Jazz had finally found a place to live a few blocks away from campus. It's a one-bedroom apartment sized for a mouse with a beautiful view of the neighboring building. Despite her new, cramped surroundings, tonight her thoughts are focused on finishing the designs scribbled in her tablet.
Her experiences with Batman have motivated her to take more action especially after their last meeting. She felt such a surge of excitement not from the chase, but from knowing she had helped stop a criminal. It's why she has spent the past four hours creating the suit she has been sketching in her notebook for weeks. Despite her limited knowledge, she manages to pull together a rather decent suit, whose simple circuitry accomplishes what she wants by the end of the fifth and final hour.
The suit itself is a solid grey color except for a black sign stitched on the front. Jazz puts in a few more stitches so that the insignia is securely attached to the rest of the suit. She holds it up and smiles pleased with her work.
'Batgirl would be proud,' she thinks to herself as she lays out the suit on the couch.
She picks up the cowl and tinkers with a few wires before making sure they were hidden under the fabric. The cowl, just like Batman's, is designed to cover her entire face once worn. The few wires and special lenses she carefully inserted are meant to give her night-vision. In an attempt to test it, she puts it on, makes sure the pointed ears are symmetric, and turns off the lights in her apartment. By pressing two fingers to her temple, the lenses activate and almost instantly she makes out every detail in the room as though it were flooded with light.
With a satisfied smile, she removes her cowl and turns the lights back on to finish working on her belt. It's bronze in color and has several pockets magnetically secured to it. Although she spent a lot of her saved money on the belt itself, most of it went to its contents. She bought her weapons from several stores scattered around the city. Visiting self-defense shops, martial arts studios, and finally the internet, she managed to collect all the goods needed. She has been saving money and collecting these items over the past six months, well before her apartment was destroyed. But it's only recently that everything has fallen together perfectly. She is both physically and mentally ready for the challenge that lies ahead.
After quickly filling the empty compartments with the necessary equipment, she holds up the belt admiring its elegance and buckle-less design. Gently laying it down beside the thick black gloves, she picks up the suit and walks to her room to try it on. She stands before the full-length mirror with a grin on her face as she appreciates how the suit hugs her curves. She pulls on the cowl and buckles the belt around her waist before staring at her figure again, turning now and then to get a better look.
Walking back to the living room, she removes her cowl and sets to work on sewing a thigh holster for her grapple gun. The gun is too bulky to fit in any of the small compartments along her belt; so as a solution, she bought a black thigh holster designed for small handguns. A few snips here and there and she customizes it so that the grapple gun could fit and stay in place. She slips on the holster and adjusts it until it's high enough on her thigh to allow easy access to the gun.
Next, she pulls on the thin-soled, black boots zipping it securely onto her legs. Slipping on the black gloves over her hands, she flexes her fingers a few times to make sure they fit right. It took her quite some time to customize the gloves perfectly so that the claws come out and retract cleanly; when she tests out her new claws by drawing them out and admiring the razor sharp point, she is highly satisfied with the job she did. By relaxing her fingers, the points draw back into the glove leaving not a single tear on any of the fingers.
Pulling her black hair up into a ponytail, she slips the cowl on and makes sure not a single strand is visible. Reentering her room, she stands in front of the mirror for one final adjustment: the lips. Picking up a tube of black lipstick, she applies a layer of the glossy tint onto her originally cherry lips finishing her makeover. She stares back at her reflection and takes note of every detail. The almond-shaped, white eye-discs, the black lips, the defined apples of her cheeks, the low pointed ears, and finally the small black bat on her chest, resembling that of Batman's old costume, creates her new alter ego: Batgirl. Taking a deep breath, and slowly letting it out, she feels ready to face the night and Gotham's low lives.
Walking to the window, she opens it, takes a quick look around and fires her grapple at the nearest building before swinging out of her room. First, she practices swinging from building to building until she is comfortable with the height and speed of each swing. With adrenaline coursing through her body, she lands atop a roof and crouches low on a ledge that overlooks a dark alley. With her night vision working perfectly, she quickly spots four Jokers cornering a young girl at the end of the narrow passageway. Two of them are female seated on motorbikes threateningly swinging their deadly rubber chickens in the air as they watch the other two male Jokers approach the petrified girl, with one pointing a gun at her. Batgirl has seen enough. Without warning, she swoops down and lands between the Jokers and the girl.
