She had never been so sore after a night out. She stared up at the ceiling of her small apartment, not daring to move an inch before she could do a complete assessment of the damages done to her body. The way her head was suspended upon the pillows, allowed her to see from the corners of her vision. She could just barely make out the outlines of burns that peppered her forearms in angry red and black marks. Farther up and closer to her shoulder, she could see some form of metal shrapnel buried halfway beneath her skin.

That would explain the loss of fine motor skills earlier… She couldn't help but be sarcastic, what she had done was stupid. Stupid and reckless. She had been somewhere with fancy silverware and expensive silk drapes, possibly a theme restaurant of some description, she remembered her orderly dissection of the building, her prowess in the way she had disabled the alarm, and the way she had neatly collected the cash from the safe in the back room behind a portrait of a man who looked rather like a Guinea pig, yes, she remembered all of that with astounding clarity. What she remembered most, however, was the way she had sat atop a table twiddling her thumbs and lighting fire to twenty dollar bills for two hours as she waited for someone to arrive and arrest her for breaking and entering as well as theft.

She swallowed tensely when she thought about what had happened next. The spark of boredom that had quickly been converted into raging flames of anger and irritation. On some misguided impulse for attention she had razed the place. Burned all of it to the ground and watched from the outside. What she hadn't counted on were the tanks of propane sitting under the bar. At least, she assumed it had been propane, it had smelled like propane. The explosion had sent bits of metal, glass, and burning wood flying at her. If she hadn't been physically blown off of her feet from the force of the blast, the metal shrapnel sitting inside of her shoulder would likely have ended up between her eyes.

Even she couldn't come back from that.

She blinked in surprise when she couldn't remember what had happened after that. Up until that point, she'd always believed herself to have an eidetic memory. It was beyond strange to have a… blank spot.

Her cat meowed from the bottom of the bed before heaving herself up onto it. The cat gingerly sniffed her burns and mewled in distaste, recoiling from the scent of burnt flesh.

"Bast, what do you need, baby?" She rasped, her voice sounded odd even to herself, smoke inhalation, even possible lung scarring.

The cat looked her in the eye before twisting her head in the direction of her food bowl, her whiskers twitched with impatience.

"Just… give me a second." She told her. Bast sighed and padded off of the bed and towards her food bowl to sit and wait.

She sat up and bit her tongue in pain. She concentrated on the feeling she got whenever she used her abilities and it was only a few seconds before the sharp pain in the base of her neck traveled along the ridge of her spine, changing from a dull throb into a steady sense of agony. Her skin rippled and rolled and then stilled. It repeated the action, growing quicker with each cycle until there was so little time between them that her skin gave the appearance of shimmering. A bead of sweat dripped off of her forehead and into her eyes, there was far more damage than she had originally assumed. Lesson learned, she thought, stop screwing around with propane and matches. The pain in her spine and neck had long since traveled into her skull, the throbbing would have been unbearable had it not been for the way her new skin felt when it finally touched the air. As her cells went through the process of mitosis in a highly expedited fashion, the distress created by billions of cells giving birth and dying all at once was shrouded by the dopamine that was released as each new cell took its first breath. Her eyelids fluttered in a momentary lapse in control. Shaking it off, she reached towards her left shoulder and held her hand out as the metal shard was forced out from her skin by the rippling of her body, she held it tightly in her shaking hand as she waited for the pulsing of her skin to cease. With one final heave it shuddered to a stop and she took a slow breath with her newly repaired lungs.

She stood and unconsciously rubbed her fingertips over where there should have been a repulsive scar sewing her skin together. When she realized what she was doing she snatched her hand away and went to fill up Bast's food bowl. She frowned, she could have sworn she had filled it up before she had left to go out, she shook it off quickly and continued to pour brown kibbles into the food bowl in front of her. Bast hissed in irritation as a black thumb drive fell into her bowl along with the kibbles.

She stopped pouring and stared in surprise. A thumb drive? That was ancient technology, generally nobody under the age of seventy even knew what a thumb drive was. They weren't just outdated, there weren't any companies that produced the ports necessary for them anymore. If one wasn't worth a little less than a two week old spotted banana, she supposed that they might have been rare, or even collectors' items. Though they weren't rare in the monetary sense, they weren't come by all too often outside of a tech-museum. She reached down and picked it up, rolling it around in her palm. It was plain and sleek. She turned it over and scrutinized the back, there were no discerning marks or scratches, it could have been new.

