DC Infinity Presents

Batgirl # 35

Over the Edge

Part 1

Batcave, Before

The world around Cassandra Cain swirled in strange and painful colors. Her body was wracked with agony, but yet she was only nominally aware of the fact that. Her mind lingered on the edge of consciousness, and only because of instincts forged in her childhood.

"…need some stitches on her inner thigh…" she heard Nightwing say.

"…her knuckles are all torn and bloodied, I've never seen her do that…"

"...glad Alfred taught me how to sew up Bruce. Never seen her this bad before, not even Shiva…"

Cass, struggling to hold onto awareness, caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror resting over her. What little she could make out over her adoptive brother and mother attending to her wounds was nothing but black, blue and purple bruises, and Cass felt a burning pain in every limb with an exhaustion that sank into the marrow of her bones.

Caassandra felt as if she'd just run a marathon and had been beaten every inch of the way.

Overcoming a human fighting machine came at a cost, apparently.

"…waking up, we should increase the morphine drip."

Cass felt a cool warm feeling spread through her body, and then drifted off into sleep.

Batcave, now

When Cassandra awoke again, she was laying in a recovery bed, an IV drip in one arm with a heart monitor beeping softly in the background.

She observed Tatsu sitting across from her in a chair, reading a book. The moment Tatsu realized that Cassandra had awoke, she slapped the book closed without and was at her side instantly.

"Don't try to move," Tatsu said quickly. She brought Cassandra a glass of water. Cass reached for it, but even that small act, just moving her arms, felt as difficult as bending steel. After a moment, she gave up, and allowed Tatsu to raise it to her lips allowing her to drink, "how do you feel?"

"Like a human bruise," Cassandra grunted softly. Even speaking was enough to anger her body.

"You were very, very lucky," Tatsu observed, "Mr. Myth's attack were largely blunt force. You had some cuts, and some hairline fractures on your ribs, but you are in far better shape than you have any right to be, having fought a meta-human like that."

Cassandra glanced at her arms, much of them deep, angry purple and black. Even when she was perfectly still, Cassandra felt a dull ache that went down to her bones, and as far as she could tell, literally every part of her body was registering displeasure at her actions.

"…feel lucky," Cassandra drawled.

"You need to rest," Tatsu placed a hand on Cassandra's shoulder, which to her felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds, "I'll talk to your teachers, and…"

"No!" Cassandra braced herself against Tatsu's gentle hand, the effort bringing beads of sweat to her face, "I don't want to miss class!"

"Cassandra," Tatsu's expression was as hard as stone, "today is only Friday. After the beating you've taken, you need best rest and lots of it. If you behave…"

Tatsu glared the word at the young crime fighter. Apparently, she and Alfred shared a distaste for people who ignored solid medical advice, Cassandra reflected.

"…I'll allow you to return to school on Monday," Tatsu said.

Cassandra stopped resisting, and fell back against the bed. Cassandra huffed indignantly, and Tatsu politely ignored her as she left to bring Cassandra some dinner.

oooOOoo

The three days of bed rest sadly, did not equal enough recovery time to be entirely free of the pain. Tatsu had refused to allow Cassandra to do so much as a single kata, and to Cass it felt as if being unable to move made the ache in her body sink in all the more.

But worse than that was the black out that applied to Cassandra's social life. The bruises on her face weren't too bad, as luck would have it, but the teachers at her school wouldn't miss them. The cover story would be that she had been mugged, and Marnie Herrs had been brought in on it to smooth over any rough edges (sadly, being mugged in Gotham was so regular that there was a standard form submitted to schools to ward against false accusations of child abuse. Oracle had one already filled out for Cassandra, backstopped with a police report).

But as she was on 'bed rest', Cassandra found herself surprised how much she missed actually being with her friends. Talking to them over the phone was hardly the same, and after doing so, Cass understood why Tatsu forbid them from coming over.

