ISSUE #8 (May 2018)
Written by Emma Woods Featuring: Batgirl
Flamebird
Wildcat
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"LAST STOP, ALL CHANGE PLEASE"Ludicrous was not a word that Batgirl had ever wanted to attach to a current course of action, but unfortunately for her, it fit all too well. She bounded across the haphazard skyline of the Narrows, the tenements of Gotham’s Forgotten District crooked at the best of times, outright hazardous the rest, the young woman attired in purple and black sprinting, leaping and vaulting from one rooftop to the next, never hesitating in her mad dash.
“This is insane,” she muttered, Stephanie fully prepared to voice her mounting concerns as her heart beat wildly within her torso, “why am I listening to you?” “Expediency,” the voice of Bette Kane lectured, the transmission being fed directly from Batgirl’s base of operations to her cowl. “And the word you are so ponderously searching for is practical. Given the circumstances, I am being practical. We have one opportunity to intercept, so cease being irritable and jump... JUMP NOW!!” Batgirl did so, resisting the urge to squeeze her eyes shut as reached the precipice with reckless velocity, leaping into the unknown. She hung there, for a moment, suspended high above the streets as the world became deathly calm, nothing to accompany her but the shrieking whistle of an oncoming storm, growing louder by the instant... Until it was upon her, screaming past like a wailing banshee, the locomotive that was the Wayne Monorail tearing into her world as it accelerated well beyond its safety parameters. Timing was critical, the front carriage scarcely missing the soles of her boots, the third carriage along forming the foundation of her landing. ‘Landing’ being an entirely unsuitable choice of wording as the sheer, overwhelming momentum of the rapidly moving locomotive ripped her feet out from right underneath her. Batgirl was slammed down hard onto her back within an instant, screaming as both of her knees were wrenched and her right shoulder took the brunt of the impact. Still she kept on tumbling, both the runaway train and the punishing wind resistance dragging her across the roof, Stephanie bouncing, tripping and rolling this way and that as she was utterly unable to find a secure purchase, gasping and grunting from every hard knock and severe jolt. Her ears rattled, her joints thrummed, and as she continued to tumble head over heels, the precipice of the final carriage drew ever closer. With a final shout, she tore from her belt a grapple, slamming it with all of her might into the train’s roof, gritting her teeth with almost feral determination as steel ground and sheared... until her impromptu handhold finally found purchase and she jolted savagely to a stop. She remained there, for several long moments, breathing heavily and face down atop the train, barely hanging on as the wind resistance deafened her. Ludicrous, she reminded herself, defiantly ludicrous. Earlier that night... Stubbornness was a trait Stephanie Brown had long inherited from her Uncle, an attribute that she wasn’t overly fond of at this moment in time. She grimaced visibly as she clenched both her biceps and heaved with considerable effort, her hands grasping a pole as she lifted her own body weight upwards, completing yet another chin up. The count was something that she had lost a long time ago, fortunately for her, as sweat beaded her lean physique; it was not something that she was required to do. “Ten more,” Ted Grant huffed, folding his arms and seemingly unimpressed with his Niece’s exertion. She resisted the urge to make a face, adjusting her grip only slightly as she prepared to push herself even further. For years her Uncle had been satisfied with merely ensuring that the teenager under his care was capable of defending herself, more recently ‘Cross Fit’ was a combination of words that never left his vocabulary, or her own schedule. “I seem to recall,” Bette Kane dispassionately imparted, sat apart from the others as she was, “only requiring the one arm.” There was no stopping it this time, Stephanie making a face, the young woman huffing in irritation as she struggled to fulfil her Uncles seemingly random quota. She grimaced before pride got the better of her, letting go of the pole with her left hand before folding the limb behind her back. With her brow furrowed with exertion, the blonde grit her teeth and heeeeeeaved for all it was worth, right bicep quivering every inch of the way as her chin drew ever closer to her goal... With a short cry of pain, her grip gave out and her slight frame dropped to the matt below, Brown landing unsteadily and quivering. It took a few moments for her to recover but, when she did, she was in a sour mood, annoyed at Bette Kane. Annoyed at herself. Ted Grant said nothing, observing with a critical eye before throwing his Niece a towel and then some water, the young woman accepting both gratefully as she set about composing herself. Whining wasn’t about to get her anywhere. Bette Kane, seemingly disinterested in the entire affair following her own two cents, was muttering something unrepeatable under her