had once again taken to the shadows.

"Haven't you fought enough?" boomed Batgirl's voice, "go home."

Gort didn't waste any time trying to use it to divine Batgirl's location. He realized she's seeded the area with speakers, and any hint would have been another feint.

So instead he studied the battlefield, looking for anything that might betray Batgirl's presence.

"Go home?" Gort almost laughed, "to what?"

":To friends, to lovers," almost as soon as she'd said it, Batgirl watched Gort recoil in disgust.

"Lovers, as if I've ever inflict myself on, as if I deserve to…," Gort caught himself, "there is less in Russia than there is for me here."

Batgirl saw Gort's body language plainly, and for a second, hesitated. But she pushed on.

"Then why do you fight?" Batgirl said.

"To erase an abomination," Gort said, not even trying to be convincing, "sin against God. Why else?"

"Lies," Batgirl said, "I know that's not your heart. Not you."

And she was right, Gort reflected. He of all people had no right to judge anyone on the basis of natural. Not when he still stood, and so many of his comrades, and even the cause and country he first enlisted for, fought for, had succumbed to the ravages of time. All while he stood still, like a fly in amber, a relic of an age long past but still visible.

"Why do you fight?" Batgirl said

"I fight…," Gort glanced at his hands. They were riddled with scars despite his strength, and had never gone a year without being caked with blood, "…because I have my orders. Because I was…am a good Russian, and I followed orders. I obeyed, I fought and I did the best I could no matter what my country asked of me, no matter how much they feared me, and no matter what my conscience said.

I fought for a better world for decades, I took the sins of my country on my shoulders since the second world war, and I never faltered. Never. But my country did. And made everything I've ever done meaningless."

Gort cast his eyes towards the ground. Unbidden, his mind drifted to the only pictures he had of his mother and sister, killed in the blitz, destroyed in the 60s when a rogue KGB agent sought his death. It was the only family heirloom that had survived the war, leaving only him.

He thought of all the funerals for his fellow soldiers. Brave men who rushed enemy positions, and fought with the strength of only mortal men, reduced by time to weakness, senility and death. Once again leaving him the only survivor.

He thought of the fear, the sheer panic that he saw in the eyes of everyone, be they his handlers, chairmen or president, who met him for the first time, or knew of his service record. He remembered the cautious glances, the careful phrasing that was used by so many. His nom de guerre was itself an insult, as they regarded him as a wild animal, tame enough to be unleashed on their enemies, but never otherwise trusted.

Never once, Gort mused with a deep, bitter anger, did those people ever think the same of the men who gave him those very orders. It was the soldier who obeyed who was the true monster, not the man who gave the orders, sitting behind their desk.

And that had been his life for over three decades now.

And he remembered Anya, a secretary who somehow never regarded him as anything but a kind and loving man. A single exception in the world that knew him, that didn't regard him with fear. He remembered how her co-workers slowly turned against her, viewing her as damaged for loving a man like him.

Most of all, he remembered the satisfaction he felt when she defected to the United States. He kept her and her family safe from reprisals, because someone as beautiful as her did not belong anywhere near something as ugly as him.

"Ironic, yes? I was created to fight butchers who were only 'following orders'," Gort said, his voice dripping with contempt and loathing, "and now, I simply follow orders. I follow orders, because they are all I have left."

Batgirl realized that she'd misjudged Gort. The man had no small amount of hatred in his heart. It burned brighter and deeper than she could have ever imagined until now. Looking at his body language, Batgirl felt as if she'd learned an entirely new word in her native tongue.

The Steel Wolf was no stranger to hatred. It clung to him like a second skin, until it became invisible by being so very visible. He hated in a way Batgirl had never seen before, but it was all directed at himself, and as a weapon of last resort, his enemy.

"Now little bat, you have your answer," Gort said, his voice threatening to crack, "now show yourself, or I will leap through roof, and then kill the next ten people that I see."

Gort lurched forward when Batgirl's axe struck the back of his neck, but he didn't fall.

"Was that a killing stroke?" Gort rubbed the back off his neck. Like the rest of him, it was beginning to ache terribly.

Batgirl said nothing, in part because she didn't want to give Gort the satisfaction of knowing just how tough he really was. The weapon was the only thing that allowed her to hit Gort's pressure points with enough power to have an actual effect.