Sarah, of course, had freaked out at the news. Cass knew she would have played nurse maid if she could have. Zoe seemed to shrug it off, though Cass could still hear a subtext of concern in her voice. Josh promised revenge, and Cass suspected that he would have challenged Mr. Myth had he known the truth while Aaron urged her to rest, unsure of what else to say.

Had they been here, Cass suspected she never would have found the time to actually rest.

She realized that she no longer had the taste for isolation that she once held. But Tatsu was adamant about Cassandra not even approaching her friends, costumes or training. Rest, TV and reading were about the only activities her foster mother allowed.

Finally, the matter came to a head on Sunday dinner.

"I feel better," Cassandra lied, "I want to go to school tomorrow."

Tatsu took a moment to take in the oddity of her situation, before replying. Here she was, a mother arguing against her child about returning to school.

"You know, you're the only teenager who'd crawl out of a recovery bed to go to school," said Tatsu.

"So? What does that matter?" Cass huffed, crossing her arms. But just as quickly, a smirk came across her face, "did you ever expect me to be normal?"

"If your education is about being a smart mouth, I wouldn't feel any regret keeping you home," said Tatsu.

But she was still hesitant. Cassandra's bruises had faded somewhat, but they hadn't vanished. And the extent of them would surely draw unwanted attention. Muggings happened on a weekly basis in Gotham yes, but the more vicious the attack, the more likely it would be remembered. And for a Bat, the less attention they drew, the better it was for all.

But Tatsu could see how Cassandra loved school, and as a mother the last thing Tatsu wanted to do was stand in the way of her daughter's education.

"You realize we'll have to use the 'Pink Panther' paint," Tatsu said.

Cassandra grimaced. She hated that stuff, even though she understood why it was required.

"I know," Cassandra said, "but I like school. Miss…my friends."

Tatsu took a bite of her chicken, and mulled her alternatives over in her mind. She was certain that just budging an inch with Cassandra, the girl would take a mile. She was too much like Bruce like that.

But she didn't have much in the way of alternatives. And perhaps, Tatsu hoped and prayed, Cassandra would focus more on her civilian life while she was injured.

"Very well," Tatsu said, "we'll apply the paint immediately after dinner."

Later

'Pink Panther Paste', so nicknamed by Dick Grayson because of both its bright pink color and the fear that Bruce would name it something more technical and boring, was created by a now defunct company for a rather exclusive clientele, mainly wealthy men who beat their wives but were willing to spend the money to hide that fact from polite society. One report said that it had been able to hide bruises with just one coat for up to three weeks.

Once it had come to their attention, Wayne Enterprises bought the patent and fired everyone who had a hand in brainstorming the concept the next day, but even so, Batman was never one to let a useful tool go to waste, and good, reliable and safe disguise tools were hard to come by.

With a little training, Pink Panther Paste could be used to match any skin tone, could be applied anywhere on the body was easily as paint and washed off effortless with a special solution. Not only that, the storage life on it was measured in years.

The drawback, however, was that it had to be stored cold and smelled like week old dead fish when applied.

But Cassandra did her best to remain stoic as Tatsu carefully applied the paint, though she skin crawled and her nose rebelled. She just focused on Monday, and how good it would be to see her friends and be back at school.

oooOOooo

Monday

"Why didn't Tatsu stop me?" Cassandra muttered to herself.

Moving helped the pain somewhat, but every time someone jostled her unexpectedly, it sent a jolt of pain through her body. No matter how skilled she was, the hall of too full of people (and she too injured) to avoid everyone.

Sitting in class wasn't much better. Cassandra did her best to pay attention, but every minute she was still, it felt like her bones were hardening like cement. Moving afterwards became a powerful and painful act of will.

Maybe it was her upbringing, but her body demanded movement to ease the aches that she felt over every inch of her body, and school was hardly the place for that.

"Hey, look who got the Gotham handshake!"

Jackie Tapscott sauntered up to Cassandra, a smug look on her face. Luckily, her usual group of hangers-on were nowhere to be found. No doubt looking for their own victims to bully, Cassandra reflected.