There was no question, she had to figure out what was on it. It could very well be nudes or tax returns but she doubted it. She remembered clearly now, she had filled the cat bowl with food before she'd left. There was only one possible explanation: someone had broken in, placed the thumb drive in the bag of cat food and poured the contents of Bast's bowl back into the bag.

She swallowed, clenched and unclenched her teeth, whoever had put the drive in with the cat food had wanted her to see it. Wanted her to take and open it. More alarming, was the fact that they had hidden it. They could have easily put it on her desk with a note attached reading 'Open me, love perpetrator.' Instead they had chosen to hide it but in a place where she would inevitably find it. That meant that they knew her, or at least thought they did. That also meant that they wanted her to know just how clever they were.

Regardless of the obvious shady implications she planned on seeing what was on the drive and there was only one place she knew that she could find a port that would fit the thumb drive. She cradled her head in her hands and massaged her scalp, Larsson, he's got what must be at least a hundred credits worth of outdated crap in his apartment. It wasn't even a decision, if she wanted to see what was on the drive, she was going to have to break in. Well, it's hardly breaking in if you use the key taped to the back of the doorknocker. Like Donn Larsson's obsession with antiquated technology, he had an intense distrust of the computerized automatic doors that came fitted in all of the apartments. His paranoia was acute enough that he had asked the landlord to replace it with a wooden door and then agreed to pay double his rent to keep it. Paranoia aside, Donn Larsson was a creep. He had been arrested several times on suspicion of soliciting child pornography through the use of DVDs, in addition to that, selling homemade DVD players to customers for them to play the videos on. While that wasn't necessarily illegal, the parts he had stolen to make them were.

He gave her fearful sensations on a primal level, whenever she caught him staring at her from around the corner or through the peephole in his door as she walked down the hallway with groceries, she walked a little faster, the hair on the back of her neck raised and alert. Part of her wanted to kill him just for the way when he eyed her when she left her apartment in the dark, like he wanted to shove her up against a wall and tear her apart. She could see herself one day getting fed up with his thinly veiled innuendos and just picking a day to get home early. She'd swing into his apartment by opening the window on the fire escape and lie in wait behind one of the many precarious towers of electronic equipment, broken fax machines, and ancient computers. When he got home she would stay crouched down, still and silent, until he turned around to lock the door. She'd creep up behind him, a single long piece of colored computer wire she would have yanked out from one of his systems wrapped securely around both fists. Stand on her toes, she would wrap the wire around his neck in three quick loops and then yank both of her arms in opposite directions. Listening to the sounds he'd make as he grasped frantically at wire wrapped around his neck. Sixty seconds in and he would start to feel lightheaded and weakened and would end up collapsing on the ground. Bad move. Now she would have advantage of height and would pull harder. Ninety seconds and there is permanent brain damage. The average human dies at around six minutes without oxygen, if revived their brain is medically certified mush. Larsson would only last around four and a half if the way his breath caught when he licked his lips was anything to go by. She'd leave his body in the apartment, one push and he would be buried under his towers of precious electronics. By the time anybody cared long enough to call the police, she would have incinerated the wire and established a solid alibi.

She blinked to find herself outside of Larsson's apartment door, her fingers gripping the key as she turned the lock. That fantasy had been alarmingly… vivid was the word she finally decided on. Her breathing was erratic and her face flushed as she removed the key stiffly and turned the doorknob. Fantasies are one thing, she argued, acting on them is a whole other ballpark from imagining them. Mostly convinced, she opened the door to behold the looming piles of obsolete computer equipment. A few minutes searching and she found what she was looking for near the back, a functioning old laptop that had had its casing removed and all of its components splayed out around it, each of them connecting back to the laptop by at least a foot of red and blue wire, making it look rather like a dismembered octopus. Despite this, she managed to sift through enough of the pieces to find a port that the thumb drive fit into. A few moments more of examination and she found a mouse pad and quickly opened up the file.

The drive was creatively named 'Drive' and inside of 'Drive' there were four files labeled A through D. She clicked A and a document sprung up titled 'Read.'

