100YoP Chapter Twelve "... I hope you got me confused for someone else." (Patreon)

The smell of freshly brewed coffee and toast on the stove lingered in my kitchen while I had breakfast, reading property prices and rates on my phone and feeling sunlight filtering through the window and warming up my back.

Outside my window, I could hear buskers playing and people walking, forming an orchestra of Gotham’s few early birds, a rare and mistreated tribe. Cars started to come and go, traffic begun to pile up almost immediately, a few children enjoyed the freedom of a weekend to play on the streets.

It was a nice, peaceful, domestic moment. Naturally, as soon as I realized it and begun to appreciate it, it was interrupted by three sharp knocks on my door.

“No puedo tener nada bueno, me cago en Dios,” I grumbled, setting aside my mug. I took a moment to put on my civil human being persona before opening the door, and smiling at my neighbor. “Hey, Isa. Headin’ off to work?”

Ms. Isa Lawrence was my upstairs neighbor, but I managed not to hold it against her on account of her being a single mother of three and a nurse that regularly got stuck with twelve-hour-shifts. She was a black woman of average height, with calloused hands and wide hips and a perpetual look of exhaustion on her face.

“Yeah, actually, I had to ask you for a couple of favours, Mr. Reyes,” she said. “D’you think you can look after Mike and Nykee when they come back from school? I know you keep a busy schedule, but-”

“It’s cool,” I assured her. “I was only gonna look around some stuff today, but I can do it tomorrow. And I told you, you can call me Sam.”

She sighed with relief, “I appreciate it, it’s just the hospital had been so busy, and-”

“Hey, hey, chill,” I waved her in, “C’mon, I just made some coffee and I’m guessing you were just going to settle for some of that hospital garbage?”

“Oh, no, I’m almost late-” she said, but I could see the smell was tempting her.

“I ain’t gonna keep you,” I assured her. “I got some of those travel mugs, you can grab one of those and go if you like.”

“I... oh, alright,” she walked in, giving me a smile. “Thanks, Mr. Reyes.”

“No problem. One sugar with no cream, right?” At her nod, I looked around, cleaned up a travel mug that was kinda filthy and started drying it with a rag. “Why’d you need me, though? I thought Kamasi was lookin’ after his siblings?”

“That’s... actually the other favour I wanted to ask,” she said, and I saw her wringling her hands while I poured. “Kamasi... he’s been stayin’ out late recently. Hanging out with some kids that I’m not so sure about.”

“Ah,” I said, walking over and handing over the mug. “You want me to talk to him?”

“Please?” she asked, “I know he still looks up to you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I used to run with the Blackgaters,” I pointed out. “Ain’t that kinda counter-intuitive?”

“You got more of a shot than I do.”

Well, fuck. How do you answer to that?

“... sure, I’ll give it a go.”

Oh, like that.

“Thanks, Mr. Reyes, I really appreciate it,” she said. She searched her pocket and handed me a copy of her keys, “There’s some stuff to warm up in the fridge, so you ain’t gotta cook. Remember when the kids leave school?”

“Sure, I still got it written down ‘round here somewhere,” I said. “Need me to pick them up?”

“Nah, they take the bus,” she started walking towards the door, “Thanks for this, Mr. Reyes. Really.”

“Just bein’ neighborly, Isa,” I said, walking with her. “Anything else you need, just call.”

“I will,” she assured me, even if we both knew that wasn’t true. “I’ll head out. Double shift today.”

“Hope it’s a slow one,” I told her. I waited until she was at the stairs before I closed the door, cleaned up my kitchen, grabbed a few stacks of money, sent a couple texts delaying the hunt for a place for my club, and started heading up the stairs to Isa’s apartment.

Mike and Nykee were already off at school, and I couldn’t find a trace of Kamasi outside of his bedroom, dimly lit and decorated with posters like a typical teenager’s. The Lawrence apartment was a lot more decorated and a lot less tidy than mine, so I started cleaning up.

I picked up a half-finished Lego construction of Mike’s, plus a few loose bricks, and set them carefully in the counter to avoid splitting off anything. Then a couple of dirty clothes that were spread around the place where separated by colours and fabrics and put on the couch.

I opened the windows and started dusting, trying to air out the room a little, before I got sweeping and vaccuuming the place. Once that was done, I put all the clothes piles in separated bags and carried them to the building’s basement, where I used about four washing machines and set a timer on my phone for half an hour before rushing back upstairs.

I cleaned up the stove to get rid of some grease stains and other assorted filth, then filled a big, mostly-clean pot with water and set it on the stove to heat up with some dish soap. Once it was near-boiling, I took it off the stove and put the dirty utensils and silverware in, so I wouldn’t have to waste that much water on it.

I got about half the plates done before my phone started going off, so I paused to go down to the basement, put the clothes in the drier, then go back upstairs and finish the dishes.

I spent most of the day like that, organizing and cleaning what I could without carrying out too much of a violation of privacy. I didn’t go into anyone’s bedroom and I didn’t check out the toiletries, but by the time I was done the house was pristine.

And seeing how there was still about half an hour before the kids got out of school, I went to my apartment, got some things and started cooking. Homemade burgers sounded good, and I already had everything for them.

I was just about done preparing the meat when the door opened, and a little black boy with a shaved head came in, saying, “I don’t get it, what did mom mean- SAM!”

