Second Chapter, hopefully will put more into perspective why "Stranger" is who she is... and her mentality. She's a little psychologically confused, to put in nicely, at the moment. Also a little more about her powers. I personally think that super powers should take a little more sacrafice to use, so I'm adding that in with her. Like I said, dark themes. Thank you everyone for reading and enjoying :) Thanks to all who followed and reviewed; you're great 3
Chapter Two: Who She Is
The name officially given to her was Carter Collins, not that anyone called her that anymore unless she was in class. It was too hard to keep down one person, one name, one identity in front of everyone with her specialties and in her line of work. One simply picks up multiples of each, throwing away useless ones and taking in new ones like strays.
It just so happened that Stranger was one such identity, one such name, and one such person that she had become in her long thirteen years of life. It also just so happened that she hated her.
The world was her job and the people her clients; those who paid received her services no matter the endgame. That's how life was after Deathstroke saved her from the streets and named her Stranger. Of course, it was an apt name if not a little too close to home for her tastes. And honestly, 'save' was a loose term in that sense, but it was save all the same. Growing up in Bludhaven, the only slimier and darker city than Gotham in the states, the girl had learned to take refuge where it was offered and put survival as priority.
She knew she sold her loyalty to the devil, but she knew exactly what she was getting into when she had signed up for it. He warned her about who he was and his methods and the pain she would have to go through to become satisfactory, but how could she say no?
If it meant going to work for a killer lunatic to get off those streets to somewhere she didn't have to fear for her life constantly, so be it. If it meant going through all sorts of Hells to finally become strong, powerful, and able to handle herself, then she'd do it.
It had taken her almost two years, but with the training she received during that time, Carter could finally walk through the streets of her home without fear. She was no longer prey, but rather a predator, and Bludhaven's only rule was that the predators make the rules.
And despite all its shortcomings, Bludhaven was her city no matter who she was. She grew up on these streets and laughed on these streets and suffered on these streets. Most importantly, she knew what these streets did to people.
There weren't any heroes this far south of Gotham and villains never bothered with the shithole Bludhaven was; their job was maintained perfectly by the inhabitants.
Theft, gangs, murders, rape, and corrupt police festered in Bludhaven, thriving and expanding despite the city itself being stuck in an economic depression since the ports had been cut off for "private" use. The place was an actual concrete jungle where just about everyone survived through less than satisfying means. All the honest people there only remained because they were tied down to the place through debts, family, relationships, or because they simply couldn't escape.
And that's where she figured she fit in. She was strong now, higher up in the pecking order and no longer a weak and terrified victim. Deathstroke had given her this strength just as he gave her free reign of her time off the clock as long as she trained regularly. What better way to train than taking out the garbage in her backyard?
That's the mindset Carter Collins had every night when she stepped out the door as a new person. Today, she decided on something edgy, actually taking the time to dye her hair a bright violet instead of transforming it, saving her the grief of shaving it all off. As she washed out her eyes with saline, traces of red and pink goo draining down the sink, she blinked open to stare back at irises of the darkest brown she could muster: borderline black.
Despite how uncomfortable that always was, it was honestly the skin that disgusted her the most. It disgusted her even more than when she had to puke up the debris of mutilated vocal cords to change her voice, and that wasn't something anyone would enjoy. Carter could simply never get over that little part of her that deemed it so… wrong, but it never really stopped her. That's why, just like every other day, she found herself peeling off the pale sheet of skin from her body again and again until she obtained a nice mocha glow. The silvery sheer crumpled into dust at her feet before she daintily stepped off the trash bag she had been standing in.
Her body tingled for a moment, but as she stared into the eyes of another one of her foreigners, Carter couldn't help but smile. She barely had to focus on it anymore, her body simply followed her mind's eye.
Huh, she pondered idly. Her teeth shone quite white against such dark skin, maybe she should try darker more often.
Shrugging off the last vestiges of film on her stomach and shoulders, Carter padded her way to the dresser and got dressed, donning a simple black shirt and cargo pants. Slipping on a pair of lightweight black shoes, she left her apartment a new person. She wasn't Carter Collins. Today she would be… Cassandra.
She swathed a deep plum onto her lips.
Yeah, Cassandra. She liked the sound of that. It sounded way better than Stranger.
_B_R_E_A_K_
August 27, 2010
Omega Base
07:32
"Where is Slade?" Stranger asked, walking through the door with confusion littering her face. Instead of the bicolored mask of the hulking mercenary, a large man with an old-styled hockey mask made out of metal occupied her training room. As he swung, his muscles visibly rippled with the movement, putting Stranger on edge. Another man, a huge man, to take care of her. Deathstroke knew she would hate it.