Bored of this city yet? It's too small, I know. It's time to move somewhere better and far more exciting. You don't need to do anything except arrive. Everything has been provided for you. Why you ask? The simple answer? You fascinate me to a degree that I find somewhat alarming. I ask for nothing in return, just that you tell no one about me. In conclusion, if you decide that you need something… different (think less the apartments from the Scribbler and more Neil Caffrey's loft) come to Gotham.

Now, if you are as smart as I anticipate you are, you are thinking 'now why on earth would I listen this anonymous, not to mention, weirdly cryptic letter inside of a drive that took me breaking into the apartment next door to open?' Her eyebrows drew promptly together. She had been played. Any minute now, some kind of top-secret military unit would break through the windows and take her away for testing. She shook herself, if there were any sort of military unit waiting for her to enter the apartment, they could have done it at any time during the first twenty minutes she spent looking for a port that fit the thumb drive. She kept reading. My answer? All you need to do is think of that little lightshow you made down at The Brookin' Inn. Propane does have a rather nasty smell (you should probably wash those clothes before you go anywhere) but you can't beat the traditional orange mushroom cloud style explosion. You have so much potential, all of which is wasted if you stay here in Symettri. Face it, you'll end up rusting away in this goddamn city. Just as much a cog in the machine as everybody else and if I know anything about you, anything at all, this scares the crap out of you. Just know, the decision it yours. Do what you feel you need to, just know, that if you stay here, you'll be just like the rest of them. You will live and die in obscurity and prove them all right.

For a long while, she simply stared at the screen, reading the letter over and over again. She stared at the screen trying to understand what she had just read. It seemed that she had procured what might be called an admirer, or a fan. She put her hands to her face and raked her nails cross her cheeks. This was bad, this was bad, bad, bad, bad… And then there was the thrill. She had an audience. A follower. She licked her lips slowly and considered. She opened the next folder, 'B.'

Cover Identity: Kaely Tress.

She promptly stiffened as she continued to read. Kaely was the perfect cover for her nightly expeditions. She quickly scanned the rest of the page before clicking back to 'Drive' and opening 'C.'

Criminal Persona: Tesla Skyre.

Tesla Skyre, she couldn't help but like it. It seemed to be the kind of name a video game character would have. Perfect, a small smile was beginning to turn up the corner of her lips. Any trepidation she had was starting to dissipate in favor for an excited bubbling feeling down in her stomach. She opened 'D.'

Possible complications: Batman.

She popped her knuckles as she read, the smile growing even wider. Hell, this was going to be fun and she lived for the thrills of 'possible complications.' Fuck thrills, if she played this right… that boredom, that feeling of bland insignificance, she could beat it. Destroy it. Burn it to the ground like she had with that building.

There was scrabbling from the door as someone attempted to try and turn the lock.

Her eyes widened in panic as she looked down next to her hand at the key that was meant to be behind the doorknocker. She furiously snatched it up and smacked her wrist into her forehead, stupid, stupid, stupid, careless! What's wrong with you? First that restaurant and then now? She frantically pulled the drive out of the computer and began to rapidly pick her way across the room towards the window and the fire escape: her exit. She gripped both the key and drive in her right hand, she should destroy the drive. It would likely burn so she'd do that. As for the key, she'd put it just under the door to make it look like the tape had lost its stickiness and let the key roll away. She was glad that her memory would allow her to remember everything on the drive, something that potentially sensitive could be damaging if anybody ever got a hold of it—

She froze. The computer.

She had left it in the hands of an antique technological expert without so much as even damaging the drive. If there were any sort of warrant served on Larsson's apartment, the computers would be ruled so outdated that their CPUs would be ruled furniture and not require any sort of extra warrant. Forget Larsson, all it took was a basic check on document history and you had her whole future cover blown. She whirled around and took a flying leap back into the apartment from the windowsill. She could hear the door opening as she reached the laptop. No, no, no, no… There wasn't enough time! Hell, normally it would have taken her at least five minutes to find all of the disassembled computer bits, not to mention find a practical way of carrying them out of the window and keep them from smashing to bits from the while swinging from the fire escape.

Her head jerked up suddenly and she quickly scooped what she could see was directly connected to the computer into her shirt. She wanted to cast a quick glance behind her to see whether or not Larsson had made it past the giant piles of hoarding collection but she knew that she didn't have enough time. It only took a few moments for her to heave the computer out of the window and all she could hope for was that it cleared the rail on the back of the fire escape.

"Hey!" Donn yelled.

