So yeah, I again want to stress that I obviously don't own DC or have any rights toward it. Enjoy the chapter.

Four months ago, The Justice League had gone to war. Upon return, it still raged. Oddly enough, no other crisis had come along; Batman might even consider his extended time from apocalyptic events a vacation. Most of his villains were locked in Arkham, though many were no doubt planning for their next escape. Batman, or rather, Bruce Wayne, had made some helpful donations in an effort to upgrade the mental facility. It would take the inmates some time before they figure a way past the new security. Batman found himself dealing with petty criminals nearly every night. The occasional psychopath would show his face every now and then, but nothing Batman couldn't handle.

Surprisingly, his routine patrol of Gotham's darker side turned up hardly anything at all. Either all the criminals were sleeping or they were just too frightened to venture out without one of the more well-known villains keeping Batman's attention.

"Criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot."

Batman had said those words often before, and now he found them running through his mind. His gaze narrowed, staring out over the streets below. He stood upon the edge of a flat roof, slick with the rain that had showered Gotham earlier in the night. The moon shone with pale, ominous light behind the dark clouds, throwing eerie shadows across the city. The gentle rumble of distant thunder foretold the passing of a new storm in the near future. Batman never enjoyed a night in the rain, and it didn't seem as if much would be happening later in the night. As morning drew near, the alleys had remained silent, and the bat signal was still dark.

He turned, flicking up his wrist to press a button on his gauntlet. A near silent beep rose for a second into the air before the gadget responded, setting the Batmobile on a course for his position. Warm droplets of water assailed his powerful frame as a sudden gale tore at his black cape. It flapped dramatically behind him. The all too familiar rumble of the Batmobile drew closer, when it was interrupted by a strange sound. The hoot of a Great Horned Owl.

Batman glanced up, searching for the creature. He found it perched on a rooftop across from him, predatory eyes sharp and focused. If it was even possible to lock eyes with an animal, Batman had just managed it. The two glared at each other for a few moments before the Batmobile screeched to a stop on the street below, and the nocturnal bird of prey, with a mighty flap of its wings, rose into the sky before Batman could react. It quickly became nothing more than a distant shadow.

Gotham doesn't see birds like that often.

He wished he would have put a tracker on the thing. It was unlikely that the bird had strayed into the city. Batman immediately suspected Penguin, but the devilish man was locked securely in Arkham. Perhaps he had found some way to control his birds from inside the asylum? Batman pondered paying the man a visit, but he didn't have enough proof. Perhaps, in the future, he would catch site of the bird again, and perhaps, it would be doing something a lot more incriminating than simply sitting atop an empty warehouse. Then he could confront Penguin.

Batman reached for his cape, holding tightly as he made a leap off the building. He glided easily down toward the Batmobile and climbed in, deep in thought. He'd drive slow, and be vigilant. It would still be a few more hours before light began seeping into the sky, and with darkness shrouding Gotham's more dangerous streets, one could never predict what might happen next.

The girl looked about twenty two or so. She sat in the protective shadow of a dumpster in one of Gotham's many alleys, staring absent mindedly ahead towards the crumbling brick wall of an old café that closed years ago. The city had never bothered tearing it down, along with most of the Gotham slums.

Who am I?

She often found herself wondering. She didn't know who she was. Abandoned as young as she had been, the streets and foster home were all she knew. Sure, they had a name for her back at the home, but she never cared to acknowledge it. It wasn't her name. Not her real one, anyway. Did her parents ever actually give her a name? She couldn't remember that they did, but then, she never really was good at remembering things anyway. She knew how to survive, and that was important, nothing else ever really interested her. She had hated the foster home, and ran off the first chance she had gotten. That had been years ago, and she preferred life on the streets. She felt free, roaming Gotham. Learning how to hold her own against those that would seek to harm her, as she had been harmed in many ways before, and learning the art of free running and stealth so that she could swipe food from a street side stand or steal warm clothes from an apartment on the seventh floor.