In a flash, Mike ran into the kitchen and threw himself at me, hugging my leg like a little sloth.

I laughed and quickly washed my hands so I could put a hand on his head, giving it an affectionate rub. “Hey, lil’ man. C’mon, back up, I wanna get a good look at you.”

He did, and I crouched down. He was a little on the skinny side, but not worringly so. Especially when paired with that big, gap-toothed smile he was giving me.

“Damn,” I said, “You grew up strong, didn’t you? C’mon, show me that arm.”

He obliged, flexing and looking very proud at the muscles I’m sure he imagined were there.

“Man, I’m not gonna be able to call you ‘lil’ man’ much longer, huh?” I gave him a pat, then looked over his head to find Nykee staring at me with wide eyes. “Hey, look at you! Wassup, Nick?”

“Sam,” she said, looking a little surprised. “It’s been a while.”

“That it has,” I agreed, lifting up Mike and setting him on the counter. “Your mom asked me to come over, look after y’all while she’s at work.”

She frowned, then looked around as she walked in and closed the door behind her. “She ask you to clean and cook too?”

“Nah, that’s just me bein’ nosy,” I said. “Hey, you know where your mom keeps her cash, right?”

“Yeah?”

I reached into my back pocket and tossed her the stack I’d brought from home. “Can you put that there? Would’ve found it myself, but I figured she wouldn’t’ve liked me doin’ it.”

She caught the stack with a wide-eyed look, snapping her head to look at it, then at me, then back at me and so on. Eventually, she went without another word, and I got back to cooking while Mike talked to me about his day, telling me about what he learned in school and about his friends.

I liked Mike. He was the only one of Isa’s kids that still seemed to like me, or at least not fear me. Nykee and Kamasi used to be the same way, but time had brought understanding and being told the story of how their mom and I met.

Nykee went to her own bedroom after stashing away the money in her mom’s room, giving me a careful look but staying distant. I was pretty sure she was fourteen and that Mike was eight at the time, though it’d been almost four years since I’d had to baby sit them.

Once the door closed behind her, I tuned back in to what Mike was saying.

“... but I don’t like Joe,” he said, pouting. “He’s always messin’ with me and snitchin’ to the teachers.”

“Seriously?” I asked. “And nobody beats his ass?”

“That’s what I asked!” he said, exasperated. “But nobody does nothing to him because he’s always got the test answers, and he sells them behind the gym!”

I clicked my tongue, “Damn, he the business type, huh? Those are always a pain to be on the wrong side of.”

“No kiddin’,” he sighed. “He’s a punk bi-”

“Watch it.”

“... I ain’t say it,” he said. “And the worst part is he’s always got the big kids backin’ him up!”

“That’s a bitch,” I said, smirking at the outraged look he got. “So what’chu gonna do?”

“I’mma beat his ass, that’s what,” he said. “I asked Kamasi to teach me to fight, but he’s never around now.”

“That so?” I left the meat to cool for a second, once it was perfect for the patties, and went to wash my hands again. “Want me to give you some tips later?”

“Really?!” he asked, wide-eyed.

“Sure,” I shrugged. “I’ve been known to throw down here and then, and I ain’t lose often.”

“Kamasi never loses,” he remarked, full of that big brother worship that would go away in a couple years.

“Well, if he ain’t show up then you’re gonna have to make do with me,” I said, drying my hands. “But no matter who teaches you, you gotta promise me something.”

“What?”

“Talk to the young blood first,” I said.

“What?! Are you crazy?!” he asked, full of childish indignation, “He’s a snake!”

“I don’t doubt that,” I said, “But would you rather fight a snake or have a snake help you out?”

He frowned, unconvinced.

“Look, you remember that samurai movie we saw when you was little?” I asked, and he nodded with enthusiasm. I think he still had some posters from the samurai and ninja obsession that awakened. “Remember how the samurai had that code of honour and shit?”

“The bushido,” he said, nodding seriously as he quoted the film from memory. “The code that separates a samurai from a bandit, and a man from a rabid hound.”

“Right,” I said, heroically managing not to laugh or even chuckle. “Well, part of that code is that a sword is at its most useful when it’s sheathed, you feel me?”

“Why, tho?”

“Because there ain’t no one badder than the crazy motherfucker that can end a fight without raising a hand,” I said, pointing at him. “Remember that.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but nodded.

I checked the meat, then nodded at him, “Mind callin’ your sister?”

He stretched his hands out and I obliged, lifting him off the counter and landing him on the ground. He ran off, knocked over and over on Nykee’s door before she shouted at him to come in, then he opened it, stood there, t-posed, and told her that I wanted to talk to her before he ran off to his room before she could throw a pillow at him.

She stormed over, glaring at her brother before looking at me, “What?”

“I wanted you to ask your brother if he was bringin’ company, and how many burgers I should make,” I said. “I’m making them pretty packed, so I’m guessing you two will be havin’ one each, right?”

She blinked, then rolled her eyes, “Kamasi’s not gonna eat with us.”

“Just tell ‘im I’m here and I asked that,” I said. “Please.”

She sighed, but tapped away at her phone for a moment. A little later, she grumbled, “He’s bringing one friend, they’ll be having two burgers each.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You got homework?”

“I was doin’ it when you called,” she grumbled.

