Heads up: Attempted rape (though it doesn't really get anywhere)

It's a nice day today. Think I'll go for a walk and hey, I'll get some sites I can port to out of it. Bonus!

I inhale a cinnamon raisin bagel (that I toasted and buttered) with a cup of pulp free orange juice.

Then, shortly, I'm headed out wearing my Shinedown T-shirt, black jeans with my phone in my right pocket and wallet in the left one, my tennis shoes and my hoodie (with my earbudded iPod and Swiss army knife in its pockets).

Man, this city sure as hell isn't Brooklyn.

It seems almost...darker. And hungry. Like it wants what it can't seem to have but will still continue to try its damndest to get.

Yeah, I don't know where I'm going with that so have at it for all I care.

I also notice the smell's different here. Not that it comes as much of a surprise, really, but I still haven't been able to come up with the right words for it. In fact, I'm not even sure I want to.

Gotham doesn't really feel like home to me. I mean, sure I have a family here but the Brooklyn in my voice, not that I mind it, will always mark me as an outsider. Tell the people here that I clearly don't belong.

I wonder if Alfred ever feels that way. If he ever finds himself missing England, like I kinda miss Park Slope or, as I grew up calling it, the slope. Granted, I don't know much about England but I've heard tourists saying that Europe's nice.

Oh, fuck. Wait. Brexit.

Is England still considered part of Europe? How the fuck should I know? I'm from Brooklyn, my geography knowledge is definitely not something worth bragging about.

Wait. You have a phone now, Phoenix, you can look up shit like this.

Pulling it out. Of course, I have it on. Honestly, how stupid do you think I am?

Now then. Opening Google. Feeling kind of silly for doing it but typing in "Is Britain still considered part of Europe?"

To make a long answer short, yes.

Closed Google, put phone back into pocket and...Fuck.

Well, it looks like I was stupid enough to get myself surrounded by no less than 5 no-goodniks. Big ones.

Least I'm not stupid enough not to know how to fight back. I pull out my Swiss army knife with my right hand then take on my best fighting stance.

"Look, Bill, the little bitch thinks that she can take us on."

I push back the memory the words "little bitch" threaten to bring back screaming to life and scowl. "I don't think I can take you mooks on, I know I can."

He spits, just missing my right shoe. "You're not even from here so you're trying to act all tough but you're just some stupid chick."

"I'M NOT STUPID!"

Man, I wish it wasn't so hard to port when I'm surrounded. No, wait, I prolly shouldn't let them see me port or shift.

Oh God, what do they want with me? What are they going to do to me?

I duck and weave, trying to fight my way out, but one of them grabs my hair and slams me into a wall, knocking the wind out of me and making me see stars.

I felt my Swiss army knife fall back into my pocket. One of the guys reaches for it...No, he's reaching for my zipper.

"Fucking shit!"

I block the memory threatening to come and kick him in the balls as hard as I can.

He tries to backhand me but I duck and pull out my cell phone which I notice is already in the process of calling the police and I swear the assholes know somehow cause they run.

Thank you so fucking much, Gingie.

"This is Commissioner Gordon."

Gordon, huh? That explains a lot.

"You have a red-haired daughter, right?"

"I do but who is this? Are you telling me my Babs is in danger?"

"Fuck, no. Gingie's fine, Papa Wolf."

"You must be Phoenix. I understand why my daughter and son-in-law call you Firecracker."

God. He sounds like the best Dad.

"I didn't intend for this to be a fucking social call, dude! Some asshole was going to..." I can't say the word without feeling like I'm going to puke so I put it a little differently. "Force himself on me."

"So you would be calling to report an attempted rape?"

I gag. "You mind not saying that word? It's a four-letter word that even I don't like using."

Man, I swear I can feel the shock in his momentary silence.

"I'll come with my partner and pick you up."

However that may have intended to work out, I'm soon in front of a very serious looking Bruce and a concerned Gingie.

Before I can say a word, Bruce says in a kind of scary voice "Heather, we need to have a talk."

I gulp nervously, fighting the urge to get away because, oh, fuck, he knows. Everything.

So clearly he is, as I put it once, a detective or some shit. But that's not advertised.

I put a few pieces together then smirk as a sudden realization comes to me. "So Batman wants to shoot the shit with me of all people? I'm flattered."

He narrows his eyes and scowls as I face him, now wearing a grin that can only be described as shit eating.

Bravado. It can be an excellent thing to go with.