Chapter 5 - Near miss
Bruce clenched his jaw. No matter how many threats he weeded out, new ones always took their place. Gotham was infested by a hydra who fed on its suffering, growing fatter each year. But he had sworn to protect it and that meant there would never be rest for him.
"Master Wayne, your tea."
"Thank you, Alfred." he absentmindedly replied, still focused on the picture he had taken of the new problem in his city.
"If I may be allowed to ask, Sir, what is troubling you?" asked his oldest, most loyal friend.
He mulled over that question for a few seconds.
"I fear... I just let a new villain in the making escape."
The aged butler studied the photograph on his computer screen. Through the hasty motion of snapping it the contents were somewhat blurry, but the silhouette of a darkly dressed young woman crouching in the moonlight and inspecting a gun was clearly visible. Her black hood and medical face mask obscured much of her features, yet they only served to highlight her stark white skin and shining blue eyes. Surrounding her were multiple bleeding men, making her look like an oversized crow feeding on carrion.
Alfred eyed the scene with a critical look.
"Did those men survive?"
"Yes." Bruce bit out. "She made one of them call an ambulance, so most of them will be on their feet in a few months with the exception of one who permanently lost his foot."
"That does not seem like typical villain behaviour to me." remarked the butler.
"And that just makes it worse ."
Alfred shot him a questioning eyebrow.
"What do you mean, Sir?"
"She does not realize that what she did was wrong. She is blind to the fact that the path she walks will lead only to darkness."
He had not thought it possible, but Alfred's eyebrow rose even further.
"Has she committed any other heinous crimes?"
"Not that I know of, but... her brutality and callousness speaks of practice. She has killed before and if it is convenient will do so again. Her strength and speed are likely a dozen times greater than normal and amongst all individuals I have ever met that were artificially enhanced to such a degree, a noticeable increase in violent behaviour was apparent."
Was it human nature to react with presumptuousness and disdain towards those weaker than them? Bruce had met many rich men and women who styled themselves as 'humanitarians' and 'supporters of the disenfranchised' but privately sneered at the filthy underclass. To them those people were not humans, but pests. They would gladly see them exterminated despite never having met them in their sheltered lives.
Or was it something else? Was the human mind simply not evolved enough to handle the responsibility of personal power in a society of mostly defenceless members?
His butler disrupted his musings: "You mean like Killer Croc, Sir? Or Clayface? Compared to them she looks rather... ordinary."
Glancing at the picture again he supposed that was true. Besides the skin colour and maybe the eyes, her body as far as he could tell looked perfectly baseline. Still, the same could be said for Mister Freeze and his mental state left much to be desired.
"It does not matter. Until she shows her true colours there is nothing I can do."
Alfred tried to sway his thought process in a new direction: "Did she have a specific motive perhaps that could inform us of her course of action in the future?"
"Besides self-defence and collecting ammunition? To me she seemed almost... angry at my presence. Though that is somewhat understandable since in a way I was to blame for her predicament. Those thugs were setting a trap for me and she got caught in it."
"An ambush? How original... Does that make it the third time this month?" he drawled and Bruce shook his head.
"Fourth." he corrected.
The Penguin was really gunning for his head, but he should have realized by now that his attempts were accomplishing less than nothing. Sending untrained men against him – guns or not – was a fruitless endeavour. Or was this exactly the plan? To lull him into a false sense of security and surprise him with a heavy hitter at the worst moment?
"And her alias?" his friend spoke up again, disrupting his brooding once more.
"Unknown."
"Mmmh... Do you have any ideas for naming her database entry, Sir?"
A hint of mirth wormed itself into his tone as he fondly shook his head.
"When you are asking me like that, Alfred, then I'm guessing you already have a suggestion. I know how much you like naming things."
"I have no idea what you are talking about, Master Wayne." the butler stated faux-arrogantly with a twinkle in his eyes that gave his true feelings away. "My creativity could never compare to the likes of you who has created such poetic wonders as 'Batcave', and 'Batmobile', and who could forget the 'Batchair'?"
Bruce pinched his nose. The old geezer would never let him live that down, would he?
"Do you have an idea or not?"
"Well, I was reading some eastern European folklore during my free time and found a myth of a young woman who was greatly wronged in life and returned as a pale and bloodthirsty spirit known simply as the White Lady."
"Good enough I suppose." he shrugged.
"Oh, and Sir?"
"Yes?"
"Should I bring you a new cup of tea since this one has gone cold?"
