Disclaimer: Hey there, thank you so much for visiting my fanfic! Quick note, the character of Roulette is very loosely based on Harley Quinn, however I knew my character was going to deviate so much from the original version of Harley that I just decided to make her an OC, as I thought that would be simpler. In terms of the timeline of the Dark Knight trilogy, this fanfic is set about a year after The Dark Knight (so in early spring of 2009), and in this universe the events of The Dark Knight Rises have not taken place. Including this, the story is written kinda like a comic book/superhero movie, so there is definitely some suspension of reality required lmao. I also wanted to say that this story contains sensitive content and mature themes, so I'll include a trigger warning list below (if I miss any that you think I should add, please, please, please let me know! I would never want anyone to be inadvertently triggered from reading my story), but please be advised of that before you start reading. I'm also really new to writing fanfic (this is my first one), so I hope I'm doing this right. Thank you again for visiting!

TW (these apply to the entire story, not just the Prologue): Explicit language, mental illness, self-harm mention, suicide mention, graphic violence, substance abuse/addiction, physical abuse, and suggestive sexual content.

Edit: Sooo I've been MIA for like a year because life just kinda caught up with me, however I've decided I want to revisit this fanfic and so I'm starting to edit/rewrite a lot of it, starting with the Prologue. However, I hope to rewrite and/or edit a couple of the other, earlier chapters as well because I've been reading through them again and I'm just not really happy with some of the story. I'm really sorry for the absence, and I hope I can be better about updating in the future.

Prologue

"Here comes the woman,

With the look in her eye.

Raised on leather,

With flesh on her mind."

- Devil Inside, London Grammar

American Pie by Don McLean blasted while screams echoed from down the hall. The smoke of a cigarette filled the room, illuminated into an impenetrable cloud of filth by the glare of a computer screen. "The money will be wired to your Gotham account when the job is complete." The man managed to speak perfect English around his thick Russian accent. "But proof of death will be necessary, of course." He crossed his arms when he finished, looking across the room to a woman several years his junior, who was sitting in front of the computer and smiling around her cigarette.

And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye,

Singin' this'll be the day that I die.

Another scream pierced the air, vibrating throughout the room as it increased in intensity. "Proof of death will be no problem." The woman's accent was American -jarringly so- and she swiveled in her chair to face the man while she spoke, meeting his gaze with a grin. "Just tell Mikhas to keep an eye on the city's local news network," she yanked the cigarette out of her mouth, watching its embers glow against the dimness of the room. "I promise ya, it'll be all they can talk about."

The man laughed softly at that, scratching his temple with a finger. "Ah, will do Roulette." His eyes scanned the scuffed, concrete floor as he cleared his throat, and Roulette got the distinct impression there was more he wanted to say. She could guess at what it might be, however, and had not the slightest interest in hearing it. Instead, she turned back to face the flickering computer screen, picking up her cup of coffee and taking a sip as she clicked impatiently to the next video clip. It looked as though it had been taken directly from a police station's surveillance camera.

Well I know that you're in love with him,

'Cause I saw you dancing in the gym.

"Alexei?" Roulette did not bother to direct her gaze in the Russian man's direction as she called his name.

"What?"

She took a long draught from her cigarette, red lips puckering around the small paper stick. The smoke, foul and beautiful all at once, drifted in lazy swirls from her mouth, adding to the cloud of haze. "It's not that I don't enjoy the presence of your company, but I have some extremely, uh, urgent research I need to do." Once again, a screech of agony punctuated the space in between the two's conversation. Neither of them flinched, or made any mention of the torture at all. It was far too common here, in the age-old mob houses within Russia.

"Just one more thing," Alexei stipulated, holding up a single finger in earnest. Roulette fought hard to keep her eyes from rolling at this, and, praying the man would not ask her for any favors before she left for America, merely grinned and nodded in his direction. Looking pleased at her acquiescence, Alexei closed the distance between them in a few, quick strides, leaning in close once he had reached the computer. "What the fuck is this song?"

