DC Infinity Presents

Batgirl # 41

Irresistible Forces

Part 1

Location Secret

Deadline lined up the target and squeezed the trigger several times. Sending a few rounds downrange always helped relax him before important meetings, and today was no different.

When he looked at his target, Deadline felt a sense of satisfaction seeing that his aim was still as good as ever. His nerves settled someone, he checked his watch and saw that he had plenty of time to make his meeting.

Deadline left the target range, and walked down the hall, looking for the right conference room. The metahuman merc couldn't help but reflect on how the Society had changed in the short time since its founding

When Luthor and the rest first created the Society, it had been sold as a protection racket. That united, no member would be at risk of having the Justice League tamper with their minds, as they once had with Dr. Light.

But using a rapist as a rallying cry didn't take long to sour. Even the worst criminal realized that Light was an exception, not the rule. And most felt that he had gotten off easy, all things considered.

So after the Crisis, after the battle for Metropolis was lost, a new council was formed from the ashes of defeat, and with it a new Society.

The Society was more than just a protection racket for supervillains now. Now it was an entire organization, almost a corporation onto itself, dedicated to earning money in an 'extra legal' manner.

The Royal Flush Gang served as foot soldiers, protected from casual abuse and murder by displeased bosses by a set of 'Henchmen Treatment Guidelines', enforced by Zoom and Dr. Psycho.

Calculator handed out customized assignments. Deathstroke held training sessions of marksmanship, while Black Adam offered safe-houses in the form of his embassies all over the world. There was even a talk about ranking members based o their skills and powers, something Deadline secretly wanted. He was tired of Deadshot and Deathstroke being regarded as the only decent supervillain snipers.

More than that, Deadline never thought he'd see the day when he received a regular paycheck, or up for a possible promotion. But today both were happening.

"You're late," was the first thing Deathstroke said when Deadline entered the room.

"On time, actually," Deadline replied. He knew he wasn't in Deathstroke's league, but Deadline refused to be treated like some green horn rookie, "Society says this building is secure, so I take 'em at their word, so no need to case the joint prior."

Deathstroke was grunted, then dropped several folders on the table.

"So Deadline, ready to form a new Killer Elite?"

"Wouldn't be here if I wasn't," Deadline replied, "Deadshot's made his opinion on the Society plain, and Merlyn's off God knows where. That leaves me, Bolt and Chiller. So who are you giving me as pitch hitters, and what's the mission?"

"This'll be a shakedown mission," Deathstroke replied, "and got four potential members."

"First is the new Copperhead. Female, good with hand to hand and poisons," Deathstroke gave Deadline her folder, "contortionist, what have you. Shows potential."

"Contortionist, eh?" Deadline chuckled.

"Careful, Talia handles sexual harassment training here," Deathstroke said, completely serious, "with a knife."

"Got it, no complaint," Deadline replied, "we could use a poison expert. Who's next?"

"Pathfinder," Deathstroke said, "I understand you two worked together on a job."

"Trying to take out Deadshot, yeah," said Deadline, "I understand he barely made it out."

"His crew didn't," Deathstroke said, "he got out of the prison hospital six weeks ago. Pulled a few jobs before we reached out. I figure he'll be the team exit strategy."

"Fine with me," Deadline said, "but I gotta veto the last two."

"Cannon and Saber?" Deathstroke said, "took you for a redneck, but not a homophobe."

"I'm a redneck and damn proud of it," Deadline said, "but them being gay ain't the issue. They're married. That means they'll give each other priority over the mission."

"Cannon is an expert at hand to hand combat, and Saber a crack shot," Deathstroke said, "I'll be honest, here is some question if they're Society material. But give them a shot, see how they work and we'll take it from there."

"Alright hoss," Deadline said, "we got our killers, now who's the contract? Hope they got at least a little bad ass in them."

Deadline could see Deathstroke smirk, when the merc handed over the file with their target.

"Not exactly."

Deadline read the file twice, just to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

"Are you kidding me?"

Blackgate, Gotham

Ken Brigs was laying on the floor of his cell when the lights came on, signaling a new day.

No matter how much he prepared, Ken still dreaded what was to come today. What was to come later

"You know, man, I don't think God would begrudge you a pillow," said Phil Andrews, Ken's cellmate, "hell, the bed hardly seems like a sin."

"I'll indulge myself when I finally pay for my crime," Ken replied.

"Yeah," Andrews looked out through the cell bars, "this is just a paid vacation."