"Busy," he answered. Another swing, deep purple leather vest hugging his chest as he went through the motions. Stranger jumpily realized that Sportsmaster had taken off his arm's metal armor in favor of a light warm-up.
The blonde girl frowned and with practiced ease untensed her shoulders. If he did anything to her, Deathstroke would maim him.
"So you're on babysitting duty?" she asked incredulously, stomping to the lockers at the room's perimeter with a huff. Purposefully dropping her bag there with a loud clank. She didn't need a damn babysitter, she would have been fine on her own. In fact, she would much rather be alone instead of with another man.
Crossing her arms in anger, though it came off more as immaturity, Stranger glared at the man who continued to go through the motions of his perfect swing. Once, twice, a third time and he ignored her. If he wasn't going to say or do anything, why was he even here?
Omega base was gloomy enough without awkward silence. Called a base, the hideout was more likely aligned to be a glorified training ring with lockers, weights, some food and drink, and a concrete circle in the middle that was rattled with scars of sparring. It was where her handler took Stranger to train almost every morning of the week and that was all it was used for.
Rock walls climbed higher and higher with a small circle at the top to let the light in. There were no other forms of lighting, so as to better "acclimate her to fighting in the real world." Stranger's scowl deepened even further.
"Deathstroke had a client request a quickie, so he left you with us," a sly voice purred suggestively. Appearing from the shadows, the assassin known as Cheshire slunk towards her. Another mask, Stranger thought annoyed. The girl's short green kimono swayed with her hips and brushed indecently high on her thighs as the assassin barely spared Sportsman a glance.
"He must've been desperate. He hates you guys," Stranger bit out, turning around to fumble through her bag. This one Stranger hated just because she was annoying.
She supposed it was a self-training day, which was fine with her. She'd rather not talk to these people anyway. All she wanted was some alone time going through her stances and punches so she could forget about that damned laugh haunting her dreams and invading her mind. It was getting creepy damnit, but it just wouldn't let her go.
A cold bite of steel briefly nipped at her neck, and the echo of a clank reverberated through the circular room. The high ceilings surely aided in the sounds propagation. Stranger didn't need to raise a hand to her neck to know that she was bleeding, the knife lodged into her locker just in front of her told her enough.
"Hate is such a… strong word," Cheshire cooed, a lilt of ire in her tone.
Uncoiling her muscles and forcing her body to continue searching through her stuff as nonchalant as possible, the young blonde snorts in disdain.
"So is bitch, but I don't mind saying it to you."
This time, when the throwing knife whistled through the air, Stranger deflected it with one of her own knives. Her lips, blood red in Stranger's signature makeup, curled down in a sneer. To be honest, Cheshire's mask always creeped her out, and with the glinting of angry eyes behind the mask's holes, the teenage assassin only looked more lethal.
"Such foul language, didn't your parents teach you any manners?" Cheshire snarled in harsh laughter.
Red sprouted on Stranger's head as her hair grew in fury. She would rip that stupid cat's head off.
"If I knew you two would be fighting like brats, I would've paid Deathstroke to go on the mission myself," Sportsmaster grumbled, placing his golf club to the side. He slicked back his blonde hair, shining with sweat, and stalked over with the grace only a superb athlete could possess.
"What's the mission?" Stranger rumbled quietly, twirling her dagger in her hand at the ready. No way was she going to drop her guard with Cheshire glaring laser beams at her.
The man's eyes slid over to the on edge girl before stating, his voice muffled by the mask, "He's exterminating an issue in Gotham City."
Stranger froze and an odd fear settled in her stomach. Why she was afraid, she wasn't completely sure, but it was that fear that made her prod into what she would never usually prod into: "What's the issue?" She tried to make it come out as nonchalant, but she couldn't tell if she had succeeded. Especially when Sportsman levelled her with a curious glance.
"Some scientist. Why?"
Stranger relaxed and sighed out, "Just curious, that's all." It was too late to take back her words when Sportsmaster's eyes narrowed, and she cursed herself. Stranger was never curious, how could she say she was curious?
Stranger was worrying her lip when Cheshire chuckled, suddenly out of battle mode and back into the sly and menacingly teasing girl she always was. It brought Sportsman out of his suspicions and Stranger out of her thoughts. "No one else really wanted it. It would be too boring without the old Bat on the case," she sang, stifling a small giggle. The green-clad female was now standing in the middle of the room, waiting.
Maybe it wasn't a self-training day after all.
Stranger's ears perked at that. "Batman? Why wouldn't he be on alert within his own city?"