But I knew I was out of the luck,

The day the music died…

Roulette lost it. She threw her head back as peals of laughter escaped her lips, a mixture of relief and genuine amusement bubbling up inside as she realized her handler would not be requiring anything of her tonight. Alexei, still playing innocent as to what he had done to make her laugh, folded his lips in an attempt to stifle his own chuckles and asked, "What? I am curious!"

"No, you're an asshole!" She shot back between laughs, knowing Alexei understood exactly what he had done. "And no, don't look at me like that." Roulette slapped his arm as the man's grin became noticeably more smug, clearly enjoying her mirth. "But I'll tell ya, since apparently Russians have no taste in music. I mean really, how you've never heard this song before…" She trailed off as she pulled up the window that held the song she was blasting.

"Bye, bye, Miss American Pie?" Alexei sounded confused as he read the lyrics off, his accent butchering the song's tune.

"No, no, just American Pie." Roulette clicked away from the song, pulling up the video clips she had been watching a moment before. "It's by Don McLean. A classic."

"You Americans are all fucking weird, you know this?" The Russian chuckled to himself as he leaned back from the computer, crossing his arms across his chest and surveying the haunting face which had popped back up on the video.

"If by 'you Americans' you're referring to the two ya know then sure, honey," Roulette retaliated, taking another gulp from her coffee, the bitterness complementing her stale cigarette well. The taste itself seemed hollow in a way, and she loved it, her mouth left feeling old and rotting.

"Whatever," Alexei scoffed at her, walking back over to the door and placing his hand on the knob. "I will leave you to your…" His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted back towards the computer screen and all its disturbing images, "research." Another scream attached itself to the emphasized word.

"Thank you, sweetheart." Roulette popped the cigarette back in her mouth, front teeth closing in on it instinctively. "It's been awhile since I've been in Gotham, I need to catch up."

Oh and while the king was looking down,

The jester stole his thorny crown.

"There is a lot you missed. That city breeds the crazies, no?" The Russian shook his head with potent sardonicism, pretending to look sad for Roulette's sake. She could not tell if his sorrow was supposed to be for the amount of research she had to shift through, or the fact that her home was known for the number of people who lost their minds while living in it. Perhaps both.

"It is the city of crime," Roulette pointed out with a shrug, adjusting herself in the chair. "I'll fit in." Her hand strayed to brush the handle of her favorite Glock, which was sitting on the desk beside her coffee, the polished metal slipping under her fingers with ease. A city of villains.

"You will fit in because you could not pass a psychiatric test if your life depended on it," Alexei countered, a rather unapologetic smirk adorning his features. Roulette blew a puff of smoke in his direction to show her annoyance, although it did little to the man, who was well out of reach of the cigarette.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were a fucking shrink now," she murmured under her breath, trying to control the flash of hot anger which had begun boiling in her veins.

"What?"

"You can go." Roulette did not want to speak to her handler anymore, and she knew if he stayed much longer her anger would spill over in a spectacular fashion. She even refused to look in Alexei's direction as she heard the door squeak open.

"Bye, bye, Miss American Pie." The man spoke softly as he closed the door behind him, arrogance at his own cleverness edging the words.

No angel born in Hell,

Could break that Satan's spell.

Roulette turned her attention back to the computer screen, fingers tapping and head bobbing along with the beat. The gaunt features on the screen moved before her gaze, eye sockets seemingly filled with nothing but darkness, no matter how hard she looked at the footage. The smile was red enough to match her own crimson choice of lipstick, and the rest of the face was painted a stark white color. A criminal mastermind who dresses like a clown? Her mind churned as her lungs burned up in a cloud of smoke. Gotham has a lot to answer for. She clicked away from the video to a plain image, taking in the lurid purple suit and green-tinted hair. Oh yeah, she decided immediately, a grin pulling at the corner of her lips. This one will be fun. In the distance, another shriek tore open the silence.

Singin' this'll be the day that I die,

This'll be the day that I die.

A month later

"Hey Kat, some girl is outside asking for you." Katarina looked up from the smudged mirror she had been using to reapply her pink lipstick as Riley walked by, smelling of cigarettes. The girl had clearly just come from a smoke break, and she tossed her reeking jacket into the chair beside Kat before adding, "I think she's homeless."

