Sorry this took so long. Yeah, I know. I suck. LOL.
Gotham City. Broken, decrepit, crime-ridden, and the only place she'd ever called home. Despite what Batman might have intended, she wasn't leaving. Huntress wasn't stupid, nor was she oblivious. She'd known all along what his intentions had been. Batman, or Bruce Wayne as she'd deduced, had wanted Huntress out of Gotham, and chosen the Justice League as his way to do it. Most heroes who joined the league switched their base of operations to the Watchtower and stayed there full-time. Rarely did they work from anywhere else. Huntress would be the exception.
From high above the skyline of Bludhaven, she enjoyed the view of Gotham. From across the river, it seemed bright, cheery. It was night, so all the buildings with their bullet holes and burnt out shells were hidden. One could almost think it pretty. Then one would hear the sporadic beats of gunfire and the undertone of voices carrying on the wind, both decidedly negative and see the city for what it was. Dirty. Evil. Home.
The newspapers wondered how anyone could stay and live in a city with the highest crime record in the country (with the actual highest being in the county of Gotham, Bludhaven). The truth was, sometimes, watching criminals walk free, the good people be driven away, and the innocents slaughtered made even Helena falter. In the end, she stayed. Where else would she go?
Italy, her home country, was not an option. Despite her father being killed years ago, and her own mother's subsequent death, the families of Italy remembered. They were like elephants that way. Long memories, long reach, and a decided hate for small things that got in their way. Helena wouldn't even get on the same street with them.
No, sirree, Batman was not going to get his way. This little thing with the Justice League had made her think. It'd made her realize that she wasn't alone in her need of justice. She wasn't alone. For years, this quest of her, starting small and getting larger, had consumed her dreams. She'd hated watching the small people burn, and the large ones remain high and mighty. Finally, she'd gotten fed up. Had to do something. Had to do anything.
Huntress had come about one late September night. Chilly in the fall, slight fog on the river. Wasn't that always how it started? An eerie night, with vague memories scratching on your door? Muggers not even about, such is the air. An echoing laugh down the street (surely the Joker is about), and a hint of Ecstasy lingering near a store (Catwoman).
Helena had started for home from the Elementary School where she'd just started working. It had been so long ago mentally, though really only two years linearly. The streetlights flickered about, the wind scuttling the few leaves on the ground. Unconsciously, she'd pulled her coat about her and held her purse tighter. Just today a fellow teacher had been mugged on the way into the school. Twenty yards. That's how far it was between the parking lot and the school. Not far, but far enough.
She'd made it to the car, was in fact stepping in, when a sight caught her eye. Across the lot, a large limousine had pulled up next to a few kids who'd been lingering about the playground. Only three of them, the youngest six, the oldest ten. Suddenly, so fast that she was barely aware of the movement, still sliding into her car as she was, a long arm reached out and grabbed the smallest, and youngest child. A girl. Long black braids, tawny skin, and big doe eyes. The epitome of an innocent. A reminder of a little girl. A reminder of a girl who'd watched her father get gunned down. A scared girl.
Helena was running before she realized. Taking off after an already speeding away limo. The other children had run at the first sign of trouble. She was alone. Watching that little girl get taken away.
All was silent. Even the sound of the limo had faded away. She'd tried to get to her car, to follow, but by the time her old heap had gotten started up, the limo had been long gone. The little girl. Gone. No one saw anything. No one would see anything. Limos mean power. Money. Such things that make so big an event, not even a blip in the paper.
Helena had been so angry. Enraged. She'd screamed for the police. For anyone. She'd screamed until she was hoarse and couldn't speak the next day. She'd banged on her car roof. On the sidewalk where she'd stood and watched that little girl disappear. She'd banged until her fists bled and her vision blurred. Tears. Tears of anger, of frustration, of remembering. Memories are a tainted thing. They make things bigger than they are, and some smaller than they should be. Huntress knows this. Huntress lives for it. Memories keep you alive. Memories keep you sane. Memories.
How is it she came to be sitting here? Cape, mask, and vaguely sexual costume? Had there been some sign, some signal of her childhood that said she'd go against everything she was born into, and become a symbol for good, smeared though it was? She'd no family, no friends as a girl. No one to give her solace. No one to explain.
Maybe that's why she was always on this crusade for good. Good was truth. Bad often lies. Maybe all her life she'd been searching for the truth, and she could only find the answers she liked on the side of good. Maybe, in truth, there was no good or bad. Shades of gray. Shades of temperance.
The wind in her hair, and shiver-me-tenders on her arms reminds Helena of who she is and where. A brief flying shadow draws her attention to Dick's penthouse window, and she watches as Batgirl slides inside. Dick isn't there, but he will be soon. The old Helena would have gone in, confronted the woman who held Dick's heart. The new Helena, born of old memories, and new realizations, wouldn't. Love was strong. Love was weak. Love was in shades and in spades. You only had to look.
Huntress rose and started for home. Despite the circumstances, she smiled. A small streak of wickedness floated in her mind, bringing along with it the old phrase from her childhood. Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, I'll cut you.
What sweet memories.
FIN
YAY! That ends the prequel, folks. You know what this means? THE SEQUEL. We finally get the end to the big story, and aren't we excited? YAY! I know for a fact, that if you bribe Kerianne with cookies and naked photos of Q, she might give you a hint to the sequel, what little she does know, she being my most wonderful sounding board...
WOOT WOOT.