Phil knew that Ken was barely listening. Today was to important to his cellmate, and Phil know from personal experience that meant he was wrapped up in his own mind, too wrapped up in anticipation of what might happen to even notice what was happening around him.

That's why Phil decided to have a little fun at breakfast.

He and Ken filed out with the rest of C block towards the cafeteria, and out of the corner of his eye, Phil spotted Hector Deleon.

The two had run together in a crew five years back, before Hector split for Florida. Extradited back to Gotham just last week, Hector had reached out to his old partner in crime for protection. Hector had likely had forgotten the two grand he owed Phil, and because of that Phil decided to have some 'fun' at the expense of his friend.

When Phil entered the cafeteria, he made eye contact with Hector, and nodded at his cellmate. Chuckling to himself, Phil strolled over to Zeke Tate, a shot caller in the Aryan Nation that he'd been getting chummy with.

"Hey, Zeke," Phil said sat down next to the Neo-Nazi, "want a quick laugh?"

Phil nodded towards his cellmate, Ken As usual, he'd staked a position at the far end of an empty table, barely pecking at his food. So lost in his own world, Ken never noticed Hector approaching from behind.

"Does the new fish get fried? What do you think?"

Hector had a shiv, one of the best in Blackgate. A surgical scalpel stolen from a careless nurse, and in his experienced hands, it was as good as a gun.

The inmate aimed his strike at Ken's liver. The wound would be lethal with the best of care, and was easy enough to accomplish and then slip away. Everyone in this dump knew where the cameras were the second day they stepped foot inside.

Ken never realized Hector was there until there was a burst of light, and Hector was violently pitched backwards, skidding across the floor several feet until he rolled to a stop.

"Sorry!" Ken said quickly. Realizing what he'd (inadvertently)done, he bussed his tray, and walked away.

"Dude," Zeke, serving a sentence for only two of the five murders he'd committed in his life, looked at Phil in disgust, "that was Ken, man. Not funny."

oooOOoo

Gotham, Zoe's House

"Come on, man!"

Three digital Nazis were gunned down, before their killer had to duck for cover from incoming fire.

"Back up, do you understand the concept?" Zoe Hampton snapped.

"I'm coming, just be patience!" Aaron Lee replied, nervously. He loved this game, but hated playing it with Zoe. Every time they played, it was like she was possessed by a bloodthirsty demon.

"We're already ten seconds past our last time on this level," said Zoe, "how do you expect to win any matches at this rate?"

"Zoe, stop yelling at Aaron," Sarah said. She was at the dining room table, hands resting atop it. Cassandra and Josh had each claimed a hand.

"You need to stop moving," Josh said, as he slowly moved an applicator across the nail on Sarah's ring finger on her left hand, "I can't beat Cassandra if you keep budging."

"Can't beat me at all," Cassandra smiled, as she worked on the nails on Sarah's right hand. She was preparing to apply

It had all started when Sarah quizzed Cassandra and Zoe on how she should do her nails. Josh had taken offense that his opinion wasn't included in the polling, and Zoe teased that Cassandra could do nails better than Josh.

But in doing so, Zoe had underestimated both Josh's skill with an applicator and Cassandra's competiveness. Cassandra admired Josh's almost surgical precision as he moved the brush across Sarah's nails. He was far better than anyone would have suspected of a football player.

"How'd you learn to do this so well?" Sarah said.

"Mom taught me when I was in recovery," Josh said, "she said it would help teach me patience and skill. Also helps with the chicks."

"Of course," Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Won't beat this chick," Cassandra smirked.

Cassandra didn't have the experience Josh did, but there wasn't a single Bat who wasn't gifted with their hands. And one advantage that she did have was that she could read Sarah's body language. Cassandra knew what colors and styles Sarah preferred, and since she was the final judge of best painter, Cass had this in the bag.

Until she felt her phone buzzing.

"Yes?" Cassandra saw the call number, and knew immediately that she had a mission, "Tatsu? Okay, see you soon."

"Who was that?" Sarah asked.

"Tatsu," Cassandra said, "family thing. Gotta go."

"Victory by default!" Josh pumped his arm, "fear not, Sarah, your nails will be finished by a gentleman."

"Or something close to it," said Sarah, "hey Cass, before you go. I won a few tickets for an art exhibit next weekend. Can I count on you?"