"Homeless?" Kat furrowed her brow, dabbing her lips and checking her makeup from every angle before turning to face Riley, who had taken up residency at the next mirror, standing a few feet back and adjusting her bikini. "I don't know anyone who's homeless, love."

Riley merely shrugged, pulling down her orange top to reveal more cleavage, "She might not be, she just looked it. And smelled it. Plus she was asking for a place to stay, said she knew you." Riley pulled her gaze away from the mirror and met Kat's eyes, and the girl was shocked to find suspicion and something bordering on fear hiding there. "Called you by your full name and everything."

"My full name…?" Very few people nowadays knew that Kat's full name was Katarina, as she simply never went by it, and ever since she had become the mistress of one of Gotham's most notorious drug lords, that anonymity had become all the more necessary. "Did she say what her name was? Was it Izzy?"

Riley cocked a brow, and Kat saw the suspicion redouble. "Didn't say, but you better hurry out there before she comes into the club. Rob wouldn't like that, and this chick seemed pretty insistent on talking to you."

"Maybe she just wants a job," Chelsea, another one of the girls who worked as a stripper at the Reno alongside Kat, piped up from a couple mirrors down, liberally applying mascara while she talked. "Shit's been hard since the recession and we make good money."

"Some make better money than others." Riley stared at Kat with hard eyes, not bothering to hide her enmity. A few of the girls had not taken kindly to the fact that Kat was now sleeping with their boss, and in the ensuing months she had had to endure nonstop sneers and rumors, but it hardly mattered now that she was under Rob's protection. Robert Stallone was one of the last drug lords in Gotham who hadn't been incarcerated after the passage of the Dent Act, which had effectively wiped out most of the mob presence from Gotham's streets. Since Rob was not affiliated with any family, having broken away from Falcone years ago, he had managed to keep a low enough profile to remain active. This did make him a prime target for the Batman, however, who had recently taken to poking his nose in Rob's business.

Standing up and grabbing her coat, Kat met Riley's gaze and smiled, "Don't bitch at me just 'cause you can't shake your ass, love." That shut the girl up, and Kat gave her a sarcastic wave before heading towards the exit. "I'll be back in five," she shot over her shoulder at the other girls before leaving.

A cold, night gale swept over Kat the minute she shoved open the Reno's back door, catching her coat and making goosebumps erupt along her skin. In the distance, she heard sirens and screams and the unmistakable sound of gunshots coming out of the Narrows. It was the sound of Gotham at night, the city's symphony, broken only by car horns and the monorail rumbling overhead. With a shiver, she folded her arms across her chest and squinted down the Reno's steps into the darkness, vaguely making out a tall figure at the bottom, standing just off to the side of the road. The flickering red light of the fluorescent 'EXIT' sign occasionally threw the stranger's hair into relief, gleaming against the night.

"Who are you?" Kat called after a moment, praying she didn't sound as nervous as she felt. It's alright, the girls are only on the other side of the door, they'll hear if anything goes wrong. Even with this reassurance in mind, it did little to calm her down, as familiar as she was with the crime-ridden city. "Why did you ask for me?"

"You haven't aged a day, have ya?" The stranger asked as she walked into the beam of a streetlight, allowing her features to be washed and hollowed out by the sickly glow. "Hey Kat, how ya been?"

Kat smelled her before she saw her, but the voice, grating in its own exaggerated way, was one the girl could never forget. "Anne?" Her eyes finally managed to focus on Anne's face, and she took in the sight standing before her with unconcealed shock, gazing at the wide smile and dead blue eyes with an open mouth. "Anne Lynn? I thought… I thought you were dead." Kat stumbled over her words, unsure of what was happening and whether or not she should be afraid. The last Kat had heard of Anne - the girl whom she had known since childhood and who had convinced Kat to run away from home and live on the streets with her when they were still in their early teens - it had been 2007 and she had been working for the Falcone family, sent to Europe to whack a rat, only to then be murdered herself.