“Need help?” I offered, “I might be a lil’ rusty, but I still know my shit.”

She looked at me for a while, before sighing and agreeing.

She sat down at the counter with her folder and things, and I helped her work out some math problems and gave her tips for her History essay. It’d been a long time since I helped her with her homework, but eventually we fell into a comfortable rhythm. She was even joking as I cooked and talked.

Kamasi arrived to me chuckling as she excitedly told me a story a bit later, accompanied by a young soldier.

Kamasi was only a bit shorter than me, which still left him taller than most, with the hints of a patchy beard starting to show up on his face. He had long hair, cut at the bottom of the sides, set in dreadlocks and tied back in a ponytail. He was still wearing the chain I got him for his twelfth birthday, four years back.

His friend was about Nykee’s height and pudgier, kinda baby-faced and with a shaved head. He was bundled up for Gotham’s cooling weather, wrapped in a grey hoodie and a black bomber jacket. He had rings on every finger, a tattoo on his neck and a smoke on his mouth.

As soon as the door opened and we looked at each other, Kamasi froze like a deer in the headlights, giving me a wide-eyed look and swallowing nervously. His friend gave him and me a weird look, then shrugged and walked around him to get inside the apartment.

“Sam,” said Kamasi, staring at me.

“Kamasi,” I nodded at him, before turning to look at his friend, who was making his way towards Nykee. “What’s your name?”

He stopped walking, looked at me, and scoffed. He smiled at me like I was joking, and finding nothing but a flat look coming from me, he said, “I’m Ghost, man.”

“You’re gonna be a ghost if you don’t put that the fuck out,” I said, pointing at his smoke.

Ghost looked at me weird, while Nykee smiled slightly and Kamasi closed his eyes.

“Are... are you fucking serious?” he asked, looking between me and Kamasi. “Yo, Mass, who does this guy think he is? This your dad, nigga?”

“Ghost,” Kamasi said, low and serious, “Just put out the fucking smoke, man.”

Ghost looked incredulous, but eventually agreed, tossing the lit smoke on the ground then looking at me like he was challenging me to see what I would do.

I looked at him for a moment, then turned to Nykee, “Nick, you mind puttin’ your things away and setting the table?”

“Sure, Sam,” she said, her shit already stacked in her hands by the time I asked. She rushed off to her room, giving Ghost a wide berth.

The two young adults stood there for a minute, before I gestured for them to sit down. They did so, and I pretended not to listen as they whispered behind my back while I finished dinner.

“Yo, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your place this clean, man.”

“Yeah, that happens when Sam comes over.”

“So he’s like your maid or some shit?”

“Nigga, shut the fuck up!” he whisper-screamed. “Look, just play nice, a’ight?”

“Why tho?”

“I’ll explain when he’s not right fucking there,” Kamasi hissed. “Just play along, man.”

“Fine,” Ghost sighed. “Can’t believe you’re this afraid of a mexican in an apron, tho.”

“Argentinean, actually,” I said, making them both jolt a little. “What you want on your burgers?”

“... what’chu got?” asked Kamasi.

“Onion, cheese, guacamole, eggs, lettuce, tomato, bacon, and I brought some of my homemade spicy sauce. You remember that?”

That actually got a smile out of Kamasi, “Yo, how could I forget? I felt like I was shittin’ fire for a week, man.”

“So you want some?”

“Fuck yeah,” he smiled, “And some bacon, lettuce and tomato, too.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“... please.”

I nodded. Once everyone gave me their orders (everything on both for Ghost, bacon and guacamole for Mike and tomato, lettuce and spicy sauce for Nykee) and the table was set, we all got to eating.

It was awkward as shit, naturally. The only ones that didn’t seem to notice were Mike and Ghost, the latter humming approvingly as he ate.

“Damn, man,” he said, licking sauce off of his fingers. “I dunno where you came from but if you cook like this you can stay.”

“... Thanks,” I said, turning to look at the others. “Y’all liking yours?”

I got nods from everyone, with Nykee chiming in, “You really made this red sauce?”

“Been workin’ on the recipe since I was ten,” I said, a bit of pride entering my tone. “This from my best batch yet.”

“‘s a good spice,” she said. “Starts slow but really sticks in the aftertaste.”

“Yeah, maybe you should slow down, tho,” Kamasi said, looking at her. “I remember goin’ wild on this shit and regrettin’ it.”

“Like you fuckin’ care,” Nykee sneered.

Kamasi drew in a breath and I saw Mike shrink back in preparation for an argument, but I spoke up first. “Nykee, don’t talk to your brother like that. He’s just checkin’ on you.”

She gave me a defiant frown, I returned a flat look, and she looked down and muttered, “Sorry, Sam.”

“Don’t apologize to me.”

“... sorry, Kam.”

“It’s cool,” he said.

We ate in silence again for a while, until I saw that Mike and Nykee were done. Then, I said, “So, Kamasi. You’re keepin’ busy?”

“Uh, yeah, man, y’know how it be,” he shrugged. “Workin’ where I can.”

I looked at Ghost, then at him. “A’ight, no one at the table’s a cop and I checked for wires when I was cleanin’, so we can do away with the bullshit. What crew you runnin’ with?”

Kamasi got a very nervous look on his face, but Ghost didn’t notice. He just spoke up, saying, “How you know my man here ain’t an honest worker, son?”