"Yes, sounds interesting. Get you, and Josh, next time," Cassandra said, as she picked up her bags. She moved quickly, and without bothering to say goodbye to Aaron or Zoe. Zoe was too obsessed with freeing America from the Nazis and Aaron was too busy not disappointing her to allow any distractions.

Once Cassandra stepped outside, she saw Barbara's van parked around the corner.

"Sorry to tear you away from your friends on a teacher work day," Barbara said, "your equipment is in the back."

"Fine, just studying," Cassandra said.

"Really? Not having any fun at all?" Barbara made sure that Cassandra wasn't in a position to see her smirk.

"What's the mission?" Cassandra snapped her utility belt on.

"Protection detail," Barbara handed Cassandra a digital pad, "a very high, very questionable, contract was taken out on one Kevin Brigs. You may remember him?"

"I do," Cassandra said with a scowl. She scrolled through the information, skimming through much of it until something caught her eye, "Bludhaven? That was him?"

"It was, yeah," Barbara replied, "the courthouse is on alert too, so we're going to have to play this a little different. You have your Titans ID card?"

"Yes," Cassandra said.

"Good," Barbara said, "I made arrangements. Security is too tight for you to worry about being stealthy and keeping an eye on him. Keep that thing. It's been scrubbed and networked into the courthouse cameras."

Barbara pulled into an alley where all the cameras belonged to Oracle.

"Any questions?"

"You said the contract was 'questionable'," Batgirl pulled her mask over her face, "explain."

"The accounts used to put up the money for the contact led to some odd dummy corporations," Barbara said, "too recent, too textbook for an old pro. Just feels wrong to me, but it's impossible to be certain with something like this."

"Understood," Batgirl nodded, "will be careful."

oooOOoo

Gotham Courthouse

Ken Brigs paced back and forth in his cell. As the time approached to his hearing, he felt the knot in his gut twist and his fear of what could happen, grow. He'd been a failure in almost all things, and the thought of failing here, now, terrified him.

"You deserve this, you deserve this," Ken said, trying to focus. He wiped the moisture from his eyes, and said aloud, to remind himself, "you don't have that right. You don't have that right, and you deserve this."

Ken pressed his head against the wall, trying to focus. He nearly had himself under control, when he heard the cell door open.

"It's not time…" Ken's words died in his mouth when he saw who entered. The cell guard gave Ken a sympathetic look, and walked away, leaving the cell door open and Ken alone with his 'guest'.

"You," Ken swallowed a lump in his throat, and could barely say the next words, "you shouldn't be here."

"I know, Ken," she was an older woman, dark skinned and hair aged white. She gave Ken a genuinely kind smile. Leaning on a cane she'd been using for five years now, she took a careful step towards the felon, "but the guards were kind enough to do me, and I suppose you, this favor. I suppose you know what I'm going to ask, yes?"

Ken took a step back.

"Please, drop this foolish appeal. I know you mean well, son," she said, "but this isn't how you make things right."

"No, no," Ken covered his ears and took a step backwards. His back touched the wall, "I have to do this. This balances things out, it makes the math work."

"I really can't agree with that, young man," she said, "but I can understand why you might feel that way. Maybe we could talk about it?"

"This is right, I'm doing the right thing for once!" Ken took another step backwards, and began passing through the wall.

Ken fell out into open air before he fully realized what had happened, some ten stories up. Ken flailed as he fell straight down, catching the edge of a dumpster before he smacked the pavement like a stone.

"Oh no," Ken could barely find air to fill his lungs, when he looked around and found that he was outside, free. Panic began to overwhelm him, "no, no, no…"

Ken dashed around the building at just under Mach-1, skidding to a halt in front of court security.

Terence Poole, a ten year veteran of court security, recognized Ken immediately. Though the other men and women trying to make it through security stared at the man in an orange prison jumpsuit, Poole barely gave it much thought.

"Again?" Terence sighed.

"I have to get to court," Ken said, panicked, "please!"

"Come on in," Terence just waved Ken through, "I'll radio ahead for you, and you can just wait outside until your case is called. Probably easier for everyone."

"Hey," Grace May, forced to answer for a dozen parking tickets, objected, "why does he just get to walk through and we have to all but undress?"

"Because we know him," Mr. Poole replied.

oooOOooo

Batgirl met one of the officers at a rear entrance of the courthouse used for confidential informants and threatened witnesses. She was discreetly escorted to the jury room adjacent, and then simply left alone.

Batgirl brought up the cameras in the courtroom, and began examining the people observing.

