See You in the Storm

4

I walk back to my apartment in the rain, ugly cat statue in hand. The clay is sticky and at this point will never look good, so I toss it into the closest dumpster and watch two rats scatter into the alleyway. My nose wrinkles but I continue my walk. If I was a rat, I'd probably be happy, so who am I to judge?

Yeah, I'm going insane. 

When I get home, I have a text from my boss. ANY INFORMATION?

Nothing. Nada. Zero. None. But if I tell him that, I'm dead.

I don't know his name, only reputation, and I've only seen him once in passing. I'd almost peed myself because it was my 1st day on the job and he was twice my size, tattoos up his arms and scars across his face. A real bad guy. A cliche, run in the mill villain. 

THEY GO TO GOTHAM HIGH, I ENROLLED. HAVE MORE SOON. I type back.

Soon needs to be right fucking now apparently because he responds back instantly.

DO NOT DISAPPOINT VEGA. 

I cringe. I WONT. I PROMISE.

IT'LL BE HIS LIFE AND THEN YOURS.

I stifle a groan into my pillow, breath warming my face. No need to make me any more nervous. My sigh echoes through the apartment as he tells me I have no target tonight. I like the extra money but free time gives me more leg room to work on my other target. 

I need to know who the Bats are. And with his bright blue suit, Nightwing is making himself an easy target. Red Hood would kill me, no hesitation, Batman is too experienced, and the other Robins are too young to be picking fights with. Nightwing is the kindest, he's the one everyone talks about, the Golden Child of Gotham. With rock solid morals, pretty boy charm, and a "no kill" rule, I feel as though my odds are higher. 

But what I need is personality, not the cheery mask he exhausts on everyone else. Anything other than his brain melting cheer will help me better track down his alias. But I can't do that as Alina Vega.

Nightwing will have to meet Hellstorm. 

--------------------

When night falls, I slink out of my apartment through the fire escape. The rusty red set of ladders is my favorite part of my apartment, the only thing that isn't moldy or broken. I'm surprised it hasn't collapsed from the years of me sitting on it. Maybe it'll be the thing to kill me. 

My feet hit the flooded streets of Gotham with a small splash, I dodge litter and spiders floating near the gutters. Midnight fog coated the air and reflected neon signs in technicolor, light dancing over my shoes. This side of Gotham was one of the most beat up, large cracks in the roads and deep slices through the sidewalks made pedestrians few and far between.

No one looked up as I donned my mask, clicking the small button on the side that suctioned it into place, leaving no need for straps. The silver hue of it mimics lightning, coupled with the fact that it is the only gift I have received from the mob, made me genuinely squeal when I unwrapped it a year ago. To me, it is perfect, it is a comfort to have on, a wall between me and my actions. 

The rest of my suit isn't one. Just a long skin tight shirt-preferably black- and whatever dark colored pants I have that aren't bloody. Today, they happen to be leggings, the ends folded over and tucked over my dirty sneakers. 

30 minutes pass before I spot a familiar figure. He dives down into an alley from a nearby rooftop and disappears. I follow, peering down the street he went into and finding it empty. Well, empty isn't true, there's a man tied up on the floor with a red spray paint can at his feet.