“... for your sake, I hope you got me confused with someone else,” I said, very slowly. “Because I think I just heard you call me ‘son’, and I’d rather not have to shoot someone in another person’s house.”

“The fuck you say to me?!” he shouted, standing up.

“Ghost, man, wait-” Kamasi started, but Ghost walked around him and started pulling up his shirt.

“Man, you better apologize real fuckin’-” That was as far as Ghost got before, while still sitting, I reached over, removed his gun from his pants and pulled back the top part before it came clean off, bullets spilling out freely.

I set down what was left of the gun on the table, looked at Ghost and said, “I think you best walk out before someone gets hurt, son.”

Ghost looked at me, then at Kamasi.

Kamasi wasn’t looking at him. Kamasi was very carefully looking down at his plate and covering half of his face with his hand.

Seeing that support wasn’t coming, Ghost puffed up like a cat and sneered, showing yellowing teeth. “Whatever, nigga. Your food ain’t all-”

“I said walk, youngin’.”

He walked. The door slammed behind him and I was left at the table with Nykee, Mike and Kamasi, all of whom looked like they’d much rather be anywhere else.

I looked at the two younger, “Guys, could you take your plates to your rooms? I gotta talk with your brother for a minute.”

They didn’t even say anything as they left, limiting themselves to giving their older brother a look on their way out.

We sat there in silence for a bit. I had a whole burger left, while he had half of one. I ate mine up, and he just sat there, fists on both sides of his plate, not making eye contact while I took my time eating.

“... did mom ask you to talk with me?” he eventually said, looking at me with his head still tilted down.

I didn’t answer, focusing on my burger.

“Look, I told her I wasn’t doin’ anything serious,” he said, a little angry. “It’s just some hustling. Shit, half the time I’m just hangin’ with Ghost and some of the guys.”

I took a sip out of my coke.

“It’s not like I’m killin’ people,” he continued. “A’ight? I’m not. If I do any crimes, they’re victimless.”

I went back to my burger. A big bite pushed out some sauce, staining my fingers.

He stared at me for a moment, increasingly annoyed until he snapped, “Well? Say something, nigga!”

“You should learn to handle silences better,” I said between licking my fingers.

“... what?”

“Cops do what I just did all the time. Keep quiet until the suspect gets nervous and starts runnin’ their mouth; pushing out their own guilt and doubts,” I gave him a flat look. “Isa’s been talkin’ to you about the people you’ve been running wit’, and going by how you reacted, I’m guessin’ it’s been gettin’ to you. What you said, that’s what you tell yourself?”

He glared at me, before giving the table a shove, making my glass shake and almost spill before I caught it.

“The fuck you know about me, huh?” he said. “Don’t act like you know the inside of my head, nigga.”

“I don’t know the inside of your head,” I said. “But I did what you’re doin’ and I can tell you right now it’s a waste of time.”

He scoffed, “Right, and that’s why you’re always tossin’ cash like you’ll never run out.”

“Money is the only good thing ‘bout the game,” I answered. “Everything else is bullshit.”

“That’s enough good for me,” he said. “That’s what I never got ‘bout you, man. I know you’re making a lot of money, so why the fuck you still live here?”

“‘Cause I like my apartment?”

“Exactly,” he spat. “You live here ‘cause you wanna. I live here ‘cause I gotta.”

Well, he’s got me there.

I sighed, trying to think over my approach since just pointing out he could get killed by rival gangs wasn’t having much effect.

“Look, settin’ aside the fact that gangs in general would be a waste of your skills, I can’t help but notice that your friend Ghost has about the same brains as a clogged toilet,” This actually did pull a little smile out of him. “You really think you can make it big if you surround yourself with dumbasses like that?”

“Ghost ain’t that bad,” he said, though he wasn’t looking me in the eyes when he did.

I pointed at the scar that ran across the left side of my head. “I got this from runnin’ with someone that fell from the same branch of the Stupid Tree. Trust me, he is that bad.”

“You don’t know the nigga, tho,” he said. “Besides, he’s the one that introduced me to the Black Teeth. I owe the man, at the very least.”

“That’s who you’re runnin’ with?” I scoffed. “Jesus, at least get yourself killed with a real gang.”

“Not all of us can be babied by the fucking Butcher of Crime Alley,” he bit out.

Alright, I see bein’ polite isn’t gonna sway this asshole, I thought as I gave him a glare that made him freeze a little and sit up straighter.

“I think you best check who the fuck you’re takin’ a tone with, here.” I said, leaning in and speaking to him in a low tone of voice, “If Butcher likes me, that’s ‘cause I’m cut from the same mold and I don’t think you should forget what the fuck that means, youngin’.”

He swallowed, remembering himself, and shrunk back a little.

I sighed and leaned back myself, taking a sip of my Coke. Well, that’s the stick. Now I should use some carrot.

“Look, Kamasi,” I said, “I get that it’s hard to deal with the pressure of supportin’ your family when you’re young. But you gotta know the most likely thing is that this gets you killed. If you want cash, I can-”

“I don’t want no damn hand out,” he said. “I don’t want you walkin’ in and tryin’ to solve all my family’s problems, we’re deep enough in debt without that.”

I frowned, “I’m not a fuckin’ loanshark, Kam.”