He looked down at the table and found himself unexpectedly annoyed even as he thanked Alfred and shut down the computer. The source of his frustration was not that his drink was indeed no longer warm, but the nagging feeling that he was missing a big clue. Something about this 'White Lady' was decidedly not normal, even for the standards of Gotham's underground.
If only he could just remember the missing piece...
-W-
Tanya only got two hours of sleep after making her way home in a covert fashion, before her alarm clock made her aware again that her last week of work at Wayne Enterprises had begun. Just a few days ago that had been one of the worst news of her life, but now? After tasting what true power felt like, she honestly felt a little liberated. Yes, she would have rather stayed and worked her way up to a cushy position with a nice retirement plan, but to be able to do whatever she wanted without anyone forcing her to follow nonsensical rules was thrilling.
After putting in her new eye lenses, she brushed a bit of cheap rouge on her cheeks to not look like a walking corpse. Her silk-lined clothes soothed her skin and she overall felt great and as prepared as she could be for playing this charade of pretending like nothing had happened over the weekend.
Everyone on the train and at work who looked at her face was gaping until she patiently explained that those were new experimental contact lenses. The best way to hide a secret was behind the truth after all. Many 'ahhs' and 'ohhs' later, she was sitting in her emptied out office and only made a half-hearted attempt to look busy. In truth, there was hardly anything to do for her at this time of year and she had offloaded even the last remaining scraps of her responsibilities on Jefferson. If that fool got to profit off of her dismissal to advance in position then the least he could do was shoulder her workload. It generally made for good training.
'What more can I squeeze out of this company?'
That thought kept returning to her mind. She was not a proponent of thievery and knew better than to delude herself into thinking that 'she was just taking what was owed to her' or whatever petty excuses others criminals used. Tanya had of course already stolen from Wayne Enterprise, but from her perspective it had been a matter of survival.
To take more when she had previously damaged the company that sponsored her education and employed her would be greedy and irresponsible.
But what if ...
No! She would not stoop to this level... Were she to, for example, sell information on certain shipping dates to the mob then her co-workers would be put at risk. They were honest and contributing members of society like she had been until last week. Damaging their source of income would be just uncalled for.
On the other hand, it wouldn't hurt to smudge her trail a bit. If Batman instigated a police investigation with the criteria he doubtlessly managed to gleam from their little interaction then it was possible that her employee file could be a critical piece of evidence. There were only so many blonde, blue-eyed, women who could have had access to the Hazardous Containment Storage on the day of the fire.
Her – hopefully subtle – questions had yielded no results on the matter if anyone had noticed anything getting stolen. Either the containment room was not very well checked or the incident had been kept secret by the higher-ups. But on the off chance that the police connected the stolen vial of highly experimental super-serum with the appearance of a new superpowered individual then she did not want to be their first suspect.
As Human Resource Officer she had access to all employee files, including her own. Changing a few numbers to make herself a bit taller or adjusting the colour contrast of her company photograph should be easy...
Although, the guys from the IT department would likely notice if only her profile got updated. So, why not add a single invisible letter to everyone's resume and do it for all of them? Yes, that should keep her busy during her last week here.
-W-
On the way back home a sudden idea struck her.
Taking a train to Chinatown on the west side of the southern island took nearly half an hour, but once there she did not regret her decision.
There had been efforts to rebrand the district to another, more formal name, because some guy had kicked up a storm in the media about what he saw as racism, but that effort soon fell through after nobody actually remembered to use it. Chinatown's predominantly Asian-descended population also had no problem with it.
It formed a miniature city within Gotham, celebrating its own festivals and culture. Houses were built with pagoda-style roofs and paper lanterns lined the streets. Some folks here could not even speak English despite living in America all their life. To Tanya that demonstrated an astounding level of inflexibility and a critical lack of foresight more so than a proud adherence to tradition. Nonetheless tourists loved that kind of stuff, so their gimmick was clearly working out for them.
She kept her hand tightly clenched around her purse to ward off pickpockets while she navigated the stream of men coming home from the nearby factory and the early Christmas buyers who were on the hunt for exotic presents. The stores on the main street were all crowded as the holidays drove everyone into a spending frenzy which was good for the economy, but not for her anonymity. Deciding to just get this over with before it got too late, she entered one of the few stores that didn't have huge, attractive 'discount' signs and winter-themed decorations plastered all over the display windows.
The inside was crammed full with unidentifiable boxes depicting animals, flowers and indecipherable symbols. All manner of talismans, threaded beads and little statues littered the shelves and the heavy scent of burning incense hung over the room. Tanya was about to step back outside when she spotted something amongst the rubbish that was exactly what she had been looking for: A bunch of masks.