own breadth, sat as she was before a bank of monitors as they apparently refused to keep up with her demands. The long abandoned subway station buried beneath the Wildcat’s Gym had been undergoing a resonance in the weeks following it’s reveal to the Narrow’s Guardian Angel, the Batgirl, the eerie remnant of a time gone by now a humming cavern of purpose, progressively refitted with everything a growing girl could need to combat crime. Stephanie hadn’t felt the need to question where it was coming from. Bette knew all too well, the older blonde continuing to mutter under her breath before tying her hair back into a pony tail. “Why Kord Industries?” Kane queried without even turning her head, “We’re both well aware of a supplier closer to home.” “No,” Grant ended the argument before it could even begin. “A little distance will do her good,” he confessed by way of further explanation. “Besides,” he sighed, the Uncle in him taking over as his gaze returned to his Niece who was busy wiping herself down, “I made a promise and I broke it, so me and him ain’t exactly seein’ eye to eye right now.” “Sounds familiar,” Bette murmured, somewhat distant as her brow furrowed, listening to some manner of exchange buzzing in her earpiece. “Don’t it just,” Ted grimaced, resisting the urge to look at the former Flamebird sideways, her crutches never far away. Stephanie, having composed herself both physically and mentally, crossed the Cavern to join them both, towel wrapped about her slender shoulder as she drank greedily from her bottle. “How many?” she questioned, genuinely curious. “More than before,” Ted revealed, pride something he was unable to keep from his expression, “faster to, gettin’ to be a nippy little thing.” Stephanie smirked, emboldened by the positive reinforcement. She was swiftly brought back down to earth following a swat around the back of her head. “And pride will get yer killed,” her Uncle reminded her, the dour taskmaster returning, “gettin’ baited into makin’ mistakes is a quick way to end up in a coffin. Yer hear?” Brown nodded, the master of her reactions this time, although she couldn’t resist the urge to narrow her gaze into the back of Kane’s head. “I’ll remember it.” “I imagine not,” Bette cut in tersely, tapping away furiously at her console, “but the matter is entirely mute for the moment, that is unless you want a massacre on your conscious. Suit up Brown; you’ve got five minutes to make yourself useful.” Now... Stephanie could barely even keep her eyes open as she clung to the roof of the accelerating locomotive, tears staining her cheeks as she struggled to hold on. Her heart was unable to maintain a consistent beat as the skyline of the Narrows whistled by, the screams of those the Runaway Train tore past seeming to follow her like banshees. The temperature dropped dramatically as, with a sudden lurch, they were clean above the water, the Monorail speeding over the bay that separated her forgotten District with Gotham proper and, before she knew it, she was tearing through the city she so rarely visited. With gritted teeth, she managed to look up, the majesty of her surroundings almost mind numbing in their grandeur, the sheer scale of the buildings around her threatening to swallow her whole. “Batgirl,” the former Flamebird hissed insistently in her ear, “you have to move, you can’t allow the Monorail to reach Wayne Tower, they can’t evacuate in time, MOVE!” “I can’t,” Stephanie protested, every muscle in her slender body already taunt with exertion to simply retain her tenuous perch. “I think my legs are broken.” “Your legs aren’t broken,” Bette dismissed. “How would you know?” Stephanie protested, her knees screaming in pain. “Because you’re Batgirl!” Kane remonstrated the younger girl, Brown startled by the conviction in her tone. “People are about to die, Red Robin is still ten minutes out, suck it up and intervene.” Stephanie closed her eyes, her right cheek pressed down flat against the roof of the carriage, the world whistling by like a vengeful tornado. She let go of her secure purchase, releasing her grip before she could even begin to question her resolve and, not a moment later, the wind resistance alone began to toss her down the final carriage of the train. Only this time she was ready, the young woman clad in purple and black rolling with at least a moderation of control, her cape billowing out behind as she ripped a second grapple from her belt and SLAMMED it down to create a new purchase. She remained there for a moment, opening her eyes wide in alarm as she realised just how close she had come to tumbling right off the end of the train and falling into the abyss, crouched as she was on the very lip of the carriage like the stone gargoyles her city was famed for. She inhaled deeply, turning her blue eyes away from the precipice and once more focusing on her belt, numerous tools concealed within pouches about her waist. Whilst still clinging to the train for dear life, she plucked free a small disk from her utilities and, with a small shout, slammed the magnetic device to the rear of the train. She grimaced as she immediately pulled her hand back, her heart skipping a