( sunday_reveries - Vigilante - a_carrion_crow )
“You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”
-The Dark Knight
Helena Kyle
Batman (Nolan)
605 words
“You don’t have to be afraid, Helena.”
The seven-year-old girl stared at her mother. The hood and goggles were off, but the costume she had on was identifiable even in the dark. “Don’t go, Momma.”
“You’ll be safe,” Selina promised her daughter. She crossed the room and knelt beside her daughter. She kissed Helena’s forehead.
“What if you don’t come home?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You could die.”
Selina went rigid. The look on Helena’s face almost made her cry, and she pulled the little girl into a tight hug. “Hey, no one’s going to kill me. Okay, sweetheart?” Helena didn’t look convinced, so Selina forced a smile. “Want to know why?”
“Why?”
“Cats have nine lives. I haven’t used any of mine yet.” That made Helena smile, and Selina kissed her on the forehead again. “Now, go to bed. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Momma?”
“What is it, sweetie?”
“Do I have nine lives?”
Selina looked at the girl for a long moment before she said, “Ninety-nine.”
Huntress, in her twenties, remembered the conversation.
Helena Kyle didn’t have even nine lives, or at least she didn’t live like she did. The most dangerous thing she did was have an affair with Joshua Crane. Granted, Huntress knew it was a stupid thing to do. Helena knew it too, really. Joshua… Well, he was a Crane. Even if he didn’t follow in the family legacy, his family might decide Helena was in the way.
Huntress, however, had at least nine lives. She wondered if the words Selina Kyle had used to soothe her young daughter were true. Perhaps she did have ninety-nine lives. The meta-gene made it feel like that, certainly. Enhanced senses, quicker reflexes, and accelerated healing made her hard to beat. If a mobster did manage to nick her with a bullet or get a lucky shot in, it didn’t slow Huntress down like it would have anyone else.
Dressed in the costume that had once belonged to Catwoman, Huntress crossed the rooftops of Gotham with ease. She’d modified the hood, removing the trademark ears, and she didn’t carry a whip. She wore the goggles, though. Not only did they protect her eyes, they protected the color of them. Through the blue-tinted lenses, her green eyes didn’t show.
Huntress glanced around, poised on a rooftop. Another socialite was dead from a heart attack, but thirty-four-year-old Adrian Wolf had been a healthy man just yesterday. There wasn’t a scratch on his body, no sign of forced entry-he’d just died. Someone was behind these deaths, she was sure. The police couldn’t catch them, couldn’t even prove it was murder, but she wasn’t the police. She’d studied every kill, triple-checked every location. It was a possibly unreliable tactic, she knew, but the crime scenes hadn’t been too far apart, not considering Gotham’s size. Wolf’s body was found well within the radius she’d established.
She perched on the ledge of the roof in the middle of her “hot zone” to wait. Chances were slim that she’d beaten whoever was behind all this back to their home or hideout, but if she was lucky enough, maybe they’d leave for another kill. She watched the roofs in front of her, listening closely for movement on those behind her and to each side. Whoever this was, Huntress felt sure, was clever enough to just operate from a hideout. If she failed to stop them, they could move the center of their operation. Moving a home was far more difficult. But Huntress wasn’t going to give them the chance to shift their hunting grounds.
This was going to end-tonight.
-The Dark Knight
Helena Kyle
Batman (Nolan)
605 words
“You don’t have to be afraid, Helena.”
The seven-year-old girl stared at her mother. The hood and goggles were off, but the costume she had on was identifiable even in the dark. “Don’t go, Momma.”
“You’ll be safe,” Selina promised her daughter. She crossed the room and knelt beside her daughter. She kissed Helena’s forehead.
“What if you don’t come home?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You could die.”
Selina went rigid. The look on Helena’s face almost made her cry, and she pulled the little girl into a tight hug. “Hey, no one’s going to kill me. Okay, sweetheart?” Helena didn’t look convinced, so Selina forced a smile. “Want to know why?”
“Why?”
“Cats have nine lives. I haven’t used any of mine yet.” That made Helena smile, and Selina kissed her on the forehead again. “Now, go to bed. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Momma?”
“What is it, sweetie?”
“Do I have nine lives?”
Selina looked at the girl for a long moment before she said, “Ninety-nine.”
Huntress, in her twenties, remembered the conversation.
Helena Kyle didn’t have even nine lives, or at least she didn’t live like she did. The most dangerous thing she did was have an affair with Joshua Crane. Granted, Huntress knew it was a stupid thing to do. Helena knew it too, really. Joshua… Well, he was a Crane. Even if he didn’t follow in the family legacy, his family might decide Helena was in the way.
Huntress, however, had at least nine lives. She wondered if the words Selina Kyle had used to soothe her young daughter were true. Perhaps she did have ninety-nine lives. The meta-gene made it feel like that, certainly. Enhanced senses, quicker reflexes, and accelerated healing made her hard to beat. If a mobster did manage to nick her with a bullet or get a lucky shot in, it didn’t slow Huntress down like it would have anyone else.
Dressed in the costume that had once belonged to Catwoman, Huntress crossed the rooftops of Gotham with ease. She’d modified the hood, removing the trademark ears, and she didn’t carry a whip. She wore the goggles, though. Not only did they protect her eyes, they protected the color of them. Through the blue-tinted lenses, her green eyes didn’t show.
Huntress glanced around, poised on a rooftop. Another socialite was dead from a heart attack, but thirty-four-year-old Adrian Wolf had been a healthy man just yesterday. There wasn’t a scratch on his body, no sign of forced entry-he’d just died. Someone was behind these deaths, she was sure. The police couldn’t catch them, couldn’t even prove it was murder, but she wasn’t the police. She’d studied every kill, triple-checked every location. It was a possibly unreliable tactic, she knew, but the crime scenes hadn’t been too far apart, not considering Gotham’s size. Wolf’s body was found well within the radius she’d established.
She perched on the ledge of the roof in the middle of her “hot zone” to wait. Chances were slim that she’d beaten whoever was behind all this back to their home or hideout, but if she was lucky enough, maybe they’d leave for another kill. She watched the roofs in front of her, listening closely for movement on those behind her and to each side. Whoever this was, Huntress felt sure, was clever enough to just operate from a hideout. If she failed to stop them, they could move the center of their operation. Moving a home was far more difficult. But Huntress wasn’t going to give them the chance to shift their hunting grounds.
This was going to end-tonight.