Terry groaned in pain as the shock of the impact wore off. It was a stupid mistake, and entirely his own fault. He writhed to no avail, in a meek attempt to remove the steel support beam that was pinning him against the harbour wall.

"Looks like your time's up, bat-freak!" One of the grunts leered, cocking his gun and aiming it at terry's head.

The force of the explosion that had caused his current predicament had scrambled almost all of the bat-suit's internal circuitry. It was a perfect storm. If only he had thought before using his thrusters so close to the fuel-tank of the getaway truck. If only he had thought to patch up the tiny tear over the batsuit's main circuit board. If only he had thought to call the batwing before he flew into this mess. But that was just it. Terry hadn't been thinking. He hadn't been thinking all day, not since he and Dana broke up. He was angry and moreover he was sad. Bruce had always told him that was a dangerous combination when you're batman. Now, Terry was going to have to pay the price.

The grunt had a sadistic smile on his face as he pulled the trigger. Terry closed his eyes, and waited for the inevitable. But it never came. Instead, he heard a high pitched swoosh close to his face. His eyes jolted open, to see the grunt with his mouth wide open, and holding only the rear portion of his gun, the steel still smoking where it had been cut. Terry looked to his left, to see a familiar figure, holding a huge sword, lightly smoking in tandem with the gun.

"Curaré!" Terry exclaimed

"what are you-"

Before he could finish, Curaré interrupted him by kicking the would-be killer hard in the face, making him slump to the floor next to the other half of his gun.

"Don't just stand there you morons, smoke the bitch!" the leader of the gang yelled, before a flurry of gunfire erupted towards Terry and his saviour.

Curaré moved so fast that Terry could barely distinguish one sword slash from another. What he could see, however, were halved bullets falling at her feet. After a few seconds of constant gunfire, the sound of shots was replaced with the characteristic clicking of guns running on empty barrels. Without missing a beat, Curaré leapt forward, slamming her knee into the chin of the closest grunt. Watching her fight was like watching some kind of dance. So graceful, yet so efficient and effortless. It didn't take long before every grunt was either out cold or moaning on the floor. Only the leader remained.

"G-get away from me you freak!" he cried as Curaré walked calmly towards him. He held up his gun once more, desperately pulling the trigger again and again without any ammo, while walking backwards until he hit the rear of the getaway truck. As she finally reached him, he threw the best punch he could muster. It was child's play for Curaré, who easily caught his fist mid air, and proceeded to smash it against the truck. Instantly, most of the bones in his hand were shattered. The leader screamed in agony before Curaré released his fist, and proceeded to aim her sword for the killing strike.

"No!" Terry yelled instinctively, despite knowing that he could do nothing to save the man. Inexplicably, Curaré paused, before sheathing her sword. She turned around, and walked slowly towards Terry.

Terry's eyes widened, completely taken aback by the events that were unfolding before him. Why did Curaré go out of her way to save the batman, the person who she wanted dead only a few months before? Why did she listen to him? What was she going to do now?

Before he could begin to speculate on any of his questions, the assassin had reached him, and started pulling the support beam away from him. After a few seconds, he was free, and fell to the floor clutching at his throbbing abdomen. Curaré helped him up, without saying a word.

Terry attempted to stand up straight, but a sharp jolt of pain shot through his chest and stomach, balking the action. He winced and groaned, before looking up to see an increasingly blurred vision of Curaré shaking her head. Despite his best efforts, he lost consciousness.