"Nah, not quite," Anne grinned, passing a hand over her greasy blonde hair, which Kat assumed had not been washed in weeks, judging from the smell. "And I'm not Anne anymore, I got a new name in Russia."

"Russia…?" Kat trailed off, taking in Anne's frayed black sweatshirt through narrowed eyes, not failing to notice the faint outline of a holstered gun beneath the lumpy fabric. "What were you doing in Russia?" She paused, pulling her coat tighter around herself and side-stepping so as to be nearer to the door, her heels tottering on the cold concrete. "And why did you come back here?"

"That's a, uh, pretty long story," Anne took another step nearer, and Kat began to see the remnants of bruises scattered along her once-pretty face, intermingled with the occasional scar. The girl had grown noticeably taller and stronger too, and Kat had a feeling whatever had happened in Russia could not have been good. "I work for the Bratva now, though. Not Falcone, not anymore."

Kat knew enough about the mob to understand the Bratva mainly operated in Russia and the countries which used to make up the Soviet Union, but they had had several strongholds in Gotham too, prior to the Joker's reign of terror and the subsequent Dent Act. "Why are you back in Gotham?" Kat pressed again, still unsure how she fit into the whole equation and whether Anne had come back to kill her or something worse, as she seriously doubted the girl had sought her out simply to catch up.

"I have business here," Anne elaborated, looking around at the surrounding city with appraising eyes. There was something distinctly excited, almost apprehensive, about the gleam in her gaze, and it left Kat with a knot in the pit of her stomach. "But I need a place to stay while I'm working. I've only been back like a week and it's already getting old sleeping in the streets, ya know?" She directed her gaze back to Kat, who did not like where this conversation was headed at all. "I promise it wouldn't be for long, just a couple months tops."

Struggling to keep the dismay off her face, Kat rasped out, "You want to stay with me." It wasn't a question, and Anne certainly did not take it as one, beaming and nodding before the words had even quite passed Kat's lips. "How… how did you even find me?"

Anne's smile became noticeably darker at that, and Kat swore she saw the girl roll her eyes ever-so-slightly in the glare of the streetlight. "I never lost ya, sweetheart." Her cheerful tone failed to match her face, and Kat felt a small shiver run down her back. Although it had only been around two years since she had last seen Anne, she knew firsthand how much damage two years could wrought on a person. The Anne standing before her, who apparently wasn't even called that anymore, was just as much a stranger to Kat as any random passerby in Gotham. And a dangerous one at that. A killer. "And now that you're fucking Stallone," Anne continued after a pause, "I figure ya gotta be taken care of pretty well." She cocked her head while she spoke, and Kat could feel the killer's gaze crawling along her features. "I remember him from before, he was always rich as fuck and smart enough to keep under the GCPD's radar." Anne took a few steps forward, leaning against the stair railing. "I bought from him a couple times, when he still ran with Falcone."

Ignoring the fact that Anne somehow knew about her love life despite being dead for two years, Kat decided it was probably safe enough to walk down the few steps still separating the two of them, and did so with a resigned sigh. Anne's smell became overpowering as she got closer; blood, sweat, and gunpowder, mingled with the ever-present stench of cigarettes which had clung to the girl for as long as Kat could remember. "I don't know you anymore." She kept her voice quiet as she paused a few feet in front of Anne, looking up into her hollow, bloodshot eyes. She wondered, not for the first time, if any of the girls inside could hear what was going on. "I thought you died years ago, and now you want to stay with me for a couple months to do… God knows what." Anne's face remained impassive, her attention only straying when a siren blared close by. "If you really are in some branch of the Bratva," Kat continued, casting a glance behind her at the Reno's back door, "I could get in a lot of trouble for helping you. And not just from Rob, from a lot worse than him. I mean the fucking Batman is already halfway up Rob's ass because of his buisness, I don't need him up mine too."

Anne seemed to find that interesting rather than startling, and her smile widened slightly. "Yeah, I heard about that wannabe a couple months after I left." Her eyes scanned the night sky, as if half expecting to see a bat outlined against the clouds. However, there was nothing but darkness and the Gotham skyline. "But I thought Batman was wanted now?" Anne met Kat's gaze once more, eyebrows furrowing. "Because of all the shit with that guy Dent last year?"

