For Stephanie Brown, there were no monsters under the bed, not when her daddy was around to scare them. At five years old, there was no reason in Gotham to be fearful, the tiny girl with the biggest of blue eyes looking out of her window. She was tucked up in bed, snug as a bug and her tummy full, gazing at the smallest crack of skyline that could just barely be seen past the cramped rooftops of her forgotten district, the barest tint of starlight peeking into her bedroom, looking in on the infant.
Stephanie sneezed, shaken from her revere and, as she wiggled her small nose, she looked to her door, already fidgeting with an infant’s boundless energy. The door was slightly ajar, as it was always, just enough sound entering that she would know that her Daddy was near. She fidgeted some more, looking up to the ceiling before huffing, deciding for herself and in all of her five years of wisdom that it was too early to be sleeping.
Climbing out of her bed, a herculean effort for her small body to be sure, she dropped to the floor and pitted, patted with her bare feet to the door. Placing her hands against it, the obstacle proved no match for her determination and it swung effortlessly open, the light flooding in from the living room to embrace her.
She smiled upon seeing her Daddy sat on the couch, although his own reaction was not initially so joyful, a world weary expression in place which his daughter did not yet understand. His own smile was soon in coming, albeit one offset by sleep deprived exasperation.
“Stephanie,” he said with a mild scolding, getting up to greet his only daughter, “you are supposed to be asleep.”
“No,” she explained back as she held up her arms, her own merriment disarming as she was scooped up into his own, her father a giant in her young eyes. “Not tired, go upstairs.”
“We went upstairs last night,” her Daddy explained.
“But,” Stephanie attempted to explain, pointing one little hand up in the direction she knew lay the sky.
“Not tonight,” her Daddy continued, propping her back onto her bed regardless of her impending disgruntlement, “I have work to do, to pay for our nice things, you have to stay in bed until morning ok?”
Stephanie opted to start pouting, dissatisfied with his answer, but her Daddy would not be swayed. He sat on the bed beside her, brushing her hair away from her forehead with a deep sigh. He smiled again, this man filled with strength and boundless wisdom in her young eyes, “How about a story instead?”
She began grinning immediately, clapping her hands in delight, her Daddy knew all of the best stories.
“Alright, alright,” he lent back, his posture relaxing, “but be warned, this one is reeeeeeeeeally scary...”
# # # # # # # # # #
Immediately upon waking, Stephanie knew something was amiss, the infant opening her eyes and stretching as wide as her tiny body was able. She was still tucked up snugly in bed, a yawn escaping from her chest, the world outside her small window still night time. She looked about, gripped by a sinking sense of foreboding that she could not pinpoint, the shadows in that one corner beside her closet suddenly striking her as being much darker. Stephanie released an unhappy murmur, unfamiliar with this creeping sense of dread, and so she looked to her place of safety, the doorway that would lead her to her Daddy.
The small blonde fidgeted, wiggling her way free from her blankets before beginning her descent from off her bed. Wiping her blue eyes with the back of one hand, Stephanie released another murmur, a child’s cry of distress for her parent. She reached the door with a hurried padding of her bare feet, comforted to realise that it was still slightly ajar as always, light spilling inwards from the next room. Placing her hands upon the wood she pushed, only to realise that it would not open.
She had been met by an obstruction, Stephanie confused and fearful, her world no longer conforming to her expectations. Stephanie pushed again, and still the door would not open, barring her from the safety of her Daddy. The young girl cried again, this time louder, pushing for a third time with no success, her heart beating faster as her security began to crumble.
Her feet began to feel cold, her toes wiggling in something wet, and as she shuffled over to the small crack between the door and frame, peeking out from the shadows of her room and into the light of the one adjacent. She cried one last time, one of confusion and utter heartbreak, a whimper to deny reality, her Daddy laid out in front of the door before her, his chest a mess of crimson, his eyes lost somewhere in oblivion...
# # # # # # # # # #
Years Later...
When you grew up in the Narrows, it was not only accepted that one was to barge their way through the streets, it was expected. No-one got anywhere in Gotham’s forgotten district without a little pushing and shoving, a philosophy that Stephanie Brown had become quite the accomplished student of. Eighteen years of age and slight of frame, the young blonde could elbow smash her way through a tight corridor of humanity with the best of them, and as everyone else was largely doing likewise, there was not a hint of complaint to be heard.