She didn't know much about actual bats, but Batman the superhero was always known to be particularly protective, especially of two things: his sidekick and his city. She really couldn't imagine a reason as to why the caped crusader wouldn't be kicking Deathstroke's butt for causing mayhem in his streets.
What about Robin?
But Stranger refused to dwell on the thought.
The blonde pulled back her hair in a low ponytail before taking out a squeaky clean new headband. She got it last night to replace the one the League had taken, so this one wasn't as scuffed and dirty. Luckily, it didn't smell of stale sweat either. Wrapping the black leather around her head, she laced it in the back down to the nape of her neck. Fiddling a little with the foreign stiffness, Stranger finally pulled out her ponytail and fluffed her hair.
The blonde rolled her shoulders and kicked her bag back towards the wall. Then she joined Cheshire in the middle of the ring.
"Oh, he's swamped with official League business, what with Clayface keeping him busy," the assassin stated, cracking her neck. With the sound, she was off, flinging kicks and kicks in a furious staccato that Stranger had issues keeping up with, unable to trade blow for blow. The blonde quickly found herself taking more hits than she could give out.
With an attempt to slip into Cheshire's guard like she had with Superboy yesterday morning, she asked as casually as she could while panting and groaning in pain, "Clayface? I've never heard of him before, when did they pick him up?"
Stranger grunted when Cheshire practically slapped her away before introducing her head with a vicious roundhouse kick. She rolled across the ground, all awkward and bumping around, before skidding to a stop at Sportsmaster's feet. She stumbled up to standing, hastily putting space between her and him, before charging back in with a growl.
"He's Matthew Hagen, or what's left of him. He used to be part of the Shadows," the only male stated, bored. If Stranger hadn't been focusing so much on jumping to dodge a low kick then blocking to reduce the damage from a speedy elbow, she would have said that the man sounded almost tired.
With a dramatic sigh, Cheshire back stepped out of the way of a backhand towards her temple and whined, "Talia couldn't deal with the rejection and locked him in the pit. Poor bastard, he was such a cutie, too." Stranger scowled at the complete shrugging off of her attack.
She didn't know who Talia was and she honestly didn't want to know, either. All she wanted was to punch the smug cat in the face. Err, mask.
On her turn to retaliate, Cheshire used the same move to cuff Stranger right on the ear, disorienting the young girl for a moment. She fought it, but the blonde slid to her knees and was rewarded with a heel to her gut. Cheshire caught her by the throat before she could fly backwards.
Lifting her up, fingers clenching around her pale neck, Cheshire's eyes narrowed behind her mask. "Where'd you get that, kitten? I didn't scratch you there," she hissed.
Stranger's pale eyes followed her opponent's gaze even as her head grew lightheaded and hot. On her shoulder, happily crusting over on her deltoid, was a thin cut deep into her muscle. With a grunt, the girl pushed herself out of Cheshire's grip by kicking off her chest and flipping into a crouch.
"None of your business," Stranger coughed out, rubbing at the forming bruises on her neck. She wondered how Deathstroke would take them: a battle trophy fitting an intense spar or an attack on his little helper? "Just a bit of training."
Then she charged in again with a flurry of punches that Cheshire evaded. The masked woman laughed at her endeavors, a deep throaty laugh that almost sent a chill down Stranger's spine. The next bruise she earned, right on the hip, had Cheshire laughing again in glee.
It was weird, Stranger realized as she bit down on the frustrated scream scratching at her throat. She was battling just as she had the other day, and Cheshire was laughing, but this fight was nowhere near fun. It wasn't fun or enjoyable as the spat with the boy wonder had been. Right now, this was anger, it was survival, and for the first time in a long while that thought had left Stranger feeling oddly empty inside.
"Come on kitten, two years and this is all you got? Makes me wonder why Deathstroke would even bother with-"
Whether the crack was from her fingers or from the mask, Stranger didn't care. What mattered was Cheshire's ass hitting the ground before she could regroup and stand back at arms. The sight brought Stranger out of her thoughts and the blonde smirked jauntily, knowing her handler would be pleased with her achievement.
Next thing the youngest girl knew, Cheshire was guffawing and holding her gut in mirth. "Oh, she's got bite!"
Stranger would have been prouder if the words had been coming from someone less crazy and bloodthirsty. She would also be prouder if the pain in her hand wasn't announcing that it was indeed her hand that was broken. Sighing, the blonde turned towards her bag to wrap the limb.
"Hey Kitty, where ya going?" Cheshire called, pout in her voice apparent. She obviously wasn't happy that her glorified punching bag had decided to call it quits.
Scoffing, Stranger answered, "It's one thing to fight through pain. It's another to fight through a possibly debilitating injury for practice." Bandaging her hand without complaint, the girl continued, "I may be young, but I'm not dumb."