beat as she turned her head sideways, wishing that she could also cover her ears. As much as she had anticipated the worst, the resulting explosion was as small and controlled as she had been lead to believe, failing to harm her whilst still blasting the door from its hinges. Wasting not a second longer, Stephanie thrust out with her knees and, resisting the urge to shout out in panic, leapt outwards from the train. She didn’t go far however, still gripping the lip of the carriage as she self propelled herself into the air, the slight young woman dramatically turning herself about and, with a jaw dropping swing, whiplashed herself into the interior of the carriage. Batgirl landed in a crouch, cape silhouetting her shoulders, braced to face the oncoming storm. She was not alone. At the opposite end of the carriage stood assembled some half a dozen hostiles, anonymous in identity and clearly intent on inflicting harm. Aside from their builds, they were indistinguishable from one another, their identities obscured by the identical masks they all wore, golden in tint and smooth in features. “Anarchy,” Bette informed over the com, “or an association of.” “Don’t care,” Stephanie asserted. “Assume fanaticism,” Kane clarified. “Duly noted,” Brown conceded, flexing her fingers beneath the folds of her cape. “Gents,” she declared, catching them off guard with the levity of her tone, “one at a time?” she suggested. They advanced as one, muttering to each other with weapons drawn. “Suit yourself,” Stephanie shrugged, projecting bravado, “I’m in a hurry anyway!” Batgirl surged forwards to meet her would be assailants head on, the carriage erupting with shouts of violence as the two opposing forces collided. The neophyte vigilante was a whirlwind of motion, sprinting several steps before leaping, pulling her right arm back before slinging the almighty haymaker downwards along with her dramatic descent, slamming her fist directly into the man’s jaw and snapping his head sideways. He tumbled into a compatriot, the right hook knocking him senseless and driving his associates into disorder, the suddenness of Batgirl’s assault catching them off guard. The moment she landed, she was amongst them, the young woman armoured in purple and black unrelenting as she lived up to her Uncle’s namesake, a knee rising sharply to slam into an unprotected crotch! She grabbed another by the scruff of his neck, sidestepping quickly to render him unbalanced before she yanked him forwards, slamming his features into the metal frame of one of the train’s seats. The crack of his shattering nose beneath his golden mask joining the shouts and curses that rang out through the packed carriage, a festival of rapidly unfolding brutality. Batgirl took a rapid step backwards as a chain whistled through the air, the downward sweep of the weapon scarcely missing her wide eyed features. She backtracked again, muttering in annoyance as she surrendered further ground as the chain swung in a wide arc, Stephanie barely keeping ahead of its bludgeoning force. A third back peddle was all of the ground that she was willing to concede, Batgirl rising her left arm up and visibly wincing as the weapon smashed against her forearm. She absorbed the pain, gritting her teeth as the links of the chain spun around and snapped taunt about her limb and, before her attacker could even complete his cry of success, she held the weapon firm right where it was. Before he could comprehend his error, Brown renewed her offensive, delivering not one, but two rapid rabbit punches to the fanatics throat, a shocked, wet gurgle accompanying each, successive jab before Batgirl turned sharply about on the spot and, with a cry of her own, delivered a meaty mule kick to his unprotected gut, folding him to the ground in a gasping heap. There was no time to celebrate, not as the final assailant charged like a bull and all but drove the air right out of her small body. Slight of frame herself, she was barely half the size of the final fanatic, Stephanie forcibly exhaling a great gasp of air as she was ripped off her feet by his sheer momentum. With blue eyes wide, she continued to be held aloft as her attacker snapped both his arms tight about her midriff and squeezed, forearms digging into her spine as she was pressurised by the brutal bearhug. Batgirl’s whole body spasmend as he flexed his grip, threatening to pop at least one disk in her back as she flopped momentarily flaccid, bodily jostled left and then right as she winced in pain. Stephanie retaliated, still held aloft several inches above the ground, steeling her resolve as she braced her left arm against one of his meaty shoulders before rising her right one up. Struggling to breathe, the young woman fought on regardless, whipping the second limb downwards and slamming her elbow against the crown of her opponents head. The man grunted from behind his golden mask, and a further two follow up strikes turned his head to bobbling, his own vicious embrace slackening by the moment. A fourth and final elbow strike proved to be the key that she needed to escape her prison and, as her stunned opponent dropped her from his grasp and back pedalled