Chapter two already!
Chapter 1: Scarlet
A girl with long red hair, brown skin and crystal blue eyes sat in the hold of a cargo ship. She was about fourteen years old, small for her age, yet strong and lithe.
She was running. That's all she seemed to be doing these days. Running. She no longer had a safe haven or a place to hide, she no longer had anything. No family, no friends and if things continued as they were, no life.
She lost. She lost everything on that fateful day. One month and a day. It's strange how much you can lose in a mere moment.
The cargo-ship was headed for Gotham. She dreaded returning to her home, but she didn't have much of a choice. That was the only place that he wouldn't look for her. He knew how much she didn't like it there. The site of her worst memories.
She was shaken from her thoughts by footsteps coming down the stairs. She scooted backwards a little, pulling the camouflaged cape tighter around her. A light briefly shown in the corner where she hid, but moved on just as fast.
She let out a slow sigh. She didn't hate Gotham, on the contrary she loved it, it was her home. Was, anyway. But not anymore, now it was just a dirty, messed up city that held her worst memories in it's dark shadows.
Scarlet darted off the ship, ignoring the shouts of surprise and darting into an alley, scrambling up a wall with ease. She roof hopped until she was quite a ways into the city.
First thing on her list was to find a place to stay. There was an abundance of abandoned buildings in Gotham's underbelly. One such building shone brighter in her memory.
It was a broken down movie theater. It had been abandoned for a while and not many people went there, so it was pretty much ripe for the taking.
She sat down on the edge of the stage, looking around. Her eyes traveled to the rafters. She shot a grappler and was pulled up onto a beam. She could get a canvas, use some of the tools and nails lying around, then connect the canvas onto the beams.
"This can work," she told herself. "For now."
She didn't have a ton of stuff, just the necessities. She opened up her backpack, straddling the beam. She had a collapsible bo staff/eskerma sticks, a case of shurikans, four grapplers, six throwing knives (with sheaths), a case of bombs, smoke pellets and various special bombs, a long whip, and, her prize, a beautifully made katana. Courtesy of her former mentor.
A second backpack sat to one side with her suit, extra clothes, toiletries, a disposable phone she bought off the street, and a few other things. Necessities.
She gazed at her suit blankly. It was black, with a red bird on the chest, and red accents on the sides, the utility belt was red too. The boots and gloves were black. Leftover flecks of blood stood out on the dark cloth.
The full weight of her position finally crashed down on her. She squeezed the kevlar enforced fabric so tight that her knuckles were white.
Then the tears came.
Just little ones at first, then heart wrenching sobs shook her entire body.
She scrubbed at her cheeks angrily.
"You're weak," she spat. "And pathetic. Pull yourself together." She wiped away the last of the tears and stuffed the suit back into her backpack.
"I'm never going back. Never." But even as she spoke those words the last thing her former mentor said appeared in her mind.
"My dear Strike, never is such a long time..."