She recognized none of the faces, and neither did the facial recognition programs that Oracle had entered into the system. If there was a killer about, neither Batgirl nor technology could see them. At least, not yet.

Batgirl reflected bitterly on Ken Brigs. Oracle was right, she remembered him from early in her career. She had come across him on patrol, gun in hand with every intention of murdering his supervisor from work.

Batgirl had done everything she could to stop him, and failed miserably. At the time, neither she nor Ken knew he was a metahuman. Had she known, Batgirl would have made vastly different tactical decisions, and the outcome would have certainly been different.

But she didn't, and hadn't, and Ken succeeded in murdering his victim. Bruce, Tim and Dick all spoke about cases where they knew they should have done something different in hindsight, where was obvious change would have been all they needed to save the day.

Her encounter with Ken Brigs was that to Batgirl. It wasn't an open wound, but her frustration and anger hadn't faded with time, either.

So it was just her luck, Batgirl reflected, that she might have to save his life. If it was in danger at all.

oooOOoo

"All rise for the honorable Judge Clarke."

Ken snapped to his feet along with the rest of the court. The time had finally arrived, and it was no less terrifying now that it was here then when it was approaching.

"Be seated."

Judge Clarke adjusted her glasses, before beginning, "I have to say, when I reviewed my docket, this case stood out. We have the state here arguing against the death penalty and the defendant arguing in favor of it. There are stranger cases, but none come to mind at the moment. Not many plea bargain from manslaughter to felony murder with special circumstances."

"Sorry, your honor," Ken said reflexively.

"It was an observation, Dr. Brigs, not an accusation," Judge Clarke replied.

"Oh, sorry your honor," Ken said, "and I'm not a doctor."

"It says on your records that you earned several doctorates in applied math," Judge Clarke said.

"Yeah, but doctors are smart," Ken said, "if I could do it, anyone could."

"Hmm," Judge Clarke decided against pressing the issue. She turned the state prosecutor, Troy Mason, "Mr. Mason, perhaps you could better explain the case to me? I reviewed it some, but some points still confuse me. I wasn't even aware that Gotham had the death penalty."

"Lets just say that Mr. Brigs s an excellent researcher of obscure laws," Mason replied, "apparently there's an old law on the books from 1890 allowing a defendant to be sentenced to death, if it's supported by federal authorities. The DEO and several federal agencies supported his petition, this office believes in return for his body for scientific study."

"Do you have any evidence to support that?"

Ken squirmed in his seat, as the prosecutor went to his table and removed a document.

"Mr. Brigs' last will and testament leaves his body to scientific study," Mason said, "with a stipulation of how his 'non vital' remains are to be dealt with."

Judge Clarke reviewed the document.

"I have no idea what that word even means."

"Don't look it up, your honor," Mason said, "it's pretty disgusting."

"I see," Judge Clare said, "may I ask why your office has reversed its position now?"

"To be blunt, it's become too expensive," Mason said, "as it's been explained to me, Mr. Brigs isn't just a metahuman, so much as the metahuman."

"The metahuman?"

"The metahuman," Mason replied, "his powers immunize him against damn near everything. His powers either adapt him to survive any threat, or attack it before it can do any damage. If we shot him, he would become bullet proof. If we dunked him in acid too strong for him physically, it would become inert before he got within five feet. His powers either protect him completely, or attack anything that might hurt him on a molecular level. In between attempts, we had to give Mr. Brigs a job auditing prison records just to keep him from damaging his cell by banging his head against the wall. Not a metaphor."

Ken tried not to look around, self conscious of all the eyes upon him.

"As it stands, we've tried over two dozen methods of exotic execution to no avail. The last attempt involved napalm that would have killed the entire Justice League, and all it did was make him wet. Hell, if he wanted to walk out of here, I think it would take the League itself to stop him."

"I see," Judge Clarke turned to Ken, "is that true, Mr. Bigs?"

Ken shook his head, "I'd never walk out, your honor!"

"That wasn't my question," Judge Clarke observed, "Mr. Mason, you said that the execution attempts had become too expensive, could you elaborate?"

"Mr. Brigs is not what you'd call a unrepentant criminal," Mason said, "and even John Coffey only had to walk the Green Mile once. The guards we have escorting him to these execution attempts have all but in for medical leave, retirement or just quit."

Ken shrunk in his chair.