“It’s not about that!” he said. “It’s about us livin’ in your shadow, dependin’ on your good fucking graces! That’s no fuckin’ way to live, Sam!”

I looked at him as he breathed heavily, then sighed.

“A’ight,” I said. “You ain’t wrong.”

“... I’m not?”

“Well, not totally,” I said. “But I can’t let you get killed on the streets, man. You can talk about makin’ your own choice if you like, but at the end of the day if the worst happens then where the fuck does that live Isa, Nykee and Mike?”

Kamasi tightened his jaw and looked away.

I pressed my advantage. “I got an idea for a middle ground. You’d still be gettin’ your money from me, but you’d be workin’ for it. Earnin’ it. You fuck up, I let you go like I would anyone else: with severance pay and a recommendation. And I’ll make sure you get paid enough that you can have fun and give your family a lil’ boost on the side.”

He stared away for a moment, then looked at me out the corner of his eye. “What’s the job?”

“You still remember all those cookin’ lessons I gave you?” I asked, and he nodded. “Then how’d you like to help with the buffet at a strip club I’ll be openin’ soon? As a starter job, at least.”

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

His horny teenage brain eventually won out. “I’m listening.”

{[X]}

“... how about ‘The Hard Bargain’?” Billy said, turning the corner.

“Eh, I dunno.” I said, looking down at the page full of name ideas. “It’s a good pun, but I’m not sure it’d look good on a neon sign, and I definitely want one of those. I’ll put it on the ‘maybe’ list for now.”

“Well, if we’re doin’ puns, how ‘bout ‘Areola 51’?” chimed in Farah, from the back seat. “You could make it all space-themed and shit.”

“Mm... I don’t feel like that’d bring in that many customers,” I said. “But maybe we should find a theme.”

Billy snapped his fingers. “I got it! ‘Just-tits Leagues’, all the girls dressed  like topless super heroes. You’ll rake in the cash by the million.”

“You mean right before Wonder Woman flies into my office to shatter my knees?” I said. “Besides, I wouldn’t wanna turn away girls just ‘cause they don’t look like supers.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I forgot this is supposed to be a charity for ugly strippers.”

I flipped him off, not looking up from the list as I wrote his suggestion on the ‘maybe’ list anyway. “... I was thinking maybe it could lean into the criminal culture of Gotham, make it all Speakeasy style?”

“You mean like with a hidden entrance and shit?” Farah asked, “That actually sounds great. You can have it behind like a laundromat or something.”

“If you get soundproofing, you could run the laundromat too,” Billy joked, but I gave it serious consideration.

“Which still leaves us with the name,” I said. “‘Speakeasy Girls’?”

“‘Speakeasy Sluts’ lets you alliterate,” Yua suggested, which was unexpected but welcome as I wrote it down on the ‘Maybe’ list.

“Well, we should table this for now,” Billy said, parking the rental car we’d removed the plates from. “We’re here.”

I put the notebook and pen in the glove compartment, and got the masks and handguns out in exchange. I started hanging them out, asking, “Everyone remember the plan?”

I got nods, so we put on our masks and walked out. Huntsman and Golden got their AKs, while Weaver messed with something at the driver’s seat before following. As we crossed the street to the Cipher stash house, I heard something start playing on the car’s sound system. I smirked under my mask, climbed up the steps and kicked the door in.

Five soldiers in the main room, none of them prepared for our sudden appearance. I kneecapped two before continuing onwards, letting Huntsman and Golden take care of the other three.

Indeed, they weren’t done screaming in shock when my friends shoved them to the ground and kicked away their weapons. The sound of Huntsman shouting at them to get down followed me into the kitchen, were a few people in their underwear were carefully putting dope into glass vials.

It only took a bullet into the shoulder of the only guard in the room and some gesturing for everyone to line up against the wall, and I left them there just as Golden and Weaver were coming in.

“Gold, secure the workers,” I ordered as I walked towards the stairs. “Weaver, pack the drugs and any cash you find. Huntsman, with me when you’re done.”

I got mutters of understanding from my crew, but I was distracted from really listening as my Spidey Sense started buzzing as soon as I put one foot on the stairs. I paused, took a step back, and narrowed my eyes when the feeling didn’t subside. Looking up, I saw there was a door directly ahead of me, and leaning to the side, I saw there was a door to a cupboard under the stairs on some Harry Potter bullshit.

Huntsman saw me looking out of the corner of the eye, but I waved him off before he could do anything and started going up the stairs.

Seeing how I had about four bullets left on the revolver, I decided to avoid guessing games and shot one bullet through the stairs, into the cupboard, then another through the door. Nothing happened beneath me, but the door opened to let a Cipher armed with a rifle slump out of the door with one hand still on the knob and the other pressing down on the bleeding wound on his thigh, screaming in pain.

I leaned to the side to let him roll down the stairs, then marched up while Huntsman dealt with that. If I remembered our last week of recon correctly—which was kind of a big ‘if’, because we’d been doing recon on a few of the stash houses belonging to the would-be army Batgirl and I had found—then we should have taken care of every bit of muscle that the stash house had.

But seeing how on the previous stash house we’d hit that day Farah had to get her ass saved by kevlar because of I’d thought the same thing, I kept a careful eye out as I marched ahead.