Surprised at her sudden appearance, the leader of the gang, dressed in a purple suit, jumps back. "What the…?" A grin spreads across his face once he takes a good look at Batgirl. "Did Batman get himself a girl to do his work for him?"
"No," she replies, her black lips pulling back into a sly grin, "but he'll wish he did."
She punches him in the gut followed by an uppercut into his jaw sending him flying back into trashcans lined against a wall. After watching the assault, the second Joker starts shooting at her. The first shot misses but leaves her startled. She flips back landing crouched on top of a closed dumpster and flings a batarang at him. It hits him square on the wrist causing him to drop his weapon and yelp in pain. She then lunges forward, grabs him by the shoulders and rolls him and herself into a forward somersault finishing it with a kick in the gut. The Joker flies into a pile of trash behind him.
The last two Jokers rev their bikes and drive straight towards her, swinging their weapons in the air ready to strike. Unfortunately for Batgirl, the oncoming threat can't be avoided resulting in simultaneous blows to the face and gut. She falls to her knees winded and in pain as the two girls skid to turn their bikes around preparing for another attack. Batgirl rises to her feet as the two quickly close the short distance between them. This time, however, Batgirl is ready for them.
When they are close enough, she jumps into the air and, using both legs, kicks the Joker on her left in the chest. The unlucky girl falls off her bike, and lands hard on the ground while Batgirl gracefully lands on her feet in front of her. The uncontrollable bike, now behind her, crashes into the other Joker's bike pushing it against the wall. The weight of the two bikes keeps her pinned in place. Batgirl turns to make sure she couldn't get away, but while her attention is diverted, the Joker lying on the floor in front of her scrambles to her feet and tries to make a run for it.
Batgirl turns around just in time to see the escaping criminal. "I don't think so."
She takes out a bola and throws it aiming at her ankles. It snags her legs causing her to fall forward and land hard on her chin. Batgirl proudly smiles at her first victory against crime before taking notice of the speechless girl she just saved hiding behind a dumpster bin on the side of the alley.
"You're safe now," she reassures the nervous citizen before hearing the sirens in the distance.
Momentarily taking her eyes off her heroine, she turns her attention to the approaching police vehicles, but when she turns back to thank Batgirl, she discovers she has disappeared without a trace. Without further hesitation, the girl runs out to grab the attention of the officers. Once the car comes to a halt at the mouth of the alley, they step out to meet the frightened girl. Almost immediately, they take notice of the incapacitated Jokers lying on the grimy floor.
"Well looky here, someone left us a present to wrap up," one of the officers jokes. Their gaze then switches to the roof of the building where they spot Batgirl's pointed ears.
"Batman?" the other officer asks.
"No," the first replies taking note of the feminine figure. "Batgirl!" The two officers switch amazed gazes.
"You think we should tell the commish?"
"Why not. It'll give her a laugh." They turn back to stare at the mysterious figure only to find that it has receded into the shadows and disappeared.
"Yeah, we got 'em," the cop informs Commissioner Gordon as she files some paper work strewn on her desk. "But we weren't the ones who stopped them."
"Then put down Batman as the unit that stopped them," she replies without taking her eyes off her work.
"Uh, it wasn't Batman either," the second responds.
Now grabbing her attention, she stares up at the two officers. "Then who was it?"
The two exchange wary glances before turning back to face Barbara. "It was Batgirl."
"Batgirl? Are you sure?"
"Unless Batman got himself a sex change, we're pretty sure."
She nods in response and instructs them to leave her office immediately. When the two close the door behind them, she picks up the phone and dials Bruce's number. Picking up after two short rings, she sees his familiar face appear on the screen. "Bruce, what is the meaning of this?"
"Of what?" He asks confused. Just then, the Batmobile arrives on the landing pad and Batman jumps out, takes his cowl off, and walks over to Bruce's side.
"Two of my men just saw Batgirl rough up some Jokers in an alley tonight."