Some of them were plain white while others were intricately shaded and adorned with colourful designs. They all, however, shared the image of a grinning demon.
"How much for one of these?" she asked the ancient looking woman behind the counter.
The old lady yelled with a distinctly Japanese accent: "Painted, fifty dollars. Unpainted, thirty dollars."
Born from years of experience in haggling, Tanya remained calm at the outrageous prices. There were no price tags on the objects, meaning their value was undetermined.
"Those cheap, mass-produced masks for fifty dollars? Are you insane? That can't be worth more than five."
"Not cheap. Hand-made! Made with own hand! Should demand way more! Buy or not?"
Making the effort of appearing as if she was considering accepting, she stroked her chin.
"I mean there was a store around the corner selling masks as well, but they didn't look as nice as these ones..."
"Old Han only sell trash, yes." agreed the withered crone.
"Alright. You've convinced me. I'll take an unpainted one for ten dollars."
"Huh? Your ears not work, Missy? THIRTY!"
"Nuh-uh. Seeing as I'm feeling charitable I might give you fifteen for one, but no more. Else I'll have to go."
Narrowing her ancient eyes in a way that wrinkled the entirety of her face, the shopkeeper raised a spindly finger at her.
"Twenty."
"I said fifteen."
The yellowed finger snapped towards as if trying to pierce her heart.
"Twenty. Take or leave."
She could tell the woman was serious on this matter and would not yield any more. Furthermore, if they were indeed handmade then that was a good price.
"Fine. I'll take it."
Forking over the money, she grabbed the wooden depiction of a demon's face. It had two long tusks sprouting from the corners of its grimacing mouth hole and two horns on its head. No doubt it would look suitably terrifying when worn in a dark environment.
"Missy?"
Turning around she was surprised by the sombre expression on the elderly shopkeeper's face.
"Don't let Hannya consume you. Seen many take up demon mask and never take it off again. Dangerous." warned the woman ominously.
"What makes you think it's for me? It might be just a Christmas present." Tanya deflected.
Brown teeth smiled at her knowingly.
"See that look in your eye. Own daughter took mask in fight against King Snake. Never returned."
Superstitious nonsense. A mask was just an accessory like any other. On a naive tourist this might have worked, but what was the point in scaring away customers?
Tanya wished the strange old woman goodbye and promptly left, not seeing her sadly shake her head.
-W-
Due to a 'maintenance error' as the announcer called it, Line 16 – which was her line – had to be temporarily shut down, leaving her to walk the few miles back home on foot. Her endurance had literally never been better, but it was still annoying. Jogging alongside the road she let her thoughts wander to how she would spend the night. Should she go out in costume again, this time with a proper mask? What if she got ambushed again?
It was a difficult decision to-
The sounds of screaming, sirens and gunfire interrupted her deliberations, as she snapped her focus towards the approaching cacophony. Two police cars were chasing the hulking figure of what could only be Killer Croc down the street, one of the officers hanging out of the door and unloading his pistol into the direction of the fleeing criminal.
Passersby right and left were understandably afraid of the fast moving danger and did their best to vacate the area. Soon drivers were also becoming aware of the chaos coming their way and hastily took to the side streets.
Tanya did not run, because while the situation may have looked scary, she was confident that the monstrous looking murder would pass her by if she inconspicuously remained where she was. He was too busy dodging shots and running for his life to notice her.
So, from her position she had the perfect angle to see how one foolhardy idiot tried to reverse turn onto the opposite side of the lane, ramming a small SUV in the process. Observing the crash in slow motion, she could viscerally perceive how the front of the car deformed and the air bag inside went off, punching into the face of the woman behind the wheel and knocking her out. Without sparing her a look the driver sped off while the police chase drew rapidly nearer.
There was nothing she could do for that unconscious woman at the moment. Killer Croc would surely just jump over her car and everything would be fine... right?
A stray bullet impacted the wrecked car's tire, deflating it.
Why wouldn't the cop stop shooting? He was putting a civilian's life in danger! And shouldn't they be already steering their cars to evade clipping the vehicle in front of them? What were they doing!?
Killer Croc did not jump.
He smashed into the car, spinning it in a screeching half-circle from the impact and moved to lift it, presumably to throw it as an oversized projectile at his pursuers.
No...