"They were gentler than they should have been," Jackie scoffed, "maybe they just thought you were pathetic enough already?"

"Whatever," Cassandra shrugged indifferently. She could see how her nonchalant attitude towards Jackie's insults were like a knife to the girl's ego. She had to be acknowledged above all else, "nice seeing you."

Cassandra relished how the comment stung Jackie. She simply couldn't stand the idea of her victim not only ignoring her insults, but wishing well of her, no matter how transparent the plow.

But Cassandra saw a red flag when Jackie was suddenly overcome with confidence.

"Oh dear, that time of the month?" Jackie whispered. Cassandra felt blood on her inner thigh, and paled.

"Sure would hate if someone…"

Cassandra glanced around quickly, and seeing that no one was paying any real attention to themn, jabbed two fingers into Jackie's throat. The girl coughed, and probably said something terribly rude, but no sound emerged from her mouth.

And it would stay that way for the next ten minutes.

Cassandra took her backpack off, holding it in front of her to conceal the growing dampness in her pants as she stepped away. As luck would have it, she had an open appointment with her counselor, Marnie Herrs.

She opened the door to Marnie's office, and found her leaning back in her chair, playing 'Candy Crush'.

"Cassandra?" Marnie immediately put down her phone, but couldn't hide her surprise.

"Need to…," Cassandra tried to remember the expression as she dropped her backpack on Marnie's couch, "borrow your office."

"Dare I ask why?" Marnie saw the stain on Cassandra's leg, "Cassandra, you're bleeding! You need to see a doctor!"

"Have it handled."

Cassandra removed the candy jar that sat at the end of Marnie's desk, and then leapt atop it, balancing on one foot. Marnie's office was under a dropdown ceiling, something Cassandra had exploited months ago without the knowledge of anyone in the school.

She moved a panel and reached up, and removed a pair of pants wrapped in airtight sealed plastic along with a box of marked medical equipment. Cassandra hopped back down, and then quickly stripped her pants off.

When she did, Marnie could see a line of blood trailing down Cassandra's leg, coming from underneath soaked bandage.

"My goodness," Marnie said, "how did you not notice that before it became so bad?"

Cassandra shrugged, "Not as bad as bullet. Plus, on my cycle, was little distracted."

"Cycle?" Marnie winced despite herself. She couldn't imagine a worse combination of physical violence and being on your period (and she was glad she only had to imagine it). Acting from her heart and not her head, she said, "I've got some pain killers if you need them."

Cassandra just gave her a shrug empty of bravo and simply matter of fact, "No need. I can handle it."

Marnie shook her head, as she realized whatever pain Cassandra was in was far used to what she had once grown accustomed to, to the point that it barely registered.

Cassandra ripped the bandage from her leg, and slid out the loose stitches before Marnie raised her hand and sighed. It wasn't that she couldn't handle the sight of blood, but rather that she loathed just having to accept Cassandra's casual stubbornness.

"Don't suppose we can get a professional to do that?"

"Am a professional," Cassandra said casually.

"Well, do you think we could talk while I passively violate several ethical statues of my profession?"

Cassandra was tempted to say no, but she knew that she was already pushing matters, patching herself up in front of a civilian. The tension (and annoyance) in her expression was plain to see, even if Cassandra ignored the words themselves.

"Okay."

"So why did you come to school today?" Marnie said, "I spoke with Tatsu, and heard about your fight. You could, and maybe should have, have taken more time off."

"Feels better here," Cassandra said honestly, as she wiped down the wound. Once it was cleaned, she began to thread the needle. Without much hesitation or even flinching, she began to reseal the wound, as Marnie watched and winced.

"Do you mean that just physically?" Marnie said, though she already knew the answer. To her, it was more important that Cassandra say it aloud.

"No. Feel like…I fit, supposed to be here," Cassandra said. She'd finished her stitching, and went to the spare pants. She hoped no one would notice that they weren't the same pair she came in with, but in her experience people paid little attention to things like that, "the man I fought, Mr. Myth, he reveled in nothing but violence. He had nothing else. Wanted to remember, what else I have."