"Our premiums have risen and it's put a strain on our budget, we believe it's an exercise in futility and disproportion to his crime," Mason said, "he's demonstrated remorse and contrition and I believe he's no threat to the public safety. Frankly, I feel my office erred when they accepted his plea bargain in the first place."

"I see," Judge Clarke said, "Mr. Brigs, would you like to make a statement?"

"I would, your honor."

Ken stepped around the table, and then turned to face the jury.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I know it may not look it, but I am one Gotham's worst criminals. I cannot blame my actions on a mental defect, nor did I do so for any great profit. I knew what I was doing was wrong at the time I did it, so amount of jail time will change me. And I'm not sorry, because I got exactly what I wanted when I shot and murdered Karen that night."

Ken paused, then continued.

"And what did I want? Well, allow me to explain. I often had a recurring dream, that I'm sitting in my underwear in the middle of a park. There's a checkers board in front of me, and I'm trying to figure out how to play. All around me, people are playing chess, dressed in business suits. And any minute, I just know someone's going to point out to the world my situation, that everyone is going to see what an idiot I am, that they will see the truth. The truth of me."

Ken took a moment, allowing the jury a moment to take the information in.

"When I picked up the gun and staked out the homeless shelter where I knew Karen volunteered, I convinced myself that she had done exactly that. And by convinced, I mean in the manner one might pretend that eating one cookie while on a diet doesn't matter, or for a child, how Santa really does exist. So I use the word loosely, at best."

Ken paced back and forth.

"Now, I imagine that some of you might think that Karen somehow provoked or mistreated me in some manner, to drive me to then stalk and kill her. That her treatment of me somehow mitigates my actions that night. I can tell you that nothing could be farther from the truth. She was always polite to me, always kind. I'm certain that she had flaws as a person, but the only one I could ever see was that she gave me too much respect, even when I pointed a gun at her and told her to call me stupid."

Ken looked over the jury.

"Karen was not a 'pointy eared boss', and she never stole credit from me, not that there was much to steal. She invited me to several social events, and when she stopped, I think she sensed that I appreciated that more than the invites themselves. She assisted me when I had problems, which was more often than I liked. I picked a scapegoat that day, and Karen was it.

When I killed Karen for an imagined slight, I felt a sense of bitter satisfaction that lasted about to the end of this sentence. For a feeling that lasted less than ten seconds, I ended the life of a promising young woman I knew to be innocent. And immediately after that, I sought to run from the consequences of my actions like a coward.

But this, my death sentence, isn't like that. What I'm asking for, is a state sanctioned execution serves as an official denouncement, the societal condemnation of my actions."

Ken sighed, meeting the eyes of the jury.

"By the merits of my action that night, the sheer senselessness of it all, I forfeited my right to be in society. I murdered Karen on the faux rational that she told the world how stupid I am, but it was my actions that screamed that to the world, not hers. I know executing me has been difficult, but I think it will eventually prove beneficial. When a toilet is clogged, you keep hiring plumbers until it's fixed.

The same applies here. I murdered Karen, knowing it was wrong, using a rational I knew to be both wrong and stupid. I'm not sorry. I got what I wanted. I just feel that we can all agree, that society will be better if instead if I get what I deserve. Thank you."

"Mr. Brigs?" Judge Clarke repeated, "would you care to make a statement? Sometime today?"

Ken snapped back to reality, "Yes, yes your honor. I'm sorry, I mean, I'm not sorry, just give me a second, please…"

Ken had written out his defense weeks ago, but only now, to his horror, did he realize that it almost sounded as if he were bragging about his crime, gloating about his murder. And he was going to do that on the record, insulting Karen's memory in legal documents that would stretch on through time.

From her seat in the jury room, Batgirl watched as fear and doubt flooded through Ken.

"I umm, I need a minute," Ken said, his throat constricting. Seconds ticked by, as Ken quickly realized that he had no back-up plan, and that he had once again, screwed up beyond what he thought was possible.

"I'm sorry Mr. Brigs," Judge Clare said, after a minute of watching Ken fumble with his papers, "but we don't have time for you to rewrite your statement. And from what I reviewed prior and speaking to Mr. Mason, I've come to the conclusion that the court has no choice but to void your plea bargain. It places a burden on the state and is disproportionate as it relates to your crime, especially in light of your actions in Bludhaven."

"That's…," Ken focused, trying to remember te words from his research, "facts…facts not in evidence! Bludhaven isn't relevant to my case."

"This is my courtroom, and I decide relevance," said Judge Clark, "I'm sorry, I'm setting aside your plea agreement."