Overcrowded and underfunded, the Narrows had earned its name and then some, a population three times too large for its location squeezing and shoving their way throughout their daily lives. The buildings themselves were overbearing, ramshackle by anyone’s standards and frequently haphazardly build with extensions atop them, an anthill forever scaling upwards now that there was no room to expand outwards, and even less room left between for civilians.
Cramp, noisy and almost utterly devoid of notice from the rest of Gotham, the Narrows had become a boil upon the backside of the city, one that no-one knew what to do with. Never the less, it remained home to those that lived there and, surprisingly, tolerable for those who adapted.
Well versed in the rhythms of her community as they commuted en mass, Stephanie found navigating the sea of humanity no trouble at all. Finding the best currents with a lifetime of experience, she forced her own corridors open with a well placed jab here and there, accepting the occasional one thrown her way without care. With her destination coming within sight, she altered course and was forced to swim against the oncoming tide, but that only required a little additional effort, quick feet finding a secure path throughout.
With a rucksack strapped across her shoulders and a full bag of groceries for both of her hands, the blue eyed teenager pushed her way free of the sea of humanity with an almost audible ‘POP’ and a deep sigh of relief, a full mane of blonde hair tumbling across her shoulders as she hopped up the steps. The doors of the ‘Wildcat’ Gym were open for her was always, if not only because she had key and free reign of the place, but also because it was owned by her Uncle.
On this occasion Ricky was there to hold the door open, an elderly man who boasted as many scars as he did wrinkles, one who had spent more of his life in the squared circle than was sensible. He had a smile for her as he did always, having known her since she had been little, and the smile that she returned was natural in coming, accompanied by a giggle as she exchanged pleasantries, Brown ignoring the slur in his words as he struggled to pronounce them. Too much time spent in the squared circle indeed.
To step into ‘Wildcats’ during the midday was to be met with an aroma that was not at all flattering, the noise of some three dozen men and women fighting against their physical limits hitting almost as hard. Stephanie was long past the point of flinching beneath the sudden assault on her senses, as accustomed to them as she was to any other aspect of her life.
Several greetings were thrown in her direction by many of her Uncle’s regulars, the teenager as much a staple of the rustic building as the equipment itself. She returned them with her own as she weaved a path through the crowded venue, dodging this way and that and exchanging well meaning chit chat and, as it was that time of the week, turning down Tristan’s latest attempt to hit on her.
Finally she reached her Uncle’s office, the old man inside of it for once instead of grilling his patrons to either swing better of keep up their guard, putting the phone down as his Niece let herself in without ceremony.
“You took your sweet time,” Ted Grant grouched, leaning back into his long suffering, decades old chair which creaked almost as loudly as he did, “thought you’d gotten lost, was about to send out ‘St. Nick’ to go find you.”
“And that would be who?” Stephanie shot back, heaving her two bags of shopping onto his desk and undaunted by her Uncle’s surliness.
“Doesn’t matter,” he waved the matter off as quickly as he himself had raised it, “new kid, wet behind the ears, don’t be getting any ideas.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Stephanie shot him an indulgent smirk, “God forbid that karma come back to haunt you.”
Grant opened his mouth to refute any such claims concerning his own youth, only to be cut off mid counter, “Just relax, I’m sure I can exercise some self control when I meet him. This is yours by the way,” she pointed to the bag on the left, “for your many, varied and incredibly unhealthy vices that I do not in any way approve of.”
“I’m good for it,” he assured, pulling the bag over and pulling out a fresh pack of cigars, a wide, toothy grin spreading across his features, “I still got me three lives left.”
“So you say,” Brown brushed the comment off as she did always, “this one is for me,” she pointed to the second bag, “so I don’t starve.”
“You should be eating more,” Ted ventured, not wasting any time as he lit up his first cigar and gave his niece a critical one over, “put some weight on.”
“My weight is fine,” Stephanie resisted the temptation to groan, no easy feat for any teenager in her position.
“And that,” Ted pointed to her rucksack, “what else have you been up to?”
“This?” Stephanie self consciously pulled the bag on tighter across her shoulder, her demeanour suddenly becoming as nonchalant as was humanly possible. “It’s nothing much, this and that, brick-a-brack, girl stuff.”
“Uh huh, girl stuff.”
Stephanie smiled, sweet, disarming and incredibly well practiced.
“Nothing but.”