(I’d been hesitant to carry on after that, but she’d insisted on hitting every place we’d planned before the sun went down. He’d tried to hide it, but I saw how much of Billy’s respect that bought her in the way he started sticking closer to her.)

I waited with my hand on the doorknob for my Spidey Sense every time I opened a door, quickly making sure there weren’t any guards. There were two in a room, armed only with baseball bats, but as soon as I figured out where they were I just put my hand through the wall, grabbed one, pulled him out, threw him back through the wall into the other one, then webbed them in the corner.

I found no other surprises until I got to the last room, where there was a thin-looking woman standing there with her back agains the corner, looking terrified. She had dirty blonde hair down to her shoulders, and if she wasn’t an addict then I’d never seen a fiend. Marks on the inside of her elbows and her thigs, signs of malnutrition, bruises from a lifetime of mistreatment.

I didn’t pay her much attention as I started searching the room. I checked out a few cardboard boxes that were sitting around, overturned the closet and checked under the bed.

That was when she tried to attack me, jumping over the bed holding a shitty kitchen knife over her head with both hands, mouth wide open and letting out a scream that was all blind panic, unhinged and desperate. It cut off immediately when, warned by my Spidey Sense and my paranoia, I took a step back and immediately had my gun aimed at her head.

She stayed there for a moment, eyes crossed looking at the gun aimed straight to her forehead as her feet sunk into the shitty mattress. She didn’t snap out of it until I said, “Drop it”, making her fingers snap open to let the knife fall in front of her. At my gesturing, she walked back until her back was to the wall, where she stayed and stared.

Once I was sure she got the message, I tossed the knife away and went back to looking under the bed. There was something there, a grey musty old cot that was dirty enough to go past just having a culture and into having prefferences between types of classical music and a talent for calligraphy and shit.

And there was a little plastic toy on it. A Transformer, by my estimate.

I gave the lady a look and found her nervously mouthing something at the corner. Turning in that direction, I caught just a hint of movement on what I’d thought to be an empty corner, and I stood up. The fiend gasped when I started walking that way, gun in hand, but didn’t move to stop me as I got to the corner and pressed my fingers to the wall. A tiny seam, barely hidden by the shitty puke-green wallpaper, appeared under pressure.

A chuckle escaped me, “This some James Bond bullshit right here.”

I stuck my fingers to the door and pulled, revealing a utility closet with nothing in it save a safe and a young kid that’d been leaning with his ear against the door, screaming a little as he fell to my feet.

He yelped a little when he skinned his knee falling down, but fell to mostly-silent sniffles as he looked up at me, fear visibly in tear-filled eyes.

I looked at him, then at the safe. Picking my priorities, I bent down and grabbed the kid, sitting him down on top of the safe.

“Hold on a sec, ok?” I said, looking him in the eye through my mask. “Just a sec and we’ll get you all fixed up, a’ight?”

He seemed confused, but nodded.

I smiled at him, then leaned back and shouted out the room, “Huntsman! Weaver! C’mon, I’m gonna need y’all’s help for a sec.”

They appeared shortly. Weaver’s piece of choice was a Beretta I’d loaned her, a relic from my Blackgate days. Billy being Billy, he had three types of pistol strapped to both sides and one of his thighs, the other thigh unburdened only because the last weapon was in his hands.

(I don’t think I ever saw him use the same gun more than one or three times. He had a collection that would make the NRA shit itself; always exchanging, selling and buying to get his hands on the best gear he could find. It was his version of a hobby, I think.)

“You got the kit?” I asked Weaver, and she nodded. “Bring it over and start workin’ on the safe. Huntsman, make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Weaver or the fiend?” he asked, though he already had the pistol aimed at the latter.

“Asshole,” she said, but there was an amused tilt to it.

She handed me a white box that’d seen a bit of use already that day, and I opened to remove some bandages, disinfectant and cotton.

I had the youngin’s turn to the side so he wasn’t blocking the door with his legs while Weaver worked, then knelt next to him.

“This’ll sting a bit,” I told him, taking a bit from the bag of cotton and staining white with the disinfectant. “I’m gonna need you to be a soldier for a bit, a’ight?”

He hesitated, but nodded. A hiss escaped him as soon as it made contact, but he didn’t voice a complaint in the time it took me to wrap his knee.

Once that was done, I looked over my shoulder at the woman, then at the kid. He was mixed and had a few features I could see on her, but they were hard to spot on a boy that couldn’t be older than six. Plus, he wasn’t as scrawny as some other sons of addicts I’d known.

I tilted my head towards the fiend, “That’s your mom?”

He looked at her, then at me. He nodded.

“A’ight. Think you can walk?” he nodded again, so I lead him by the hand out of the utility closet and watched him run off to wrap his arms around one of her legs.

Despite Huntsman’s gun to her head, her arm immediately and fearlessly went to press down on his head. She spared a fearful look in Billy’s way, but when he did nothing she started whispering comforting things to her son.

I tallied a point in her favour in my head and looked at Waver. “Much longer?”

“... almost... done...” she said, before the door opened with a soft ‘thuck’ noise. “There we go.”

I wasn’t sure what I expected. We’d hit up a couple of the gangs that had yet to recieve the Big Man’s personal attention the way the Ciphers and Black Teeth had, and at most they’d had a couple thousand and a few vials. Nothing notorious, which made it all the more shocking when Weaver opened the door to reveal it was fit to bust with cash and vials.