Ken couldn't believe his ears, and his jaw dropped.

"Wait, you can't void my plea," Ken said, "that means I'm innocent!"

"Yes, that's true but only technically," Judge Clarke said, "in the interim, you'll be remanded to custody of Department of Corrections while a resentencing is scheduled."

"No, please, please," Ken scrambled around the table and was on his knees, begging, "reinstate my sentence, please! I have to do the right thing, please!"

"Even if the state had the ability to do so, I'm not convinced, looking at your record, we'd be right to do so," Judge Clarke said, "sheriffs, please escort Mr. Brigs to holding."

"Are we sure this is how we handle this, hon?" one sheriff said to his red haired partner.

"You read the files," his partner replied, "no hostile action, no reaction."

Ken allowed the two men dressed as sheriffs to lead him away, never realizing that he was being led away from the holding cells. So crushed by the judge's ruling, Ken never questioned why they had marched him out to a secluded section of the parking lot, until he saw Deadline step out from behind a van.

"Cannon, Saber, good job," Deadline said.

"Easiest job ever," Saber said. He slapped Ken on the shoulder, "you were right, no threat, no response."

"What's going on?" Ken said.

"We were hired to kill you, Mr. Brigs," Deadline said. The other members of the Killer Elite stepped out of the shadows behind him, "any objections?"

"No, I guess," Ken replied, "but where are the real sheriffs?"

"They met with Chiller and some knock out darts. We only kill who we're paid to kill," Deadline said, "any other questions? We need to be out of here, sooner than later."

Ken hesitated. He wanted an official execution, not death. But he quickly decided that the math amounted to the same thing, and that perhaps this was better. Society wasn't going to bear the cost and expense of his actions, criminals were.

Perhaps the math worked out even better this way, all things considered.

"No, lets go," Ken said.

"Never thought I'd see the day when a target agrees to be killed," Bolt said, "lets get the hell out of here, before…"

There was a blur of motion from the side, tackling Cannon like a freight train, knocking him unconscious before he landed between two cars.

"Before that," Bolt gritted his teeth. He had no idea which Bat had taken down Cannon, but it really didn't matter. In the blink of an eye, this had gone from cakewalk to FUBAR.

"Over here!" Chiller cried out, as a batarange arced towards the group. Bolt reacted on instinct, blasting it out of the air. It exploded in a blinding burst of white light that left their eyes burning.

"Form up, form up!" Deadline snapped, "back to back!"

"What about Cannon?" Saber demanded.

"Leave him!" Deadline ordered.

"Like hell!" Saber leveled his gun, and went towards where he last saw his husband.

"Knew it," Deadline muttered. Team discipline was threatening to break, especially given the fact that though they'd been attacked, they still hadn't yet seen their enemy.

"Pathfinder," Deadline grabbed Ken by the collar, and held him in front as he scanned the area, gun cocked and ready just over his kidnap victim's shoulder, "get us out of here, fall back point Charlie!"

Two bataranges struck the ground in front of Deadline, and began billowing smoke, as Pathfinder activated his metahuman abilities, and opened a portal underneath the feet of his teammates.

As a method of evacuation, it was excellent. Having done it so many times, Pathfinder now acted on reflex, blunting the edge of his portal so that his comrades tripped into the portal, instead of having the soles of their feet sliced by warped space.

But he accidently reached out too far, including the batarangs that were billowing white smoke.

So only twp people traveled correctly through the portal, keeping their balance and wits, while Ken and the Killer Elite tripped and fell through backwards like drunkards.

"Close it, close it!" Deadline said, waving smoke out of the way.

"Done," Pathfinder deactivated his portal, now several feet in the air above them.

"Alright everyone, buddy up!" Deadline stood up and brushed the dirt from his armor, "Bats love their tracking devises, and we have to assume that they got one on us."

"You kidding?" Copperhead said, "we barely saw whoever it was."

"Don't say that like it's a good thing," said Bolt.

"Bolt's right. We were sideswiped but good out there," Deadline said, "we're supposed to be professionals. So lets act like it. We just dodged a bullet with a Bat, who you can be certain is after us right now. So this instant, everyone does a sweep."

Outside just out of earshot, a young woman dressed in black pressed her back against the wall. She listened carefully, trying to determine her next move.

"We got lucky. But we still have a contract to finish."

Next issue: Batgirl, alone, vs. the Killer Elite!