# # # # # # # # # #
While cleaning out buckets of spit may not be the most glamorous of professions, it sure did beat being homeless, at least it did by Stephanie’s account. Flooding one such metal container with water before tipping it down the sink, Brown stacked it with the others before heading back into the central Gym. Old by even the standards of the Narrows, Ted Grant’s home away from home took pride in its rustic appeal to an entirely different level, with every floorboard creaking and several of the support beams looking like they were about to just give up on life.
“It’s called character,” her Uncle would like to say, but then, he was getting on a bit as well.
Wiping her hands as she reached the cleaners closest, Stephanie waved as the last of the patrons left for the evening, an odd air of tranquillity settling across the establishment. Grabbing a broom that was older than she was, Brown turned about only to have a towel thrown at her head. Whacking her straight in the face, the offending object that had been hurled at high velocity wrapped itself about her entire noggin with a damp whip crack motion!
As it came to drop itself down about her shoulders, Stephanie’s disgruntlement was clear to see, her ire directed towards her Uncle who was waiting impatiently in the ring.
“I have a weapon, you know,” she warned, brandishing the broom that she now clutched with both hands.
Ted only grinned, his toothy smile making it clear just how seriously he was taking that threat, which wasn’t very. “I’ve been come at with far worse than that in my time girl, and they ain’t around no more, so I’ll take my chances.” Grant was busy attaching a pair of pads to both of his hands before slapping them together, motioning for his disgruntled niece to get herself inside the squared circle. “Now come on, before I’m down to two lives.”
“Again?” Stephanie groaned, her shoulders slumping as set her broom aside and headed towards the ring, reputedly the very same one that had hosted heavy weight title bouts in years gone by. “Tonight? You know, you used to give me days off.”
“You used to be eleven, now you’re not,” Grant would brook no argument, padding his own feet as he gave her room to enter. “Sooner or later, you’re gonna come to appreciate muscle memory.”
Brown had one last scowl for her Uncle, just for good measure, before she began to tape up her knuckles and pulled herself into the ring. She set her stance and brought up her fists, inhaling a short breath before she began to close the distance, Grant slapping his pads together once more before doing likewise, holding them up for her to strike.
She did so, Stephanie landing a double tap of lightning blows that would make a cage fighter envious.
“Love taps,” Ted chided.
“Ooooo I see how it is,” Brown exhaled, a smile of her own threatening to break out, “I can feel it old man, tonight’s the night.”
“This ain’t a fight.”
Stephanie unleashed a second combo, this one harder than before, “It’s always a fight.”
# # # # # # # # # #
Finally Stephanie was alone, her uncle turned taskmaster calling it a night and venturing off to wherever it was he went when not at the Wildcats. She locked the door behind him, multiple deadbolts slamming closed and securing the building. She waited for a few moments, listening to him march down the steps before he passed by a window before, with a scarcely controlled grin, she dashed away back into the gym. Grabbing her rucksack on the way past, Stephanie was into the backrooms in no time at all, soon dashing up two flights of stairs several steps at time. The Wildcats belongs to Ted Grant, but the attic belonged to Brown, and tonight was a night that an ambition would come to fruition.
She burst into her room which, while spartan by almost anyone’s standards, never the less contained all that she desired. First throwing her rucksack onto her bed, she took more care in removing ‘Bunny Big Ears’ from it, the oversized child’s, cuddle toy even receiving a quick hug before she placed it on the dresser. “I need you to sit this one out ok buddy,” she tapped the bunny on his nose, “I knew you’d understand.”
Next she went to the closest, flinging the doors open to reveal the majority of her belongings, most of which was haphazardly stacked beneath her clothes. She retrieved one case in particular, pushing it open to hurriedly empty its contents out onto her bed. Stephanie began to organise the items into a semblance of order, a not exactly flattering polo shirt spread out above a set of cargo jeans and a pair of heavy duty boots. Padded gloves were placed at the ends of each sleeve while a ratty bandanna smoothed out in the approximate position of the head.
The rucksack came last, Brown far too impatient with the zipper before she pulled out the final item, a Kevlar vest which had cost her a few favours. With a certain level of reverence, she dropped it down where the phantom figure she had been assembling would have its torso and, her work done, stepped away from her creation.
“That’s it,” she said to her audience of no-one, hands fidgeting on her hips, “it’s perfect. Ta Da!!”