"So does this mean you've finally accepted the importance of your civilian life?"

"Everyone loves to say 'told you so'," Cassandra muttered.

oooOOoo

Later

Tatsu tapped a special button on her car remote, one that would activate the comms in Cassandra's cave.

"Cassandra, could you please help me with the groceries?" Tatsu said. It was her go-to bribe to pacify the young martial artist. There was always something, a jar of Peanut Butter or a box of cookies, that vanished every time Cassandra lent her assistance

But when a few minutes passed and no Cassandra, Tatsu grew worried. She set several bags down on the kitchen table, and noticed a note stuck on the fridge.

Gone to see Barbara, it read in impeccable handwriting.

"One inch," Tatsu growled to herself, "I give that girl one inch and she takes all of Gotham…"

oooOOooo

Gotham

It wasn't breaking the rules if you didn't ask permission beforehand.

Batgirl had heard Nightwing say that once, and Batgirl thought it would apply here. Technically speaking, Tatsu never said that she couldn't visit Oracle, wearing her Batgirl costume and taking the long way to the tower.

Cassandra wasn't on patrol, just commuting Bat style.

The rush of motion, the darkness of Gotham and the fun of dealing with actual muggers allowed Batgirl to forget about the small headache, cramps and soreness of her muscles. Her body may feel like it had been put through a blender then run over, but it just felt so damn good to be out as what Cassandra felt was, in the end, her true face.

And Batgirl wasn't pushing her luck. She kept her patrol to the edges of the high crime areas. Nightwing was on patrol as well, and Batgirl knew that she would be as much a danger to civilians as the criminals themselves.

This was just her stretching her legs, as Black Canary would say.

And because she wasn't on high alert, because her body and mind struggled to reach a comfortable normal, Batgirl didn't immediately notice the door to a rooftop open only two buildings away.

No, she only noticed when she heard the soft crunch of gravel, one step after the other. To Batgirl's experienced ear, it was too loud to be that of a child, and too soft to be that of an adult without an agenda.

Still cloaked in darkness, Batgirl turned her head, expecting to see an adult who'd snuck onto the roof for a quick smoke (a fairly common occurrence), but saw something else entirely.

She saw a man, just to six feet tall, wearing a dark blue full body suit with white gloves and boots. He wore a handgun on each hip, and was carrying a military assault style weapon Batgirl didn't recognize.

But even from the back, Batgirl recognized the costume from Batman's files. The dark blue and white V atop of it, Batgirl recognized the costume was that of the late Adrian Chase, known to the world as Vigilante.

Worse was his body language, tense and focused. This was a man on the prowl. For whatever reason he was up here, Batgirl knew that it was staged, and likely to happen in moments.

That's why she pushed past the aches in her body, and raced towards the man. He'd already reached the ledge and was taking aim, and knew she only had one option. She removed a batarang from her belt, and let it soar.

The perfectly balanced weapon smacked into the back of the man's knee, just seconds before he pulled the trigger.

The shot was off by inches, and Vigilante snapped his head around. In one fluid motion, he'd swung his entire body around and leveled his weapon at Batgirl, now only a dozen feet away, with nothing that constituted meaningful cover.

"Batgirl…"

Batgirl could plainly see the anger and pent-up frustration in his body. He was like a coiled snake, poised and ready to strike.

Worse she didn't see much in the way of uncertainty in his body. The rifle he was carrying wouldn't even notice her Kevlar weave.

"A bat," Vigilante said, "always working to keep the scum of this city safe."

Batgirl said nothing at first, as she looked down the rifle of his rifle. She wasn't close enough to rush him, even if her body was at one hundred percent, and there was absolutely no cover to be found. The entrance to the room was at least a dozen feet away.

"Who were you shooting at?" Batgirl asked.

"Someone who deserved it," Vigilante replied. For a split second, Batgirl could see a wave of emotion crash over Vigilante, anger and hatred in its purest form, completely overtaking him as he simply glanced towards the edge.