That poor woman did nothing wrong! Why did she have to die for following the traffic laws! That other asshole just rammed her and doomed her through no fault of her own! Doing the correct thing shouldn't be punished! And nobody was helping. It wasn't right! Life was inherently unfair, but this was just too cruel.
Before she even knew what she was doing, Tanya had ripped the mask out of her bag and slipped it on during the second it took her to cross the road. Her body left the asphalt at the last moment and she felt like she was floating in the air until she crashed feet first into Killer Croc. She felt something under her boots give and then her back collided with the ground. Hard.
"Arrgghhh!" roared the beast, stumbling to find his footing again.
His grip on the vehicle was violently ripped away as he cradled his side, maw open and dripping fetid saliva. In fact everything about him reeked of sewage so much that she wanted to hurl.
Tanya sprang back upright and pulled out the knife she had hidden under her shirt. She needed to make this quick before reinforcements arrived.
Taunting this mutated maniac was possibly the worst decision of her life, but it would with any luck distract him from the hostage.
And so she yelled with confidence, belying her true emotions: "Come on you stinking animal!"
-W-
Waylon was angry. He was always angry. But now he was even more angry than usual. He was furious. He had just been minding his own business when some punk dropped firecrackers right on his head! That bastard's stupid friends didn't laugh much longer when he burst through the sewer grate and ripped them to shreds! Their blood was delicious.
Then those damn cops showed up and shot at him! Why? Those scumbags deserved it! So he ran away because their guns hurt like hell. Then he dropped one of those mono rail thingies on their stupid cars because he didn't feel like running anymore. And then while he was enjoying a snack more damn cops came and shot at him again!
So it was back to running and then he got kicked out of nowhere! This day officially sucked.
And then...
And then ... that bitch called him an animal .
NO ONE called him that. Waylon was a human! He would tear her to pieces for that!
With a roar of pure loathing he descended upon the masked female and swung his fists. She dodged backwards and he followed her. Right, left, right, left he tried to catch her with haymaker after haymaker. Frustrated, he jumped and raised both arms for an overhead slam.
However before he could crush her into red paste, the annoying masked woman was at his side and attempted to stab him. That would not work, his skin was-
"Aghh!"
He instinctively curled up to protect the wound.
Shit, how had she-
Her fist crashed into his temple, knocking him to the ground. Waylon rolled with the impact and blindly threw out a punch, hitting nothing.
Where was she-
A sharp stab came from behind, but he was ready for the pain this time and threw a backhand her way. Again he missed.
Was this one of Batman's little helpers?
He swung around and growled in frustration.
Numbly, he registered that the cops were shooting again, but ignored it. The little demon however couldn't shrug off bullets and cried out in pain when one of them grazed her stomach.
Pathetic.
Weak, little humans should just die!
Left, right, left and then in a stroke of genius he didn't swing with his fists again, but instead kicked. Waylon was not ready for that brilliant manoeuvre to backfire when she gripped his outstretched leg and pulled .
Once again he was on the floor and he hated it!
He was about to jump up and rush her down, come what may, when he sensed something cold enter his chest. This wasn't just an insignificant scratch, he knew that instinctively. No, her accursed blade had punctured his lung through the superficial wound she had left earlier.
Immediately he could feel the blood rushing inside as she drew back her knife.
Waylon was drowning. He tried to breathe in, but it hurt so much . He gasped for breath and his insides were on fire and he was coughing and there was so much PAIN-
He rolled onto his back and tried to seal the wound shut, but he still wasn't getting air and it hurt! Was he going to die? Was this how it ended? Somehow he couldn't be mad anymore. His shitty life came to an end in a shitty way. Fitting for a freak like him. Nobody would mourn such an ugly monster. At least nothing could hurt him any more when he was dead...
Distantly he noticed something slamming into him and then his whole world tilted as he was suddenly on his side. Another strike to the back had him coughing up blood and suddenly the pain was back again! But he could also breathe!
Greedily he drank deep of the cold winter air, despite his left side throbbing in agony. This was incredible!
Then a new pistol shot hit him and he couldn't find the energy in himself to even growl. It seemed that even this flicker of happiness in his life was temporary. Oh well...
With amazement he watched as the masked demon suddenly ripped off a side mirror from the car and threw it at the idiot cop who was still shooting. He watched with some satisfaction as the bastard got nailed right in the forehead and bonelessly flopped to the ground.
Somewhere in the distance the sirens got louder again and despite knowing that they would imprison him again, Waylon felt blissful. He was alive.
Chest heaving, he gurgled happily, twisting around to look for who saved him…
And then everything went black.