Behind The Red Hood

Knowledge is Power (Gwen)

Longer chapters to come- I swear (I'm getting used to the whole story writing thing)

Slowly entering my apartment, I went to the kitchen sink. I crouched down and opened the cabinet and grabbed my handgun that was located in a box behind some dishwasher soap. I walked down the hall to bedroom and swung the door open pointing the gun in front of me. "Meow" I sighed noticing my neighbor's cat sitting by my shattered vase. I was getting too paranoid. After shooing the cat out the fire escape, I walked back to the kitchen and tucked the gun away. Sitting down at my kitchen table I ran my fingers through my hair. I can't keep working myself up over every shadow I see and every creak I hear. The annoying ring of my cellphone echoed my small apartment whipping me out of my trance. I dug my cracked IPhone out of my white purse. The number on the screen read as 'Unknown' but I knew who was on the other end: my source.

I first started receiving calls from my anonymous source a year ago, right after I came back from Stanford and written my first piece as a freelance journalist. My source mainly gave me locations or names, nothing more. When I first heard from my source, I was skeptical and promised that I would not go to the location he gave me. Needless to say my curiosity got the best of me and I went anyways. That was when I wrote my first piece on organized crime in Gotham, taking down the mobster Tony Zucco in the process. Afterwards, I wasn't the most popular girl in town especially with the mobs; still, that didn't stop me. I have grown to appreciate and trust my anonymous source and the little hints he gives me.

When I answered my phone the familiar grating voice greeted me, "Lower East Docks, Warehouse 7, midnight." I inwardly groaned, so much for an early night.

"Perhaps my source, will choose to disclose their identity to me," I paused "we have been working together for a whole year." Per-usual my source said nothing more and the line went dead. I looked over to the clock. Hey, at least I have a few hours to spare. I went to my room, cleaned up my broken vase and tugged on some yoga pants and a black sweatshirt. Not the sexiest outfit in the world but it would serve my purpose. Making my way back to the kitchen/ living room, aka the only other room in the house, I turned on my stereo and plugged in my IPhone. The first song to come on was Ramble On by Led the legend Zeppelin. Since I hated coffee, I relied on 80s rock music to keep me up. Swishing my hips, dancing around the kitchen, I made my self some beautiful leftover Hawaiian pizza. 

I sat down at the table and I opened my laptop going to the Gotham Tribune website. The site was littered with pictures of the Batman and Robin followed by titles such as "The Capped Crusader takes the Riddler back to Arkham." I swear, it seems like anyone can escape that place. I sighed and closed my laptop. It's not like I don't appreciate everything Batman does, hell he saved my life six years ago, I just feel like I'm sitting on the story of a lifetime. Every time I thought that, I pushed the idea out of my head. I owed him. After "the tragedy" –that's what my shrink calls it- I became obsessed with Batman; and when I was seventeen, I figured out who the Caped Crusader was. I knew all about Bruce Wayne and his little birdies.