Everything hurts. I knew this feeling. I'd been in a fight, and from how much pain I was in, I did not win. What's more hurt, my body or my pride? I tried to move and answered my question: definitely my poor body. Who the hell cares about pride anyway? I managed to crack open my eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't a yellowing beige.

Maybe my cracking white paint ceiling, the tiles of a hospital, maybe, or even under Gotham's starry night. But not under this old beige, smoke-smothered ceiling. Gross. Where the hell was I?

Even though it hurt, I sat myself up and realised I had been lying down in a bed. This was a motel room; they all looked the same, so it was easily recognisable. They all had the same vibes, too, motel hotel vibes. But why was I here? I hope they don't want me to pay because I wa E.

I panicked when I thought about money, and my laptop leapt to the forefront of my mind. The better question was, where the hell was it? I cast my eyes around me and breathed a sigh of relief, seeing it on the bedside table. I reached for it, needing the assurance that it was safe and sound.

The bag was a mess, the leather front was scratched to hell, and some gravel was still embedded in the soft leather. The strap was still attached, but only just, the fabric torn and fraying. I sighed. I couldn't be too disappointed, it was free after all. Paid for courtesy of Larry's misogyny.

But I was still sad to see such a stupidly expensive bag so beat up; thankfully, my laptop was inside in perfect condition. The bag and I took a beating, but the most precious cargo was safe. Which is more than I can say for myself right now.

I put my laptop back and took a closer look at my surroundings. There was no mistaking it, it was for sure a motel. And if the smell was any indication, it was a cheap one. My nose wrinkled, but honestly, the smell could be coming from me; I had been rolling around in a dirty alley not too long ago.

I was still returning to the world of the awake, so my mind was slow to catch up with me. But the throbbing pain in my cheek reminded me of the son of a bitch, Spike, and what he had done to my face.

I wasn't too put out by the scar itself, I didn't care. It was all just skin, and a face was a face, with or without a scar. I could have half of my face ripped off for all I care.
But I did care that having a big scar on my face didn't bode well for my anonymity. Hair colour and eye colour were vague descriptions, but a big scar right across a cheek was a more defining marker.

But it could be a blessing in disguise, it meant that normal people wouldn't stare at me. Scars, especially gnarly ones, made people uncomfortable and less likely to keep their gaze lingering. Children and people with no social awareness were exceptions, though.

I reached up to touch my new facial feature and see how bad the damage was, but instead of cut skin, my fingers brushed a bandage. That was… unexpected. Was this some kind of loan shark aftercare program? They beat the crap out of you and then nurse you back to health?

I scoffed at the thought of that. Then an image of Spike and Fang dressed in nurses' outfits popped into my head and made me gag, I didn't need that up there. Nevertheless, I didn't think they were the ones who brought me here.

I could remember a figure before I passed out, but my memory was too hazy, and I could barely remember him or maybe her. No, a man. He had broad shoulders. They did bring me to their motel room and patch me up, but it felt weird.

Good Samaritan or not, I wanted out of here. Especially since they might get caught up in my issues, and I didn't need another body weighing heavily on my conscience. It was best for both of us if I vanished. I'm good at that.

And I needed to get to work on making some cash, I did not want another visit from those thugs, especially since now I know how hard they hit.

I flipped back the thin cover and dragged my aching legs off the side of the bed, grabbing for my shoes that had been tossed to the side. I had to take a minute, the small workout hurting more than I expected.

As I was hyping myself up for even more physical activity, there was a noise outside the door. I froze, wondering if they would go away if I stayed silent, but no such luck. A key fumbled its way into the lock, and the door swung open. The light temporarily blinded me until the door closed again.

There was now a stranger in the room who, I'm pretty sure, I'd never met before. The guy in the alley, from what I remember, cut a pretty imposing figure. But this was just a dude. He did have two big cuts through his cheeks, though, cheek scar gang unite.

Although I do hope mine didn't look like his, his were raised and rough, it looked like his stitches had been ripped out mid-healing, and the skin grew wrong. But that was an inside thought that we do NOT say out loud.

He must have pissed off a loan shark or someone else, is that why he helped me? Did he feel sorry for me when he found me in that alley? That left a bad taste in my mouth, I didn't need some stranger's sympathy.

The man didn't say anything as he walked across the room, pulling out a seat from under the desk and setting it to face me as he lowered himself down. The strong, silent type, I guess. I usually do like my men to be as silent as possible, but this was downright awkward. One of us had to say something.

"Erm…hi?" I tried, but he just stared at me. Was he trying to creep me out with his silent staring? Because it was working.

"My name is Lexie. You got a name?" I asked only to be met with the same stony silence. We were now at an impasse because for a conversation to work, it usually requires two people to participate. Maybe if I said something weird, I could get a reaction.

"I like your scars." I blurted out, I thought I could see a small twitch of a quickly suppressed smile, but it might have been a trick of the light, for how quickly it vanished. There was still no reaction or answer, and I couldn't spend all day trying to get this statue to crack.

"Right well, thank you for all your help. I don't have any money to pay you back, but if you ever have any computer troubles, I'll help you out." I was about to put my shoes on when suddenly the man was in front of me.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" I cursed, flinching back. I hadn't even heard him stand up, never mind walk over to me. I felt something fall into my lap before he walked back over to his seat. Am I in the presence of a ninja? Teach me your ways, sensei.