She continued to observe her good work, tilting her head this way and that as her fingers continued to fidget, Stephanie starting to pace. She looked at her would be guise from one and angle and then other, attempted to control her agitation by smoothing out her hair.
“This is a great idea,” she nodded to herself, a plan coming together, flawless. “This is a good idea,” she affirmed to the air, halting her pacing and mulling her options over. “This is what people do in Gotham,” she explained, her heart beating faster, “this is how we stay safe. This, this a fine idea. Perfectly reasonable.”
She hesitated, now faced with the reality of what she had been fantasizing, a dream of empowerment quite literally laid out before her. Stephanie’s resolve began to crumble.
“This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea,” Brown took a step back, shaking her head in disbelief, pacing this way and that once more before coming to a stop. “This is insane, what am I thinking?” she berated herself, looking back at her would be alter ego, “I can’t do this, people get killed doing this. I must be out of my mind!”
Stephanie growled in frustration, pressing her palms against her forehead, berating herself for her childish imaginings. With a deep breath, Brown regained her bearings, ready to laugh at herself for being so foolish.
Until her peace was shattered by a gunshot.
It came from outside, several streets away at the very least, as safe as one could ever expect to be in the Narrows as soon as night had fallen.
Stephanie didn’t care, bolting immediately into action, her heart beginning to tremor as her dash on over to the window was driven by instinct. She slammed it closed, her panic almost suffocating in its intensity as she fumbled with the latch, securing it tightly before dropping her blinds for good measure. With no regard for her composure, she retreated two paces, almost falling onto her bed. There she sat on the edge, haunted from childhood, one hand over her mouth.
I’m not afraid, she told herself over and over, her mind repeating the mantra whilst she remained silent.
I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid.
“I’M NOT!!” Stephanie exclaimed as if someone had accused her, looking about her empty room as though someone was holding judgement.
“I’m not.”
There was only silence to meet her, not even the Narrows outside of her window seeing fit to reply.
“I’m not,” she insisted, tasting the lie in her own lips as she lay back on the bed, coming face to face with her bandanna. It looked back at her, disbelieving.
“I’m not!” she insisted again, this time her conviction laced with anger, anger in the face of imagined accusation, or condemnation. “You think I’m afraid? I’ll show you who’s afraid!!” Stephanie began to pull off her shirt, grabbing the polo to replace it, “Just you wait, we’ll see who’s afraid!!”
“No-one will ever be afraid again!!”
To Be Continued...
Stephanie sneezed, shaken from her revere and, as she wiggled her small nose, she looked to her door, already fidgeting with an infant’s boundless energy. The door was slightly ajar, as it was always, just enough sound entering that she would know that her Daddy was near. She fidgeted some more, looking up to the ceiling before huffing, deciding for herself and in all of her five years of wisdom that it was too early to be sleeping.
Climbing out of her bed, a herculean effort for her small body to be sure, she dropped to the floor and pitted, patted with her bare feet to the door. Placing her hands against it, the obstacle proved no match for her determination and it swung effortlessly open, the light flooding in from the living room to embrace her.
She smiled upon seeing her Daddy sat on the couch, although his own reaction was not initially so joyful, a world weary expression in place which his daughter did not yet understand. His own smile was soon in coming, albeit one offset by sleep deprived exasperation.
“Stephanie,” he said with a mild scolding, getting up to greet his only daughter, “you are supposed to be asleep.”
“No,” she explained back as she held up her arms, her own merriment disarming as she was scooped up into his own, her father a giant in her young eyes. “Not tired, go upstairs.”
“We went upstairs last night,” her Daddy explained.
“But,” Stephanie attempted to explain, pointing one little hand up in the direction she knew lay the sky.
“Not tonight,” her Daddy continued, propping her back onto her bed regardless of her impending disgruntlement, “I have work to do, to pay for our nice things, you have to stay in bed until morning ok?”
Stephanie opted to start pouting, dissatisfied with his answer, but her Daddy would not be swayed. He sat on the bed beside her, brushing her hair away from her forehead with a deep sigh. He smiled again, this man filled with strength and boundless wisdom in her young eyes, “How about a story instead?”
She began grinning immediately, clapping her hands in delight, her Daddy knew all of the best stories.
“Alright, alright,” he lent back, his posture relaxing, “but be warned, this one is reeeeeeeeeally scary...”