several steps on unsteady legs, she landed back down onto her own feet and gratefully inhaled deeply. There was to be no rest for the bold however, not as Batgirl narrowed her blue eyes and immediately followed up on her advantage, protesting ribs be damned, the young woman charging with a shout. Grabbing the metal railings of two seats to either side of her at the last moment, Stephanie leapt, dragged and all but threw the entirety of her smaller body into a blistering dropkick, slamming the soles of both of her boots into the reeling mans chest. Like an avalanche of packed muscle, her opponent crashed to the floor of the carriage and lay insensible amongst his compatriots, Batgirl not even looking back at the carnage that she had wrought as she continued her advance, cape billowing behind her. “Did you just use an explosive device to gain entry?” Bette Kane managed to both query and scold at the same time over the cowls earpiece. Stephanie resisted the urge to sigh audibly, her handler seemingly unimpressed with the five hostiles that she had just beat into submission. “You wanted me to get in, I got...” Batgirl didn’t finish her sentiment, not as she opened the dividing door between the carriage she was in and one that came next, any defence that she might of possessed turning to lead in her throat. Sheepishly she swallowed as she could feel her complexion draining of colour, a trickle of icy trepidation tingling down her back. The entirety of the carriage before her was packed with C4, boxes and crates and more than enough to flatten anything in its vicinity filling every seat between here and the driver’s cabin far ahead. “Never mind, duly noted,” Stephanie swallowed again, heart hammering in her chest as the sheer, horrific reality of the world around her came crashing in, the skyline of Gotham tearing past the windows of the train that had been turned into a weapon of mass destruction. “Batgirl!” Bette snapped into her earpiece. Stephanie reacted immediately, snapped out of her stupor by the severity of Kane’s tone, sprinting before she even knew that she was moving. The horror of what was about to unfold should the train reach its destination lending her impedes to act, no time left to react as Wayne Tower drew ever closer, Batgirl now racing against disaster. One carriage, two, three, all of them flew by in a blur of motion as she ran from one to the next, just how long was this damn train anyway!?! Four, five, six... She burst into the final carriage, the driver compartment dead ahead, one final obstacle impeding her advance, a single figure clad in crimson, a passive, golden mask obscuring its features. “You again” the figure cried out, the pitch of the muffled tone suggesting somebody female beneath the audacious attire, a hint of recognition in its inflection. There was no time for Stephanie to question it, not as the figure called Anarchy pulled free a pistol from within the folds of her attire and immediately opened fire. Batgirl was diving before her attacker had even pulled the trigger, ducking into a roll that ate up the distance between them with the single, rapid movement, and allowed the bullet to sail harmlessly above her head. As she neatly tumbled forwards into a crouch, the vigilante reached for her belt and pulled free several, tiny pellets, throwing them before her like a handful of marbles. They exploded with hissing pops, filling the air with an instantaneous cloud of smog, immediately obscuring the vision of all involved. Of the two of them, only one of them was prepared, and Batgirl used her improvised advantage to its fullest. Surging to her feet, she darted forwards with increasing speeds before she leapt, tightly tucking her legs up tight against her chest and, with her lower limbs leading the way, all but slammed her knees into the blindsided torso of Anarchy. With the malcontent reeling, the duo of young woman crashed into one another and tumbled across the controls of the runaway monorail, the city streets of Gotham tearing past their vicious struggle. Anarchy thrashed, bubbling over with frustration as she screamed from behind her impassive features, knocking Batgirl aside and pouncing in an effort to straddle the youthful Heroine. “Do you have any idea what I’m doing?” she demanded to know, pulling a knife free from her own belt to dive it down, “Can you comprehend what is about to happen?” “I really hope you’re being rhetorical,” Stephanie countered, leaning to the left and deftly avoiding the plunging blade. She responded with a right hook, connecting solidly with Anarchy’s temple and driving her back. With a curse, her golden mask knocked askew, the girl who would be Anarchy struggled to retain character, “Why do you have to interfere? Where do you keep coming from?” “Have we met?” Batgirl queried, positively baffled by the other young woman’s pretence of familiarity. Anarchy screamed, somehow incensed by the vigilantes ignorance, lunging forwards with her weapon, “YOU WILL REMEMBER MY NAME!!” With as much muscle memory as there was deliberate intent driving her actions; Stephanie lifted one forearm to block the wild before retaliating with a pitch, perfect right