Really, for the first time in two years, Stranger just hadn't felt like training anymore.
With a shrug, Cheshire murmured, "Kitty just can't keep up."
It took a deep breath and a count to ten to not retort.
"Now that that's all out of your system," Sportsmaster jibed, approaching the small girl sitting on the floor. He jerked his head to the side and Stranger followed the silent order, muscles strained to a suspicious tautness. Deathstroke hated this man, yet trusted him all the same. It had confused her. Stranger didn't trust the adult for as far as she could throw him, and she was certain she wouldn't even be able to pick him up.
However, her handler had left them there for a reason: training. And training meant strength and strength meant survival. There was nothing she wouldn't give for survival.
Stranger followed him back to the center of the ring in confusion and anxiety as the huge blonde went to examine his golf club.
"I heard you had a little trouble with electricity, Stranger," were the nonchalant words spilling from his lips as he pulled out a small golfball. Placing it gently to the ground, the hulking man made eye contact. "We've been asked to… rectify that."
Stranger's grey eyes widened in shock and realization, muscles tensing to run, but a set of knives sand through the air and pinned her shoes to the ground, causing her to fall onto her back. Not dwelling on the pain in the broken hand she landed on, Stranger attempted to pluck the weapons from her shoes before another projectile flashed by, halting her.
Cheshire's disturbingly happy mask came out of the shadows from behind the man teeing up.
"I've always wondered how you did that with your face," she sang, motioning to her own head and drawing an invisible line from one cheekbone over the bridge of her nose to her other cheekbone in an imitation of Stranger's blackened skin. "I don't suppose you'll tell me? I'll try to convince him to-"
"Fuck you!" Stranger spat, struggling back up to her feet in order to stand proud. Of course, no matter what she felt like, training never ended. Just another exercise. Just more strength.
Deathstroke had promised her that he would teach her to survive anything and she told him she would take whatever he threw at her. This was just one of his lessons.
Stranger grinned in the face of the two before her, lifting her chin up.
Cheshire shrugged, melting back into the shadows as Sportsman raised the club and swung.
_B_R_E_A_K_
August 27, 2010
Bludhaven
23:06
Carter hummed darkly at the phantom traces of electricity in her veins. It only took until the third golf ball to learn how to numb her pain receptors and dull the pain and override the senses. She wouldn't be passing out because of Aqualad any time soon.
Sportsmaster had seemed surprised at her quick deflection of pain, soon leading to no signs of discomfort. Even Cheshire had commented on her quick learning with a sly grin. Deathstroke had always said she was a prodigy, one of the few things he praised her for before pushing her harder.
But she shouldn't be dwelling on that; that was Stranger's life, and she had shed her skin the second she returned back to her dusty apartment.
Not that she ever stayed there long.
The darkness soon swathed her within itself, only revealing the young girl's figure when she intervened in the city's chaos. She was two robberies and a mugging in when she noticed the woman threatening to shoot if his victim didn't give her what she wanted.
Not that the woman was able to make good on her threat. She was down and out cold on the ground within the next minute, her victim screaming as a shadow passed by. However, when the screaming stopped and when only trembling remained, the person scurried to pilfer their would-be killer before rushing off.
Running a hand through sleek black hair, the self-appointed part-time vigilante sighed, continuing on her trek through the city.
She stayed away from the corrupt cops taking bribes or threatening shop-owners. If she went after one of them, they would be on to her and be alerted of her activities. Perhaps they'd attempt to hunt her down, and her anonymity wasn't something she'd particularly like to part with. So she passed by the one in uniform smacking down a portly man with the side of his gun, knocking him out before waving a partner on into the store.
Such was the life one lived in Bludhaven, her home.
She stopped another petty theft, tying the boy's wrist to a railing before disappearing, a light-hearted giggle fumbling in her wake. Hastily, with a groan to herself, she immediately stopped the laughter realizing how creepy it was to be laughing in the middle of such things.
Even if it was kind of fun.
Now her skin was black as night, allowing her to disappear in the shadows except a stark white grin.
Maybe Cheshire wasn't as crazy as she initially thought, with the whole disappearing cat motif. Tonight, Carter thought Kitty was a good name. It kind of had a nice ring to it.
edit: just approved the anon reviews and wow... you wrote a LOT. Honestly, it's hard for me to understand everything you put in there, since my knowledge of DC isn't necessarily great let alone good, and some of your comments went everywhere, but I get some of the stuff you are trying to say and I'll definitely think on it :) with a lot of relationships and characters I can't say I can relate because, once again, I don't know the most about the universe and therefore said characters, but a lot of points you said were very imteresting. I'll kep them in mind! Thank you