Kat scoffed. "No one believes that. At least, not really." She looked down at the concrete beneath her feet, scraping at a piece of squished gum with her shoe's heel. "The cops still let him do whatever he wants for the most part, as long as he stays out of their way." She shrugged, tugging her coat closer. "Or so I've been told."

Anne nodded, "Sounds like 'em." The joke was not lost on Kat, who found herself grinning against her will. "But what do ya say, Kat? Will you let me stay with ya?" Her smile turned as charming as she could make it, and Kat even swore she saw a glimpse of the past Anne flashing in her features. "For old time's sake."

Kat had a feeling that despite Anne's smile, if she declined, she would not make it through the Reno's door alive again. She couldn't help but remember the fact that Anne had a gun on her and very few reasons not to use it. With this in mind, Kat took a step back, deciding to bide her time, and asked, "What are you called now?" Her gaze passed over the killer in front of her, dressed in black and reeking of blood. "You said you're not Anne anymore."

Anne grinned at that, showing Kat that her tactic was not lost on the girl. "Roulette," she said after a time, "like the game."

Kat gave a slow nod, allowing the name to roll around in her mind for a moment. "I get it… Russian Roulette." Her words were slow, drawing the name out almost as if to taste it. That's fitting. She listened in the distance as another gunshot echoed across the city. You've always been a game of chance, in your own way. "Why Roulette?" Kat pretended as though she didn't already know, and Anne seemed happy enough to oblige her.

"I played a lot, and, well, clearly I never lost." Anne spread her arms wide as she spoke, a grin returning to her face as she reveled in her apparent luck. Kat did not know what kind of luck had kept the girl in front of her alive, but it was not any luck she wanted to experience.

Nodding, and casting around in her mind for any way to prolong the inevitable, Kat muttered, "So you're seriously in the Bratva?"

"Да," Anne's smile became more pronounced, teeth glinting red in the light of the 'EXIT' sign. "The Solntsevskaya Bratva." Her Russian accent was so polished Kat realized Anne had unfortunately not been lying at all. Almost as if reading her mind, Anne pulled her sweatshirt collar aside and showed Kat a star tattoo inked on the top of her shoulder, a staple of the Bratva, which was notorious for denoting rank with various tattoos. Kat was even sure she had seen some men in the Reno with tattoos just like that before.

"Goddamnit, Anne. Rob can never find out," Kat stipulated in a hoarse voice, swallowing past the lump which had formed in her throat. "No, I'm serious," she reiterated as Anne's smile turned a little too condescending for her liking, "if he finds out, it'll be the end of you and me." Anne's face still did not look convinced, her eyebrow cocked in skepticism. "I'm fucking serious, it's been awhile since you've been in Gotham, you don't understand how things are now." She stepped closer, so that less than a foot separated the two of them. "Ever since that clown took the city hostage last year, people have been scared shitless. The GCPD doesn't even try to pull their punches anymore, if they get one whiff that the fucking Bratva is back in town, they'll send the Batman after all of us." Kat paused, internally debating how much she should divulge. "And Rob would kill us both before he allowed that to happen."

Much to Kat's annoyance, Anne still did not seem in the least bit concerned, in fact her words had seemed to induce a perverse delight in the killer. "This means you're saying yes, right?"

"Did you listen to anything I just said?" Kat countered, finding it hard to keep the snap out of her tone.

Anne looked far from bothered, blowing a string of blonde hair out of her face. She even rolled her eyes before responding, waving a hand through the air as she said, "Yeah, yeah, I got it. No one can know I'm in Gotham." Kat knew that the girl had never been able to take anything seriously, and it appeared two years in Russia had not changed that in the slightest. "Trust me, honey, no one will, especially not fucking Stallone. I can be a ghost when I need to be." Her words did little to relieve Kat's tension. "So it's a yes?" Anne pressed again, when Kat continued to remain silent. "I can stay with you?"