She whistled a little, pulling a stack and leafing through it. “Didn’t you say that this wasn’t an important stash?”

“... it isn’t,” I muttered, before grabbing two stacks of my own and standing up. “You two start filling your bags. I’ll get Gold.”

Huntsman nodded and went to help Weaver, unslinging the bag from his back, while I approached the woman and her kid.

“You seem to be takin’ good care of the young blood there,” I said, stopping in front of her and holding out the two stacks. “These are for him. You stop takin’ care of him, I’ll know. And I’ll find you.”

She swallowed nervously, but nodded and took the cash. I expected at least some of it would go to her habits, but I believed that most of it would be put to good use.

With that done, I walked down and helped Golden hog-tie the soldiers. The two walked out while we were doing that, but Goldie and I managed to keep the goons from seeing the mother and child as they ran out.

The kid waved over his mother’s shoulder as she carried him out. It was cute.

It wasn’t long before we were done and carrying everything back to the car. We shoved the guns and bigger weapons into the trunk just as distant police sirens could be heard.

Honestly, this being Gotham they could have been headed to a different robbery a couple blocks away, but I didn’t see the point in taking a risk. I gestured for the others to hurry as I made my way to the passenger seat. “C’mon, people! We’re done for today.”

“Thank fuck,” Weaver muttered. “I’m exhausted.”

“Doin’ jack shit is tiring work, ain’t it?” Billy joked, but raised his hands when Weaver glared at him through the rearview mirror (I held the steering wheel when he did that). “I’m kidding. You did great today, buddy.”

“... thanks,” she said. There was a tone of suspicion there, but she seemed happy with the praise.

I decided to chime in while I took off my mask, “You all did well today. First round at Butchie’s is on-”

Naturally, because I can’t have anything nice, that’s when three cop cars with the sirens off turned the corner in front of us.

Planned ambush, I thought, a little surprised. Were the sirens a distraction? I think I’m impressed.

“... y’all still got your masks on?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the cars. I couldn’t see into

I got distracted, affirmative answers from everyone.

“A’ight. Huntsman, get us the fuck outta here, pretty please.”

Billy being Billy, he didn’t need to be told twice. He slammed the steering wheel to the side and burnt rubber with a screeching noise, throwing everyone to the side as the car did a 180 and peeled off away from the cars. The cops weren’t far behind, immediately turning on their sirens and taking off after us.

“Anyone see a chopper?” I asked while we zommed past an intersection, almost getting hit by a truck in the process.

“Not yet,” Weaver said, tapping away at her phone. “I’m keeping an eye out.”

“Good. Goldie, can you get the AK? I think you can remove the cover behind your seat there and get to the trunk.”

She did so, pulling out both weapons and looking at me, waiting for her next order.

“If they get too close, lean out and shoot out their wheels,” I said, turning back to the front. No cars in front of us yet, but... “Matter of fact, let’s roll down all the windows. No need to break anything on the rental.”

It was an old enough model that the windows actually had to be rolleddown, with the little crank and everything. It was because I actually had to see what I was doing that, as soon as my Spidey Sense started buzzing, I was able to look up and find the source of trouble.

A car, civilian-type but headed our way and with some pretty angry people in it. Soldiers, if I wasn’t wrong.

I took out my revolver and unloaded every bullet I had left in its direction, barely bothering to aim. It worked, making them duck and swerve away from my line of fire, but I could see more cars behind them.

“Company,” I grumbled while I reloaded, throwing the spent casings out the window. “Soldiers chasing us.”

“What gang?” asked Huntsman, sounding frustrated as he made a tight turn.

“Well, they want us dead, so that narrows it down to almost every gang in the city,” I said, looking at the mirror. “Cops aren’t working with ‘em, at least. A few are splitting off and trying to herd them in a different direction.”

“Nice that something works in our favour,” Weaver muttered, “In a more typical turn of things, cop chopper’s coming over and news chopper ain’t far behind.”

“So we need to end this fast,” I decided. “Huntsman, any parking buildings nearby?”

“There’s one ‘bout twelve blocks away,” he said. “Less if you don’t mind goin’ through a mall.”

I thought it over.

“Fuck it,” I decided.“Security deposits exist for a reason. Go for the mall while I thin out our pursuers. Avoid wrecking the ride too bad, tho.”

“Operation Blues Brothers is a—wait,” he looked at me. “What do you mean ‘thin out our pursuers’?”

In lieu of answering, I undid my seat belt and started crawling out of the window, using my powers to stand steadily on the car’s roof. This earned several disapproving comments from Huntsman and Weaver, among them “you dramatic bitch”, “get back in here, dumbass” and “this better look cool, you reckless motherfucker”.

Truly, I had the best crew in the world.

Ignoring the assholes, I gave a careful look to the pursuing vehicles. Two cop cars and one gang car were in the lead, with a mixed group following behind them.

I could work with that. Running over the trunk, I jumped and landed on the leftmost cop car, and tried very hard not to giggle when the cops driving started screaming. I put my palm flat against the glass, used my Stick ‘Em Powers and pulled, tearing out the glass. Once that was done, I threw it at some of the gang cars behind them, making a few of them swerve and bump into each other.