She didn't dare glance back, all it would take is one instance of recognition and she was screwed. As much as she wanted to stay and gloat, she couldn't risk him catching up to her. He was in his late twenties and was by far stronger than her. While she was limber and toned, he had muscle mass on his side and would have next to no trouble pulling her backwards and away from the safety of the window.

"Get back here!" He sounded drunk and that only made her move faster.

She clambered over the windowsill and onto the fire escape. It had started to rain and she had to reach out and grasp one of the railings in order to make a sharp left turn before backing up against the far grate of the fire escape and breaking into a sprint. She had maybe three feet, four if she was lucky, of runway, but none of that would matter if she couldn't stick the jump. Her right food slid sharply and she was almost thrown down on her ass but she shot an arm out and corrected her balance. She reached the end of the fire escape and catapulted herself off of the rusting metal grate and into the air.

For a moment, she sailed downwards and towards the ground. She reached her arms out and waited for the flag pole to come in contact with her palms. This was the most dangerous bit. If her hands slipped then she'd go plummeting to her death. Even if she landed on some of her more-easily repaired organs and limbs, the fifteen story drop would likely end up making her pass out from the pain, rendering her unable to fix herself. She felt the sharp slap of metal on skin as her momentum caused her to do a complete 360. On her second go around she kicked forward and let go, launching herself through the air once again to land on the neighboring fire escape.

She crouched down and finally looked back up towards Larsson's apartment. He was attempting the crawl out onto the fire escape like she had done, except with far less grace and skill. By this point it was pouring and cold as hell.

"Come back here!" He shrieked into the rain looking forwards and down towards the street. When nobody answered, this was followed with a long string of profanity.

She just rolled her eyes and waited for him to get bored and cold enough to go back inside. A bolt of lightning snapped a couple of buildings away. Larsson jolted suddenly at the harsh white light and slipped on the wet fire escape. He lurched forwards and over the side of the railing and was just barely able to grasp the slippery metal railing before tumbling to his death like.

She sat frozen in shock. The memory of her tossing the computer over the railing in the same way assaulted her memory, the way she hadn't even heard it smack the ground over the sound of her own beating heart. If she climbed up the metal drain pipe to her left and jumped across the three or so windowsills separating them, she could get there in time.

She didn't move.

His legs dangled uselessly off of the fire escape. He seemed to take control of himself and begin pulling himself up and back onto the fire escape with his arms and the rusting fire escape railing gave a low groan. In spite of this, he pulled harder and the railing gave a cry of pain before finally snapping.

He tumbled to the ground as she watched horrified. Unlike the computer, the sound his skull made smacking the concrete was incredibly audible. Through the darkness and the rain, she could only see the faintest outline of his body and no blood, but it was obvious by the way various limbs jutted out in impossible positions that he was, without a doubt, dead.

She squeezed her eyes shut and curled into herself. Donn Larsson was dead.

Had she killed him? It felt like a good question. She had watched hundreds of movies that started like this, the protagonist has some sort of profound guilt over someone she may or may not have accidentally killed. She flexed the muscles in her neck and concentrated on the pain in the base of her skull, the skin on her palms flexed and shuddered as it began to repair itself. The pain helped clear her head and the euphoria helped beat back the cold settling into her bones. No, she decided, she hadn't killed him. She ignored the way that she had felt seeing him fall, part horror, part pleasure in the way he had been getting what he deserved. Surely, she hadn't interrupted any kind of Godly mission meant only for him. All that was waiting for him on the other side was hell, at least it would be if I were in charge.

She straightened, the skin on her palms healed and the euphoria wearing off to the point that she could feel the cold again. It was settled then, she would go back up to her apartment and pack. The computer was, without a doubt destroyed and it the fall, or the rain hadn't gotten to it, the crashing weight of Larsson's body should have.

Yes, she would go and pack. Or maybe, she'd just burn her apartment along with everything in it but Bast. That sounded rather appealing but she decided against it, it was stupid, and foolish, and I don't have any readily available combustibles that wouldn't be put out in the rain.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, for those of you who have already followed/reviewed/read this before, please, come back and read it again. I recently reread its content for a second time and thought to myself, "Jesus Christ, there is no way I had the confidence to post this?!" I believed it to be only a night mare for a full minute and a half. Unfortunately, this is not the case, so... here is the new, improved, and honest to God, much better version.