As if I have a choice. But Kat knew it would be suicide to voice her misgivings aloud. "Yes." There was no keeping the resignation out of her tone, and she looked down at her bright pink toenails as she spoke, shuffling her heels. "You can stay in my apartment for a couple months, I guess." Setting her jaw, she looked back up and returned Anne's stare in its full force. "Rob can't find out. Ever."

Anne winked at that, her grin cheeky. "Gotcha, sweetheart." She refused to utter one word of thanks, however, which Kat could hardly chafe at, as she assumed Anne knew the choice had hardly been voluntary.

"I can't take you to my apartment right now, I'm working, you're going to have to wait," Kat added, looking back at the Reno's door. She wondered how long it would be before one of the girls came out looking for her. Doubtless Riley was hoping Kat had been killed while out here and was doing her best to prevent the others from intervening.

"Oh, you're working?" Anne glanced at Kat's outfit, which consisted of a pink bikini barely concealed beneath her coat. The girl's grin turned sardonic. "And here I was thinking you were just dressed like that for a midnight walk around the city." Kat set her jaw and looked away, afraid if she kept staring at Anne's arrogant face she would decide that her life was worth denying the girl a place to stay. "I know you're working, sweetheart, just give me the address and I'll find it myself."

Kat snapped her head back to stare at Anne, eyebrows furrowed. "You don't have a key." At that, the girl gave her a look that clearly said she thought Kat was insane.

"Are you joking?" Kat knew better than to respond. "Just give me the fucking address." She paused, and Kat could tell she was holding back something even more vicious, her lips pursed and her eyes dead. However, after a moment, the look had disappeared, and with the tone of someone who had just taken an unpleasant medicine, Anne added, "Please."

That must've fucking hurt, Kat thought with an ounce of triumph. "Fine. I live on Berkeley Street in the Willis Apartments, mine is number 1026." Anne threw her a wide smile at that, features contorting in the dim streetlight. Kat ignored it, and stepped closer to emphasis her next point, "And don't you dare break my fucking door down."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Kat wondered if that was supposed to reassure her, the girl who knew exactly how much Anne's words counted for. Perhaps better than anyone else did. "You live in Midtown, huh?" Anne continued, glancing at the Reno's flickering 'EXIT' sign before returning her gaze back to Kat. "Guess it pays to fuck the boss."

Kat blew out a long breath before replying, remembering why she had never been particularly saddened over the news of Anne's death. "Just go, I have to get back to work." Without another word, Kat turned around and clacked back up the stairs in her highheels, towards the warmth and pounding music of the Reno. To her credit, Anne did nothing to stop her, and it was only when Kat had reached the top landing, her hand on the backdoor's grimy handle, that the girl finally called back out.

"Thanks, Kat, I owe ya one!" Kat scoffed at that, although the noise was so quiet she doubted Anne could hear it. You owe me a lifetime. She turned back to stare at Anne as the killer waved and beamed at her, the gestures as empty as Anne's eyes.

"Anne." Kat could hear herself speak even as she did not seem to be able to control her own mouth, which she found to be moving without permission, compelled by something deep within Kat's consciousness. "You're back to kill someone, aren't you?" There was no reply, but the smile which bloomed onto Anne's face said it all. It was the only genuine one of the night. "Who?" Kat croaked out after a moment of staring, clearing her throat in an attempt to cover for the rasp.

The smile widened, and Anne shrugged as she began walking in the direction of Kat's apartment, leaving the glow of the streetlight behind her. Giving up, Kat sighed and shook her head, beginning to pull on the backdoor's handle before Anne shouted over her shoulder, "I hear he has a great sense of humor!" At that, Kat's gaze shot to look at Anne, eyes wide, but the girl was already gone, swallowed up by the darkness.

Note: I would like to apologize ahead of time for continuity errors, as I happen to be terrible at remembering small details in my story. For example, every time I write a new chapter, I always believe it's taking place in the autumn despite the fact that I repeatedly state this is in the spring of 2009. So, if you catch a continuity error please feel free to call it out, cause chances are I have no idea it's there lol!

Up Next: Roulette (aka Anne) begins searching for an old friend and a way into Arkham.