Post Diluvium

2

Winter has set in over Gotham. The ground, wet and slick, glistens from the street lights overhead. The street is somewhat quiet compared to most nights, many seeking refuge from the cold wherever they can.

I slip into a shadowy alleyway, quietly walking up the fire escape, trying not to wake up my neighbors. Although I'm not in the worst part of Gotham, I'm not in the best either. They are quick to call the cops here.

I slowly enter my studio apartment through my window. I throw my hood back, I take my mask and goggles off with the same gestures, tossing them on the bed.

My long dark hair drops down, soaked from the winter rain. I walk into the bathroom, turning the light on. I squint, blocking the bright light with my hand until my eyes acclimate to the fluorescents. I yank a towel from the rack, running it under warm water, wiping the blood from my nose and mouth. I fill a small cup with water, swishing it around in my mouth. Spitting it out, filling the sink with blood. I open my mouth, looking for the source of blood. My teeth still look good, it seems like it's just my bottom lip. It's a bit swollen with a small cut on the outside, but a pretty gnarly cut on the inside. The Batman has a helluva headbutt.

I look down at my blood-soaked arm and blistered ribs. I turn on the shower, getting the water to the perfect scalding temperature. I place my batons and utility belt on the counter. I slowly take my suit off, careful of my wounds.

I step into the shower, rinsing the blood from my body. The knife wound is deeper than I thought. It will definitely need stitches. After drying off, I wrap the towel around my waist, stepping out of the shower.

Leaving the bathroom, I go straight to my record player. I need something to distract me from the pain I'm about to cause myself. I grab a random vinyl and drop the needle.

I grab my medkit, spreading everything I would need out on my kitchen counter. I plug in my spotlight lamp pointing it at my ribs. I rub some burn ointment on the blisters and tape a gauze over it.

I move the light, pointing it at the wound on my shoulder. I wipe the new blood that has begun to drip down my arm. I put a rag in my mouth to bite down on, so as to not scream. I quickly pour alcohol on the wound to disinfect it. My eyes open as wide as they can. My face grimaced in pain. I silently jump up and down, pretending to punch the wall. After the pain subsides and I calm down, taking the rag from my mouth.

I get the needle and thread ready. I shitily tie off 7 stitches, wincing in pain as the needle pierces my flesh. Finally, I tape a gauze over it. I grab an oversized t-shirt, throwing it on, tossing the towel in the hamper.

I throw my suit in for a quick wash and dry. I pour a glass of whiskey over ice, walking over to my workstation, lip-syncing to the song. I disassemble my goggles, soldering another wire next to the red, white, and green ones. This time, a purple wire. I unscrew the lens, adding even thicker ones for a clearer view and better optical zooms.

Once the suit is done in the dryer, I patch up the holes and call it a night. But once it's silent and I have nothing to preoccupy my thoughts. I start to think too much. How many people have I inadvertently gotten killed? I'm out here trying to help people, not to get them killed. That's something you just can't think about. If you do, you'll drive yourself crazy.

Suddenly, I'm awoken by my alarm going off. I don't even remember going to sleep. I roll over, turning it off. A few streams of sunlight peak through the windows. I yawn, tossing the blankets off, getting out of bed. I quickly clean my wounds, fix my hair and makeup to look presentable. I make a glass of coffee and head out the door.