A/N: Hey guys, I just want to apologize for not updating this like I should. I've recently been diagnosed with an eye disease that has left me partially blind in my right eye. Weird, right? I just woke up and couldn't see! I've been dealing with that, and so far, I'm doing much better. So I figured it was time to update my story again. Hope everyone is doing well. Thanks for the reviews and for having faith in me that I would return!

I don't particularly like this chapter, but I had to find a way to get over this huge gap in plot that has been bothering me lately. So, try to enjoy it!

Chapter Seventeen

Fighter

7:00 p.m.

Sal was perhaps, one of the most interesting people I had ever met. He was a marine for the majority of his life. During the many years he served the country, Sal was a semi-professional kickboxer. He now uses that as a cover—a cover for what, I don't know. Perhaps for his training facility. He helped men and women alike become killing machines.

It was during these past few months that I came to a conclusion. Sal was made to fight. A bullet to the chest couldn't knock him down. Anytime he moved or spoke, it was like watching a Clint Eastwood movie. I never expect to see Clint Eastwood get hurt, but I do expect him to kick some ass. But beneath that tough exterior, something else lingered. Sal was a defender of the weak. He was a caring individual. And he cared about me.

"Sal," I finally spoke up. I was seated on a bench, putting back on my tennis shoes. A reoccurring thought had been troubling me, and Sal wasn't all brawns. He could help me out. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." He sipped from his water bottle.

"I've been coming here…what, four months?"

"Yeah, I think that's about right."

"Do you think I'm a good fighter?"

He sat down on the floor, sticking his legs straight out and grabbing his feet to stretch. Sal also proved to be quite flexible. "Helena, you're an excellent fighter. You were meant to be one."

That took my by surprise. "Sal, I'm just a writer."

"Some people are meant to conquer a lot of things. From what I know about you and what I can tell, you can't sit still."

"Well, I am right now."

"I mean, you don't like being in one place for too long. You're a lot like me when I was a kid. That's why I joined the marines: traveled the world and did new things every chance I got. You're just like that, aren't you?"

"Sorta like everything's an adventure, right? I love to travel. Always have." I stood. He did as well.

"I can read people pretty well, you know?" He put his hand on my shoulder. It was very…fatherly. "I don't get sentimental. I want you to remember that. But you have this vibe about you, Helena. You don't like people getting in your business, knowing anything about you…or getting too close."

"I like my privacy." Those darn eyes of his. He was staring into mine, like he could see right through me.

"You're determined. Most people train so they're not victims anymore."

"Isn't that what I'm doing?"

"No. It's almost as if you are setting out to do something."

"Yeah, but what? What exactly am I doing here? Why am I training? What purpose is there to it? Four months and no sign of the Joker. Why continue?"

Sal didn't respond immediately. He was studying me. Those piercing eyes were delving right into mine, trying to figure me out. He was contemplating something, and before too long, his decision had been made. "Come with me." He stood and moved to a door in the back of the facility. "Come on!" Sal shouted when I still hadn't moved. I followed him to the steel door, which then led to an eerie staircase. Sal trekked his way up the stairs and I found myself hesitating. This looked like something out of a SAW movie.

"Where are we going?"

Sal had already entered into another room, one floor up. Swallowing any of the doubting feelings I had, I marched up the stairs into the room.

"What's going on, Sal? I'm serious." The room was dimly lit and Sal was sitting behind a desk. It looked like an office. There were stacks of papers encompassing the room.

"I know I printed this off somewhere…" Sal searched for one piece of paper in the midst of thousands. A few moments passed and he found it. "Organized chaos, you see? I can find anything in this mess." He handed me the paper and I could see a huge coffee stain on it.

It was a print out of an order—one that hadn't been purchased yet. "I don't understand."

"Keep reading. This took a ton of research."

I did as he said and continued to skim through the page. It was from Wayne Enterprises. Wait—what?

"Wayne Enterprises?" I questioned. The order was for a newly designed material, not unlike Kevlar. Only this material protected against armor piercing rounds. "What is this?"

"New stuff from Wayne Enterprises. They're developing an advanced form of Kevlar. But as you can see, this material goes the extra mile. It conforms to body shapes and contours with an electrical current. It's something not necessarily seen by the general public."

"It looks like it was designed for the military."

"Or those who could afford it. Did you see the price?" I hadn't. My eyes browsed over the page once again. When I saw the cost, my stomach dropped.

"300 thousand dollars?! For a few yards of material! Who the hell could afford that?!"

It took him a few moments to respond. But, when he did, he spoke softly and convincingly. "You could."

"What are you talking about, Sal?"

"Helena, don't play dumb with me. You're a Bertinelli. Guido? Your father? He was one of the biggest crime bosses in the city before he died. He owed people money, yeah, but from what I hear, your dad was a tightwad. Guido had the money. He just never paid up. Am I right?"