# # # # # # # # # #
Immediately upon waking, Stephanie knew something was amiss, the infant opening her eyes and stretching as wide as her tiny body was able. She was still tucked up snugly in bed, a yawn escaping from her chest, the world outside her small window still night time. She looked about, gripped by a sinking sense of foreboding that she could not pinpoint, the shadows in that one corner beside her closet suddenly striking her as being much darker. Stephanie released an unhappy murmur, unfamiliar with this creeping sense of dread, and so she looked to her place of safety, the doorway that would lead her to her Daddy.
The small blonde fidgeted, wiggling her way free from her blankets before beginning her descent from off her bed. Wiping her blue eyes with the back of one hand, Stephanie released another murmur, a child’s cry of distress for her parent. She reached the door with a hurried padding of her bare feet, comforted to realise that it was still slightly ajar as always, light spilling inwards from the next room. Placing her hands upon the wood she pushed, only to realise that it would not open.
She had been met by an obstruction, Stephanie confused and fearful, her world no longer conforming to her expectations. Stephanie pushed again, and still the door would not open, barring her from the safety of her Daddy. The young girl cried again, this time louder, pushing for a third time with no success, her heart beating faster as her security began to crumble.
Her feet began to feel cold, her toes wiggling in something wet, and as she shuffled over to the small crack between the door and frame, peeking out from the shadows of her room and into the light of the one adjacent. She cried one last time, one of confusion and utter heartbreak, a whimper to deny reality, her Daddy laid out in front of the door before her, his chest a mess of crimson, his eyes lost somewhere in oblivion...
# # # # # # # # # #
Years Later...
When you grew up in the Narrows, it was not only accepted that one was to barge their way through the streets, it was expected. No-one got anywhere in Gotham’s forgotten district without a little pushing and shoving, a philosophy that Stephanie Brown had become quite the accomplished student of. Eighteen years of age and slight of frame, the young blonde could elbow smash her way through a tight corridor of humanity with the best of them, and as everyone else was largely doing likewise, there was not a hint of complaint to be heard.
Overcrowded and underfunded, the Narrows had earned its name and then some, a population three times too large for its location squeezing and shoving their way throughout their daily lives. The buildings themselves were overbearing, ramshackle by anyone’s standards and frequently haphazardly build with extensions atop them, an anthill forever scaling upwards now that there was no room to expand outwards, and even less room left between for civilians.
Cramp, noisy and almost utterly devoid of notice from the rest of Gotham, the Narrows had become a boil upon the backside of the city, one that no-one knew what to do with. Never the less, it remained home to those that lived there and, surprisingly, tolerable for those who adapted.
Well versed in the rhythms of her community as they commuted en mass, Stephanie found navigating the sea of humanity no trouble at all. Finding the best currents with a lifetime of experience, she forced her own corridors open with a well placed jab here and there, accepting the occasional one thrown her way without care. With her destination coming within sight, she altered course and was forced to swim against the oncoming tide, but that only required a little additional effort, quick feet finding a secure path throughout.
With a rucksack strapped across her shoulders and a full bag of groceries for both of her hands, the blue eyed teenager pushed her way free of the sea of humanity with an almost audible ‘POP’ and a deep sigh of relief, a full mane of blonde hair tumbling across her shoulders as she hopped up the steps. The doors of the ‘Wildcat’ Gym were open for her was always, if not only because she had key and free reign of the place, but also because it was owned by her Uncle.
On this occasion Ricky was there to hold the door open, an elderly man who boasted as many scars as he did wrinkles, one who had spent more of his life in the squared circle than was sensible. He had a smile for her as he did always, having known her since she had been little, and the smile that she returned was natural in coming, accompanied by a giggle as she exchanged pleasantries, Brown ignoring the slur in his words as he struggled to pronounce them. Too much time spent in the squared circle indeed.
To step into ‘Wildcats’ during the midday was to be met with an aroma that was not at all flattering, the noise of some three dozen men and women fighting against their physical limits hitting almost as hard. Stephanie was long past the point of flinching beneath the sudden assault on her senses, as accustomed to them as she was to any other aspect of her life.
Several greetings were thrown in her direction by many of her Uncle’s regulars, the teenager as much a staple of the rustic building as the equipment itself. She returned them with her own as she weaved a path through the crowded venue, dodging this way and that and exchanging well meaning chit chat and, as it was that time of the week, turning down Tristan’s latest attempt to hit on her.