I looked down at my lap and instantly perked up. A breakfast muffin! I would never be able to turn down free food. I barely mumbled out a thank you before I wolfed the whole thing down. I hadn't realised, but I hadn't eaten since yesterday, and I was starving!

I looked up, a little embarrassed at my behaviour, but the guy looked at me amused before throwing me another muffin. I didn't really care then if he found my eating habits amusing as long as he kept the food coming.

I caught the flying breakfast with ease, no way I'd ever fumble food. But I did take the time to actually chew this one, not inhale it like before. I was halfway through when he surprised me by speaking.

"You seem pretty calm. Shouldn't you be scared? You woke up in a motel room, beaten up and with a stranger offering you gas station muffins." The man leaned back and assessed me with a critical eye.

I guess it was pretty strange to wake up and instantly accept food from a stranger. But if I die from eating, I'll die happy.

"This doesn't even make the top ten weirdest places I've woken up in." I shrugged, the stories I could tell. I licked my fingers, muffins gone, and I still felt a hole in my stomach. I don't suppose this muffin-supplying stranger had any more, did he? I looked over, but he had empty hands now.

"You know how to use that thing?" He nodded to my laptop, which was still safely nestled in its bag on the bedside table.

I took my time before answering, he wasn't a cop, was he? He didn't look like one, but that's how they get you.
"Depends on who is asking. Are you a cop?" I hedged my bets. If he were a cop, did he have to tell me? I'm pretty sure Archie told me that was a myth.

"Not a cop." He threw out the worry that was rattling around my head. He might not be a cop, but he might be a mind reader.

"You need to control your facial expressions better. I can see every thought on your face." He relaxed in his chair whilst I put my guard up. I had been too relaxed; the unexpected environment had made me more curious than wary, and the fastest way to my heart was through my stomach.
"That's better." He commented as I put on my resting bitch face.

"Why are you asking about my computer skills? You need someone to teach you how to use Excel?" It was a bit of a snappy response, but he didn't seem to mind as he chuckled.

"Not quite." He crossed his arms over his chest before fixing me with another stare. He seemed to study me before he spoke again.
"I need a hacker."

That raised my hackles even more, and I narrowed my eyes at him.
"And who told you that was me?" I started to mentally plan my escape. I could grab my laptop and make a break for it, shoes be damned.

"Does that matter?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. I guessed not, but it is suspicious. He took my silence as an answer and carried on.
"I've got myself an… operation set up in Gotham. But I need someone with your skills to take it to the next level."

An operation? That sounded illegal. It also made me sceptical. People who try to muscle their way into Gotham's underworld usually end up washed up and dead near Gotham's port or have their faces on missing posters.

I had no interest in getting involved with either of those, and I was about to say as much when the man tossed a brown bag onto the bed next to me.

"Open it." He instructed, and I didn't need to be told twice.

I quickly opened it, but was disappointed, it was just money, I thought it was more food. But then I realised, it was money. A bag full at that.

"A sign-up bonus." He clarified, and my eyes jumped between him and the cash. I could see on the bands around the stacks of bills that they were $1000 each, and there were at least ten. It was enough to pay off my debt to the loan shark and the interest.

This guy seemed like my Narrows fairy godmother, but I was soon suspicious again. If something seemed too good to be true, that's because it usually was. I closed the bag and set it back down.

"What's the catch?" I asked bluntly, no need to beat around the bush.

"No catch." He shrugged with a smirk.
"I heard about you, heard about your skills, and you seem like a good fit. I've been watching you."

"Stalker." I mumbled, I wasn't sure if he heard me or not.

"And are you really in a position to turn me down?" His smile grew when I winced at his comment.

Because he was right, I really wasn't. I could keep trying to rip off cheap thugs in nice suits, but that wouldn't work out long term. It wasn't even working out short term. It would also take time to update my skills to keep up with the current online ever-changing landscape, time that I didn't have.

I also had no idea when Archie would wake up, I knew he would wake up, I knew that, he had to. But how will I pay for the care facility until he does?

I also had zero career prospects, no time or skill to learn a new trade, and I was drowning in debt. The only thing I knew how to do was get fired. This wasn't just my best option; it was the only option.

He waited patiently for me to think his offer over, maybe because he knew I couldn't say no. Regardless, he waited, sitting in silence and watching me. If he does that often, I guess I'll have to get used to it.

"I don't kill people." I lied. The night of the fear gas was self-defence, and I didn't know that I for sure killed anyone that night, and that's what I'll say in court too. But I didn't know if I could kill anyone in cold blood, also murder seemed messy, and I had no interest in that.

He didn't look too thrilled by my condition, but it was a non-negotiable for me. He ran his tongue over the scars on his cheeks, seemingly thinking over what I said. He must have come to a decision as he stood up and walked over to me. I managed to get up onto shaky legs but he still towered over me, I should have stayed seated.

"We can work on that." He mumbled before taking my hand and shaking it firmly.
"Welcome to the team, Lexie."

"You can call me Lex." I shook his hand back, marvelling at how big they were and having the feeling it wasn't the first time I had thought that.

"Okay, Lex. You can call me the Joker."