fist. A blistering left hook followed, driving the young woman before her into a rubber kneed retreat, something that could not prevent Batgirl from delivering a solid boot to the underside of the villains chin, snapping the girls head backwards and sending her to the floor. “I really don’t care,” Stephanie dismissed the malcontent without a second thought now that she was a crumpled mess, turning her attention to far more pressing matters. She panicked, Wayne Tower appearing upon the horizon before her, the monolithic structure towering over Gotham with its imperious grandeur, the final stop of the Monorail and the destination of disaster. With heart thumping against her ribcage, Batgirl worked feverishly in conjunction with the commands being sternly bellowed into her earpiece by Bette Kane, all but willing the train to stop all the faster. Brakes squealed into life so severely that Stephanie was thrust forwards, the young woman exhaling a deep breadth of air as her gut slammed against the console and it was several, long, agonising moments before she realised that they had stopped... She opened her eyes slowly, unwilling to look at how close that they had come and, with every single inch of her anatomy feeling weary, her limbs puddled as she slumped down to the floor. Stephanie stayed there for what felt like a long time, feeling little incentive to start moving now that the danger had been adverted, and it took her far longer than she was happy to admit before she spotted an obvious error. ‘Anarchy’ was no longer where Batgirl had left her, crumpled in a corner; the second young woman had gone. “Well, shit...” Stephanie had never felt so grateful to feel the wind against her face. She turned her cheek into it, the smallest of grateful smiles finding her features, pure, unmitigated relief flooding throughout every inch of her exhausted body. Opening her eyes, her cowl pulled back, the young woman remembered where she was, sat upon a ledge high above the city streets of Gotham, a stone Gargoyle crouched vigilantly beside her. To her right, dominatingly the skyline stood Wayne Tower, worryingly close, whilst below the Monorail remained stationary, all manner of activity humming around it, the city’s emergency services descending in mass to render it safe. Her part was done, Stephanie reminded herself, the disaster had been averted, so why wouldn’t her hands stop shaking? “Adrenaline,” a phantom voice explained and, much to her horror, it took her a moment longer than it should have to realise that she hadn’t imagined it. Startled by the sudden appearance of a stranger so high above the city streets, Stephanie quickly turned herself about, one hand reaching for the collapsible boa staff on her belt before she hesitated, blinking a few times as she took in the other vigilante. “Easy,” the young man with raven hair held up one hand in apology, “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, bad habit,” he explained. Stephanie narrowed her eyes ever so slightly; already weary of the excessive sneaking about her new crowd were prone to partaking in before visibly relaxing. If nothing else, she was feeling far too tired to hold a grudge. “May I?” the stranger asked before approaching further, Brown surprised by the sincerity of his politeness, nodding before shuffling on the ledge ever so slightly, making room. Her new companion gratefully accepted the offered space, the two youthful vigilantes sharing a ledge. “Red Robin,” he formally introduced himself, all so very serious. “Batgirl,” she returned the gesture, inwardly cursing the fact that her own cowl was pulled back. He didn’t, however, seem to feel the need to make a point of it, something she was immediately grateful for. “Here,” the vigilante pulled a flask from his own belt, offering her the beverage inside, “try this, it will help.” Stephanie hesitated, partly because it hadn’t even occurred to her to store supplies on her own, and partly because she still wasn’t entirely certain that she could trust him. She took it after a moment, her fingers still trembling, before she took a quick sip. She pulled back in surprise, blinking several times as the warm beverage sloshed across her tongue, the taste entirely unexpected. “Tea?” she questioned. “Tea,” Red Robin confirmed, the barest hint of a smile breaking his cultivated stoicism, as awkward as it was brief, “I learned from the best.” Batgirl nodded in agreement, drinking more and feeling its warmth fill her slight frame. She held it there, that feeling, before she released a deep sigh, the tension of the evening bleeding away like a summer rain. Stephanie opened her eyes again, realising that she had closed them and, somewhat worryingly, unaware for how long. She looked about herself, trying to regain her bearings, before being forced to make a confession. “I have no idea where I am,” she explained in dejected agitation, embarrassed beyond belief. “I don’t generally come across the river.” “Not a problem,” Red Robin explained, “the least I can do is offer you a ride home.” “You have a car?” Batgirl looked over, genuinely surprised. Tim Drake’s smile returned, more awkward than ever. “Not exactly.” |