"Don't need to kill you to beat you," said Batgirl.

"Disagree."

Gort reached for her, but Batgirl saw it coming.

But what she didn't see coming, was how fast Gort was able to shift himself. He feinted right, and then swung out with his left. Batgirl hesitated for a split second, and in that moment was enough. Gort's hands were aimed at her belt, but she danced away at the last second, but not enough to keep Gort from catching the edge of her cape.

Gort's grip was tenuous, at best. He had it pinched between his fingers, and in another moment he knew that Batgirl would rectify her error. So acting on instinct, he flung her towards the backstage savagely.

Batgirl barely realized what had happened before she was flung through the air. She had the presence of mind to drop the axe and go limp, but that was it. Gort flung her like a stone across the water, and she hit once, twice, before an empty crate was kind enough to bring her to a sudden stop, smashing into splinters.

"You are quick," Gort gasped, suddenly aware of the ache in his bones. Everywhere Batgirl had struck him was beginning to ache and flare. He limped over to the axe Batgirl had dropped, and picked it up, "fought quicker."

"But not better."

Batgirl's vision was still swimming when she pressed a button on her belt, and the axe in Gort's hand exploded, pitching him to the side.

The Russian giant fell to his knees, and chuckled.

"You are…ruthless with explosives," Gort said.

Batgirl said nothing. She knew that Gort had expected her not to be so cavalier, to have some regard for the property damage that might be done.

What he didn't know, what he couldn't know, was that this theatre was scheduled for destruction. Collateral damage wasn't really an issue. Gort might have known that, had Batgirl not removed every single sign indicting the approaching demolition.

Though her muscles protested, Batgirl forced herself to her feet. Her strategy, which seemed to be working, was still a balancing act.

She couldn't allow Gort to lose himself in a fight, to allow adrenaline to take over. She had to allow him time to breathe, time to think and time to feel.

But not time to recover.

So Batgirl removed titanium cast brass knuckles and moved towards Gort.

The Steel Wolf struggled to his feet, as the ache in his bones seemed to grow worse with every breath.

Expecting Batgirl to lead with her brass knuckles, Gort was unprepared for when her boot again connected with his knee, just as Deathstroke had so many years ago.

A web of pain spiraled forth from his knee, and Gort was unprepared when Batgirl struck a rib that had been broken twenty years ago in a munitions factory explosion.

Like with his knee, a sharp, draining pain stabbed through his body.

Batgirl struck his kidneys, exactly where a .50 caliber bullet had struck five years ago. She boxed his ears, that had heard a hundred and more explosions, and drove her elbow into his trunk like neck.

For Batgirl, it felt as if she were punching a brick wall. She drew on all her experience, all her skill not to break the bones in her hands, but the pain was impossible to avoid.

Gort struggled to fight back, but the pain in his body grew, and as it did, he slowed. The Steel Wolf knew that if he didn't do something soon, he would be unable.

"Enough," Gort growled. He stood up to his full height, and threw his hands back.

Batgirl leapt backwards, and crouched down behind her cape, as Gort smashed his palms together.

The room shook as if a small bomb had detonated, and Batgirl felt a wave of pressure strike her Kevlar-microweave cape. It took enough of the shockwave, to the point that the rest felt like a strong breeze.

Batgirl stood up, and saw Gort doubled over, his arms clutched across his chest.

"What…did you…do?" Gort gasped.

Batgirl could see that Gort's little attack (a favorite of those gifted with super strength, really) had only served to make his own injuries so much worse. What was a draining ache, was now blaring pain. The Steel Wolf, despite his powers, was no stranger to pain, but his threshold had its limits. Just one glance told Batgirl that he was all but incapable of movement now.

So out of respect, she withdrew a special canister from her belt, and sprayed it in Gort's face. The gas was designed for meta-humans, but the effect took time. Gort held his breath, but the gas clung to his clothes, and seeped into his pores. Within a minute, he was fast asleep, and free of pain.

When she was finally certain that he was no longer a threat, Batgirl released a heavy sigh of relief.

The Steel Wolf was perhaps, an unsung legend. A man easily as lethal and deadly as her father, Cheshire or Deathstroke. He was gifted with a cunning mind, that enabled him to forge an average super power into a sharp and dangerous weapon. Coupled with his experience, he could easily be one of the top ten deadliest metas in the world.