Knowing she might never get a better chance, Batgirl removed a small throwing knife from her belt and sent splicing through the air, striking the rifle barrel perfectly, as it became wedged within.

Batgirl lunged for Vigilante, but the gunman tossed his rifle at her quicker than she expected, and swatting it out of the way brought a fresh assault of pain from her wounds, giving Vigilante enough time to draw a knife.

He held it in a reverse grip and swept the blade for her neck, and when she ducked underneath, Vigilante swung his knee up and into her chest before bringing the knife slashing down again.

Batgirl raised her left wrist to stop his, keeping the blade from slashing her, but that meant she barely had enough room to dodge the punch he sent flying at her head.

Batgirl found herself forced back, not just from the aches and pains of her body, but from the man's skill and sheer ruthlessness. This masked man, whoever he was, was an exceptional combatant. His style was precision guided by anger and experience.

He reminded her somewhat of the Justice Society member Wildcat, who knew when and where to apply brute force with the skill of a surgeon, and was taught by taking punches. When Batgirl dodged a swing of his knife, she slammed her fist into his right kidney, and she watched, stunned as Vigilante just shrugged the pain, as if it were nothing.

Sweat began to form on her brow, and Batgirl realized she needed an immediate change in tactics. She was still fighting as if her body were one hundred percent, and if she continued to do that, she'd be a bad spot soon.

So as Vigilante threw a left hook at her head, Batgirl caught his wrist, slapping her left hand over his wrist and her right hand over the joint, and ducked underneath his elbow, twisting the arm backwards.

"Agh!" Vigilante cried out. The hold was a simple one, as these things went, but effective. Batgirl knew that she could counter any effort he might make to get free.

"Lose the sidearm," Batgirl said. She gave his arm an extra twist, "or lose the arm. Do it slow."

Vigilante's hand moved to his sidearm. He slid it out of his holster, and tossed it away.

Batgirl knew that even though she had him for the moment, there were any number of ways he could get out of this. She had to find a way to end this, and fast, before she lost the upper hand.

"I wanted to make it personal, you know," Vigilante grunted. Batgirl could feel him trying to break her hold, but she still had him, for the moment.

"Too bad," Batgirl said, "what is this about? Who were you shooting at?"

"No one," Vigilante tapped a button on his belt, and Batgirl heard a massive boom, and saw a ball of orange fire climb into the sky.

"Not anymore."

Stunned, Batgirl's grip on her enemy slacked for just a moment, and that was enough for the man to pull his arm free, and sweep Batgirl's feet out from under her. Batgirl landed on her back hard, her body exploding in pain.

"This is only the beginning," Vigilante snapped.

By the time Batgirl forced herself to her feet, he was gone. Batgirl reflected that as this was a planed attack with at least one contingency, Vigilante likely had an exit strategy, a car or bike nearby, ready to swiftly remove him from the scene of the crime. The several second head-start might as well be a mile, especially given how Batgirl felt at the moment.

Her aches had aches.

So instead, Batgirl limped over to the edge of the roof, and peered down.

In the center of the street was the flaming wreckage of a police car, strewn down the block. The bomb that destroyed it had sent shrapnel flying every which way, and Batgirl could count at least five people laid out on the ground, as paramedics were just arriving.

Batgirl stepped back, making sure to remain unseen. She was in no condition to render aid, and the last thing she needed was some passerby to implicate her in the attack. For most, simply the appearance of involvement was enough to spark a city wide manhunt.

So instead, Batgirl, rolling her shoulder to ease the pain, began working out the quickest way to make it back to her cave without being seen, and fantasized about what she'd do to the Vigilante when she caught him.

Because she knew that madman was right, this was only the beginning.

Next Issue: Batgirl begins her investigation as to who might be the Vigilante, but things may get worse before they get better!

Note: Before anyone asks, no I wasn't inspired by Arrow to use Vigilante. I've been planning this a while now