She had always been a bit of a trouble maker. Had a record. Would probably never have a future anyway. Her parents had probably thought the same. That was probably why they had left her on the curb and ran. It didn't matter, though. She was alive, and she knew how to stay alive. That was all she needed. Her past, she could throw away. It didn't matter. Her dreams, she could discard. They'd never come true. All that was important was the present, and how she managed to not just survive in it, but thrive in it.

Sure, it was tough. She'd always find someone stronger or faster than her. Always would be challenged by someone smarter than her. But her failures made her stronger, and she learned from her mistakes quickly, and rarely made the same one twice, because on the streets of Gotham, you only had one chance. She knew Batman had never been around when she had needed him, and she knew he wasn't likely to show up and save the day in the future, either.

Why am I here?

Gotham was such a terrible place. A place where not a single step went unnoticed and every breath was an insult to the people around you. A place where a second of eye contact could result in death. A place where every man was for himself, corrupted by wealth and power. They all had names for themselves. Black Mask and Rupert Thorne were good examples. And then there was the high and powerful Bruce Wayne, who sat upon his pedestal at the top of the hill. She had never saw Bruce Wayne in slums of Gotham like the other two, however, but that didn't place him in any higher standard. He was rich, and he was famous, and so he too, was on her corrupted lords list. They were all the same, as far as she was concerned.

She wasn't like them. She didn't have an image. She was a simple, skinny white girl with long, tangled brown hair and dark brown eyes. She didn't have the sleek and groomed look of the more powerful people. She was lanky, not buff and handsome. Her chin was too square for the roundness of her forehead, and her bones stuck out. She didn't have a name because she didn't need one. No one would ever remember her. No one would care when she died. Although she often took to the name of Owlette. She had made the name up one night when she had seen an owl fly overhead. The magnificent bird had immediately caught her attention, as it dove in to pluck a mouse from the dumpster, it talons razor sharp and gleaming. Owlette had been her alias ever since. Who needed a real name, anyway? She thought the name suited her, and her passion for birds. If only she had wings, so she could fly like the owl had, with grace and power. Owlette smiled. She could see herself with wings, soaring above the rooftops.

It took her a moment to realize she was drifting off. Her lids had grown heavy, and her vision was blurred with exhaustion. Her muscles had relaxed in the time she had taken to rest, and she didn't want to stir them again. They ached from her weeks of near constant action. The moon was grinding against the horizon. Soon, the sun would rise. If she was going to sleep, she might as well get in a few hours before her usual hunt for breakfast. Owlette leaned against the dumpster and sighed. She didn't feel like moving, and she was already used to the stench of the garbage. She decided to simply doze where she was, somewhat hidden from unfriendly eyes. Her eyes were starting to close when she heard it. Heavy footsteps, coming down the alley she had been relaxing in.

A shadow emerged at the alley's end, stalking closer to her position. Had she been spotted yet? Owlette didn't want to risk exposing herself, but as the person, who she quickly discovered to be a rather heavy set, older man, drew dangerously near, she decided to bolt. Owlette slipped hastily from her position, twisting blindly around the dumpster to sprint for the opposite side of the alley. She slammed into something hard before she could reach her second step. The painful impact knocked her backwards, to the ground, and she looked up to discover another man staring down at her, a smirk planted across his lips. Owlette hadn't noticed him before.

"Wow!" He whistled to himself. "I can't believe my luck." His voice was deep and rough, and his tone, while delighted, possessed a malicious ring. The other man closed in to cover her escape route.

"She practically leapt into our hands." The first man commented darkly, his rotten teeth catching the dim light of the moon as he smiled. The second leaned in, drawing a knife from his sleeve.

"Guess we'd better count our blessings." The second chuckled as the first snatched up her arm.

No! I gotta get away!

Owlette hissed as she whirled on the man who had grabbed her, and kicked him square in the crotch.

Oh dear, I seem to have ended with a cliff hanger. Guess you'll just have to wait for the next chapter to find out what happens too Owlette! :D