Finally she reached her Uncle’s office, the old man inside of it for once instead of grilling his patrons to either swing better of keep up their guard, putting the phone down as his Niece let herself in without ceremony.
“You took your sweet time,” Ted Grant grouched, leaning back into his long suffering, decades old chair which creaked almost as loudly as he did, “thought you’d gotten lost, was about to send out ‘St. Nick’ to go find you.”
“And that would be who?” Stephanie shot back, heaving her two bags of shopping onto his desk and undaunted by her Uncle’s surliness.
“Doesn’t matter,” he waved the matter off as quickly as he himself had raised it, “new kid, wet behind the ears, don’t be getting any ideas.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Stephanie shot him an indulgent smirk, “God forbid that karma come back to haunt you.”
Grant opened his mouth to refute any such claims concerning his own youth, only to be cut off mid counter, “Just relax, I’m sure I can exercise some self control when I meet him. This is yours by the way,” she pointed to the bag on the left, “for your many, varied and incredibly unhealthy vices that I do not in any way approve of.”
“I’m good for it,” he assured, pulling the bag over and pulling out a fresh pack of cigars, a wide, toothy grin spreading across his features, “I still got me three lives left.”
“So you say,” Brown brushed the comment off as she did always, “this one is for me,” she pointed to the second bag, “so I don’t starve.”
“You should be eating more,” Ted ventured, not wasting any time as he lit up his first cigar and gave his niece a critical one over, “put some weight on.”
“My weight is fine,” Stephanie resisted the temptation to groan, no easy feat for any teenager in her position.
“And that,” Ted pointed to her rucksack, “what else have you been up to?”
“This?” Stephanie self consciously pulled the bag on tighter across her shoulder, her demeanour suddenly becoming as nonchalant as was humanly possible. “It’s nothing much, this and that, brick-a-brack, girl stuff.”
“Uh huh, girl stuff.”
Stephanie smiled, sweet, disarming and incredibly well practiced.
“Nothing but.”
# # # # # # # # # #
While cleaning out buckets of spit may not be the most glamorous of professions, it sure did beat being homeless, at least it did by Stephanie’s account. Flooding one such metal container with water before tipping it down the sink, Brown stacked it with the others before heading back into the central Gym. Old by even the standards of the Narrows, Ted Grant’s home away from home took pride in its rustic appeal to an entirely different level, with every floorboard creaking and several of the support beams looking like they were about to just give up on life.
“It’s called character,” her Uncle would like to say, but then, he was getting on a bit as well.
Wiping her hands as she reached the cleaners closest, Stephanie waved as the last of the patrons left for the evening, an odd air of tranquillity settling across the establishment. Grabbing a broom that was older than she was, Brown turned about only to have a towel thrown at her head. Whacking her straight in the face, the offending object that had been hurled at high velocity wrapped itself about her entire noggin with a damp whip crack motion!
As it came to drop itself down about her shoulders, Stephanie’s disgruntlement was clear to see, her ire directed towards her Uncle who was waiting impatiently in the ring.
“I have a weapon, you know,” she warned, brandishing the broom that she now clutched with both hands.
Ted only grinned, his toothy smile making it clear just how seriously he was taking that threat, which wasn’t very. “I’ve been come at with far worse than that in my time girl, and they ain’t around no more, so I’ll take my chances.” Grant was busy attaching a pair of pads to both of his hands before slapping them together, motioning for his disgruntled niece to get herself inside the squared circle. “Now come on, before I’m down to two lives.”
“Again?” Stephanie groaned, her shoulders slumping as set her broom aside and headed towards the ring, reputedly the very same one that had hosted heavy weight title bouts in years gone by. “Tonight? You know, you used to give me days off.”
“You used to be eleven, now you’re not,” Grant would brook no argument, padding his own feet as he gave her room to enter. “Sooner or later, you’re gonna come to appreciate muscle memory.”
Brown had one last scowl for her Uncle, just for good measure, before she began to tape up her knuckles and pulled herself into the ring. She set her stance and brought up her fists, inhaling a short breath before she began to close the distance, Grant slapping his pads together once more before doing likewise, holding them up for her to strike.
She did so, Stephanie landing a double tap of lightning blows that would make a cage fighter envious.
“Love taps,” Ted chided.
“Ooooo I see how it is,” Brown exhaled, a smile of her own threatening to break out, “I can feel it old man, tonight’s the night.”