He had me there. "So?"

"So…I'm saying, where did the money go, Helena?"

"What does it matter? You want me to buy this…this, ultra-Kevlar or something?"

Sal stood, his frustration finally getting the better of him. I honestly had no idea what he was thinking. Had he completely lost his mind? "All I'm saying is that you could buy it."

"Yeah. I could buy it. But why? I don't plan on running in front of armor piercing rounds anytime soon. I'm not a fighter."

"Then why have you been coming to my facility almost every single day for the past four months?"

Another good point. "I'm learning self-defense."

He scoffed. "Bullshit, Helena. You knew self-defense before you stepped foot in this place. You came here to train. Train for what? I don't know."

Sal meant business. I had no clue what he had up his sleeve. Whatever it was, he was completely serious. In a hypothetical situation, if I were to purchase the "ultra-Kevlar", what would I do with it? I wouldn't just purchase it willy-nilly. I'd use it. But for what? Was I supposed to make a suit out of it? Did Sal expect me to prance around town, looking for the Joker and members of the Gotham City Mafia? Who did he think I was?

Then it hit me.

"You want me to be like Batman!"

His eyes grew wide and then he laughed. "No, no, no, no, no! I want you to be like Helena Bertinelli. Batman is just…I don't know. He's something."

"Have you not heard of all these reports of people getting arrested and thrown into hospitals and…killed, even—these Batman impersonators?"

"You wouldn't be like those people. They dream of being heroes, of having the spotlight. That's the least of your concerns, isn't it?"

There was a spare chair in Sal's office. Unfortunately, there was another stack of papers sitting it. Not caring if I screwed with his "organized chaos", I moved the papers and plopped down in the seat, weary with defeat. "I don't understand where all this is coming from." Sal leaned against his desk and sighed.

"I don't know, kid. I just figured if anybody could do it, you could."

"Batman can do it."

"Yeah, and when was the last time you saw him?" Another valid point. So far it was Sal: 3, Helena: 0.

"I don't want to be somebody's hero, okay? I just want revenge. I want revenge for what was done to my family and what was done to me. I want the GCM to burn. Batman said he'd help me with at least that."

"Batman isn't in the revenge business. He's in it for justice." My eyes connected with his. They were sincere. "And if that's the case, Helena, you've already set yourself apart from Batman. You won't be anything like him."

Standing, I rubbed my hands together nervously. My palms were sweating. "I want some time to think about this."

"Your decision—not mine. Just know that I'll help you out either way."

"Thanks, Sal." I moved toward the door. "300 thousand dollars? Really?"

"Yeah. Unless you don't think you need a suit."

"I don't even know what the suit is for."

"An identity. A new one."

I was starting toward his door once again when another thought crossed my mind. I turned back to look at Sal. Hope flashed in his eyes. "Do they do background checks to purchase this stuff?"

"More than likely."

"I can't purchase it."

He stood. "What do you mean?"

"Bruce Wayne. He'll start asking questions."

"We would have to find somebody else to do the transaction."

The list of people I had come up with in a few short seconds was miniscule. "Well, there's you…"

"No can do. I have a record." That took me for surprise. What kind of record did Sal have?

"There's my cousin, Marcello. He lives in Italy. I can wire him the money, let him purchase the material, and he could ship it to me."

Sal scratched his head. "It could work."

"They wouldn't be able to connect the dots?"

"No, I don't think they'd look that far into it. Especially if he's in Italy."

"All right. I'll send him an email once I get home to confirm." I sighed, leaving the room. I shouted behind me, "Sal, you're crazy. You know that, right?"

"This is news?" He laughed. "Take care. See you tomorrow."

Marcello,

I know I haven't spoken with you in a while. I'm sorry. Things have been quite hectic over in Gotham. How are you? I hope everything is going well for you and your family.

Marc, I'm going to sound crazy. I know I am. But there is a huge favor I must ask of you. I'm taking out numerous Certificates of Deposits prematurely. After I do that, I'm going to wire you the money. Attached is a file of things I need purchased. You'll note that they are from Wayne Enterprises, which is located here in Gotham. I can't purchase them, as they do background checks. It'll be too suspicious, especially since I know the CEO, Bruce Wayne. I can't have people asking questions…including you, Marc. I know it's not fair to put you in this compromising position without any additional information, but I do need your help. Just note that I'm not in any trouble.

I know you worry about me. But don't. Not this time. For once, everything is under my control. I'm taking power over something. I'm going to make a difference. But I need your help.

Love always,

Helena

A/N: Short with lots of dialogue, eh? I'll try to make it better for next time. Have a good night everyone and please review!!