Surprised, both Bruce and Terry simultaneously ask, "Batgirl?"
Noting their stunned looks, she eases her tone. "I see; well someone dressed in a suit is fighting crime. Any clue as to who it might be?"
"No," Bruce answers. "But if she's on our side, I don't see a reason to stop her; unless of course, you're jealous." A small grin appears on his lips at the last comment
Barbara, on the other hand, doesn't find the joke entertaining and scowls in response. "I'll be keeping an eye on her. I advise you do the same."
"Don't we always?" He hangs up on Barbara and turns to face Terry with a questioning look on his face.
"I know what you're thinking, and it's not Max."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because after her incident with Curare a few years back, she doesn't want anything to do with this kind of business besides the detective work." Still wearing the same look on his face, the statement doesn't seem to convince Bruce. "Not to mention I've been talking to her all night tonight. She hasn't left home. Besides, I think I know where the newbie might be," Terry states pulling his cowl back on.
"I don't want you wasting too much of your time on her; we have better things to do tonight."
"Looking forward to it," he sarcastically comments to himself as he hops back into his car and takes off.
It's a Thursday night, otherwise known as college night. All college students come out of their dorms and apartments on this particular night to socialize and enjoy themselves in Gotham's hottest spots. The girls all sparkle and the guys enjoy the view. Of course, no other place beats the clubs that Underground has to offer in downtown Gotham. With specials, such as lady's night or open bar, it is a sure way to attract all kinds of partygoers, even the Jokerz and T's. Except those two kinds of people don't go there for the music or the drinks, but to take advantage of the drunk strays and lost individuals that unfortunately find themselves in their territory.
However, tonight the students unknowingly have a protector. Batgirl arrives on the roof of a building that offers a perfect view of the dark allies between the clubs that line the sidewalk. She leans on the ledge hidden within the shadows and attentively watches the young adults waiting in the long lines that lead into dance clubs. As she waits for a foolish mugger to make a move, she uses the time to contemplate on whether she has made the right decision of establishing herself as a new defender for the innocent.
Weighing her options, she realizes there is a lot she has to sacrifice, including her freedom, just to make this city a bit more bearable to live in. But would the bruises, cuts, or broken bones be worth it? Could she really make a difference on her own? Even though Batman plays his part in making the city safer, he's still one man. He can't get to everyone in one night, so victims are left to suffer, to lose hope Batman had once instilled. The thought makes her cringe; he needs help and that's what she's here for. She can step up to the plate and hold her own, help those being terrorized and protect the reputation the heroes before her built. Ultimately though, it's the city that called out to her, asking her to don the mask of a hero.
Gotham is a large city with all sorts of problems and she is fed up with seeing people struggle to make a living just to be brought down by some jerk threatening their lives, the innocent seen as guilty because of a corrupt system involving bribes, or even a child being convicted for existing and sent to abusive homes. Gotham is her home no matter how many times she has moved in the past, and she'll be damned if she has to see one more citizen suffer and break because of ignorant fools who have no mercy or sympathy to give.
"Figured you might be here," a voice interrupts her rolling thoughts.
Batgirl defensively takes out a batarang and turns to throw it, except Batman grabs her wrist before she has a chance to release her weapon. "You," she says when she looks up at the face. She pulls her wrist away from his grasp and replaces the batarang into her belt's many compartments.
"Mind telling me what you're doing?"
"The same thing you do."
"As Batgirl?" He asks as he examines her suit with a raised brow.
"I thought you might need some help since you seem a little overwhelmed at times," she remarks as she folds her arms in front of her.
"I don't think so, especially not in that suit."
"I don't see a copyright mark on yours."
His eyes narrow into a glare. "Go home," he coldly commands. "You're not fit for this job."
"Says who? I'm tougher than I look. Besides, I work alone. You're welcome to help, but if not, then I advise you to stay out of my way," she audaciously retorts before turning her attention back to the alleys.
Although irritated by her stubbornness, he lets her be. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
When she turns around to respond to his last remark, empty space replaces where he stood. If the red bat across his chest wasn't his trademark, his silent entrances and disappearances would have been.
-continued-