“This ain’t a fight.”
Stephanie unleashed a second combo, this one harder than before, “It’s always a fight.”
# # # # # # # # # #
Finally Stephanie was alone, her uncle turned taskmaster calling it a night and venturing off to wherever it was he went when not at the Wildcats. She locked the door behind him, multiple deadbolts slamming closed and securing the building. She waited for a few moments, listening to him march down the steps before he passed by a window before, with a scarcely controlled grin, she dashed away back into the gym. Grabbing her rucksack on the way past, Stephanie was into the backrooms in no time at all, soon dashing up two flights of stairs several steps at time. The Wildcats belongs to Ted Grant, but the attic belonged to Brown, and tonight was a night that an ambition would come to fruition.
She burst into her room which, while spartan by almost anyone’s standards, never the less contained all that she desired. First throwing her rucksack onto her bed, she took more care in removing ‘Bunny Big Ears’ from it, the oversized child’s, cuddle toy even receiving a quick hug before she placed it on the dresser. “I need you to sit this one out ok buddy,” she tapped the bunny on his nose, “I knew you’d understand.”
Next she went to the closest, flinging the doors open to reveal the majority of her belongings, most of which was haphazardly stacked beneath her clothes. She retrieved one case in particular, pushing it open to hurriedly empty its contents out onto her bed. Stephanie began to organise the items into a semblance of order, a not exactly flattering polo shirt spread out above a set of cargo jeans and a pair of heavy duty boots. Padded gloves were placed at the ends of each sleeve while a ratty bandanna smoothed out in the approximate position of the head.
The rucksack came last, Brown far too impatient with the zipper before she pulled out the final item, a Kevlar vest which had cost her a few favours. With a certain level of reverence, she dropped it down where the phantom figure she had been assembling would have its torso and, her work done, stepped away from her creation.
“That’s it,” she said to her audience of no-one, hands fidgeting on her hips, “it’s perfect. Ta Da!!”
She continued to observe her good work, tilting her head this way and that as her fingers continued to fidget, Stephanie starting to pace. She looked at her would be guise from one and angle and then other, attempted to control her agitation by smoothing out her hair.
“This is a great idea,” she nodded to herself, a plan coming together, flawless. “This is a good idea,” she affirmed to the air, halting her pacing and mulling her options over. “This is what people do in Gotham,” she explained, her heart beating faster, “this is how we stay safe. This, this a fine idea. Perfectly reasonable.”
She hesitated, now faced with the reality of what she had been fantasizing, a dream of empowerment quite literally laid out before her. Stephanie’s resolve began to crumble.
“This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea,” Brown took a step back, shaking her head in disbelief, pacing this way and that once more before coming to a stop. “This is insane, what am I thinking?” she berated herself, looking back at her would be alter ego, “I can’t do this, people get killed doing this. I must be out of my mind!”
Stephanie growled in frustration, pressing her palms against her forehead, berating herself for her childish imaginings. With a deep breath, Brown regained her bearings, ready to laugh at herself for being so foolish.
Until her peace was shattered by a gunshot.
It came from outside, several streets away at the very least, as safe as one could ever expect to be in the Narrows as soon as night had fallen.
Stephanie didn’t care, bolting immediately into action, her heart beginning to tremor as her dash on over to the window was driven by instinct. She slammed it closed, her panic almost suffocating in its intensity as she fumbled with the latch, securing it tightly before dropping her blinds for good measure. With no regard for her composure, she retreated two paces, almost falling onto her bed. There she sat on the edge, haunted from childhood, one hand over her mouth.
I’m not afraid, she told herself over and over, her mind repeating the mantra whilst she remained silent.
I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid.
“I’M NOT!!” Stephanie exclaimed as if someone had accused her, looking about her empty room as though someone was holding judgement.
“I’m not.”
There was only silence to meet her, not even the Narrows outside of her window seeing fit to reply.
“I’m not,” she insisted, tasting the lie in her own lips as she lay back on the bed, coming face to face with her bandanna. It looked back at her, disbelieving.
“I’m not!” she insisted again, this time her conviction laced with anger, anger in the face of imagined accusation, or condemnation. “You think I’m afraid? I’ll show you who’s afraid!!” Stephanie began to pull off her shirt, grabbing the polo to replace it, “Just you wait, we’ll see who’s afraid!!”
“No-one will ever be afraid again!!”
To Be Continued...