His only meaningful weakness, she had come to realize, was that he was old. Old enough to see the cause that he had dedicated himself to turn into something else entirely. Old enough so that he'd collected so many injuries over the many decades that, in the end, he was just one giant wound himself.

"Oracle," when Batgirl activated her radio, she could hear Barbara whisper a grateful prayer, "send in Gotham PD. Gort is contained."

"Glad to hear it. Need to be patched up?"

"No, but tell Tatsu I'm okay," Batgirl said.

"There a reason why you can't tell her yourself?"

Batgirl looked long and hard at Gort.

"I have to talk to someone."

oooOOoo

Marnie Herrs had just reached her front door, groceries in hand, when her cell-phone rang.

"Of course," Marnie sat her groceries down, fished her phone out of her pocket and almost did a double take when she saw who it was.

"Cassandra?" Marnie said.

"Can we talk?" Cassandra said, "umm, now? Is that okay?"

"Of course, dear," Marnie said, "just give me a moment to get inside my place, and…"

The door to Marnie's apartment opened, and Cassandra stood at the threshold, holding a bag of ice over her shoulder.

Cassandra saw the surprise in Marnie's body, and winced slightly.

"You said it was okay now…," Cassandra said, as a half apology.

"It's fine honey," Marnie looked Cassandra up and down, and was stunned by what she saw. Cassandra was wearing a sleeveless black tank top and jeans, and her uncovered arms were a mass of purple and black. Her knuckles had specks of blood, and her stomach was pot marked with bruises, "I'm just a little surprised, is all."

"I'm fine," Cassandra said, answering Marnie's unspoken question, "been hurt worse."

"I'm sure, but that hardly makes it okay," Marnie said. She picked up her groceries and stepped inside, "why don't you get comfortable, while I put this up? I'll only be a minute."

Marnie unloaded her bags in record time, and when she came back she found Cassandra laying across her couch, still pressing the ice to her shoulder.

"So I trust that from your presence here that you took down your Russian?" Marnie said.

"Yes," Cassandra said, a small amount of pride creeping into her voice, "he should be in Blackgate by now."

"So why did you come here?"

Cassandra sat up, and Marnie could see the worry on Cassandra's face.

"Gort, he fought for a cause his entire life. He dedicated himself to nothing else, and pushed anything and distractions," said Cassandra, "I…know the feeling."

Marnie said nothing. She'd developed a sense for knowing when her kids had more to say.

"When I became Batgirl, all I wanted was to do fight. To make right what I'd done wrong. It was all I wanted. All. And it was everything for so long. But now that I have a different life…," Cassandra fiddled with her hands, "I want more. But I don't want to set aside my skills. They're a part of me…"

"There's no reason why you have to," Marnie said, "when you say you don't want to set aside your skills, do you mean your martial arts training, or ability to read body language."

"Both, either," Cassandra shrugged, "my skills, are me. I don't want to give them up, but…"

"And you shouldn't have to," Marnie said, "you could do countless jobs. Being able to read body language could help if you were a lawyer, you could teach self defense classes, a detective…"

Marnie listed off more possibilities, and Cassandra listened intently, until she heard a suggestion that she recognized. She'd heard the term countless times in her line of work, but never once did she think that it might be something she were capable of performing.

"What was that last one?" Cassandra said.

"Social worker," Marnie said, "it's a high stress job, but I think…you can handle those. The ability to deduce body language would be of great assistance. You'd be helping the most vulnerable, not just abused children, but the mentally ill, the physically disabled. Every day starts and ends attempting to make someone's life better. You'd be working within the system to help people."

The idea rattled around in Cassandra brain for a minute. Then, finally…

"Tell me more."

Next issue: Justice delayed, justice denied.

Notes:

So! I saw that some people were a little surprised by Cass using guns. Well, don't worry, she's not about to become the Punisher. But she was raised with guns as a part of her upbringing, and Daddy Bat isn't around at the moment for her to try and please.

Also, she knows Gort can take it ;)

Also, so DCnu is bringing back Cass? Hope they do better with her than Lobo and Terry Sloan, otherwise known as 'The hardest concepts to get wrong, yet they managed'.