The cop that wasn’t driving was tried to get his gun out of the holster with shaking hands, but I stuck a webline to it first and pulled it into my hands, where I pulled off the top half and threw it over my shoulder. While he was gaping at what I did, I reached over, grabbed the steering wheel, and tore it off.

They both stared at the thing in my hand. The driver still had his hands in the position, like he hadn’t processed what I’d just done.

“If I were you,” I said, bending my knees for a jump, “I’d hit the brakes.”

They did that just after I jumped, and since they were in the middle of the street, the sound of cars crashing into each other was imminent. I landed on the side of the center car, the other police vehicle, and used my position to stick my hand to the door and pull until it tore out.

“Sorry, I’mma just borrow this for a while,” I said, before grabbing it by the edge and tossing it at a chasing gang car that was setting off my Spidey Sense with its occupants aiming guns at me.

The door landed straight into the engine, and the impact made the car swerve and scrape a few cars, eventually crashing into a cop one. Not giving it much more attention, I leaned into the opening I’d made and punched the driver in the face, knocking her out before crawling over the car and jumping off the roof.

My aim was a little off, but using webs I managed to hop onto the roof of the leading gang car. I landed in a handstand, then pitched my body forward and used the momentum to kick through the back window with both legs, smashing into the back of the heads of the two in the back seat.

I pushed the rest of my body inside, then lounged in the middle of the back seat, grinning at the two in the front as they stared back with open mouths.

“‘Sup?” I said. “Ain’t you supposed to keep your eyes on the road?”

They both made for their weapons, but I acted first by kicking out the door to my left and diving out of it. I shot a webline to a building to the left and another to the side of the headlights, then pulled the webs together so that the car would be pulled into a perpendicular position to the other cars, then twisted my body to land on my feet.

Not gonna lie, that part wasn’t well thought-out because I immediately almost got ran over, but I managed to jump onto the hood of the cop car headed my way. Before they could react, I kicked through the windshield and knocked out the driver, before running over it, front-flipping off of it, webbing the back wheels to the street, then stuck a web and swung away from the chase.

I heard the wheels getting ripped out and several people screaming behind me, making me wince a little, but I ignored it in favour of swinging between the buildings towards my crew’s ride. With all the injections of schizo-tech since capes started showing up, safety measures in cars were pretty excellent, so I wasn’t too worried about any of them dying.

And if they forgot their seatbelts, that was on them. I wasn’t nobody’s mother.

In any case, only a few cars managed to get through the ensuing pile-up. Just five cars, three cops and two gangsters. On the downside, they weren’t fighting each other anymore, with even the cops poking their arms out to shoot at them.

Obviously, this was unacceptable, but I didn’t need to worry. A glowing pair of arms stuck out one of our ride’s windows, holding an AK that was fired with superhuman precision into the weapons of the pursuers, sending them flying out of their hands.

I swung low, matching up to the car, then let go of the webline and grabbed on to the side, glaring at the upcoming mall. Closed space would be good for webline manouvering, but so many civilians...

Weaver leaned her head out, interrupting my thought “Are you going to keep decorating the ride or are you getting in already?”

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” I muttered, climbing onto the roof and through the passenger seat’s window just as the car started going up the steps to the mall entrance. “You know, I just caused the biggest traffic incident in Gotham’s history for y’all. You could give me some respect.”

Huntsman scoffed as he slammed his hand against the horn to get civilians out of the way, “Poison Ivy does worse on accident.”

I grumbled something unkind under my breath while we smashed through the sliding doors and started weaving bestween businesses, trying not to hit anyone.

“Choppers are here,” Weaver chimed in.

“Huntsman, take the long way out,” I said, and Billy started turning in a different direction. “Weaver, how long would it take you to block out the camera?”

“I can have the program ready in a minute. It’ll black them out for a minute, tops, though.”

“Start working on it, then. As soon as it’s ready, tell me and wait for my signal to black ‘em out,” I saw her nod out of the rearview mirror. “Golden, cause chaos. Shoot out glass, break things, spook people. Break storefronts, but only if they’re franchises. And as few wounded as you can, please.”

“Understood,” she said, already leaning out the car and firing in bursts in different.

Naturally, people fell into panic and started running anywhere but near us, which left us with a free path while the masses of panicked people did little but block out the cars that followed us into the mall. Still, one of the cop cars and one gang car were pushing through enough that they were a serious problem.

I would have said something about it, but a stranger phenomenon had grabbed my attention, “Man, this is a big mall.”

“No kiddin’,” said Billy. “Batburger, baby clothes, teen clothes, suits... this place has everything!”

Case in point, we clipped and broke a t-shirt stand, creating a ramp that one of the cop cars half-drove over, ending up flipped over. The other cops avoided it, but the gang clipped it and sent it on a spin. I wasn’t sure it wasn’t on purpose.

“Hey, look,” Weaver said. “That barbershop looks nice.”

“I like the clothes on this store,” Golden said after firing a few bullets into its front. “I should visit once they fix everything.”

“I did like some of the shirts I saw,” I said, aiming a revolver backwards and shooting the cop car. They weren’t deterred, though. “Should we visit some time?”

“I could use a second opinion,” Golden said. “I’m told my style is a bit bland.”

Well, she mostly wore white shirts and black pants, so I saw where it came from. Still, “The fuck? Who talked to you like that?”

“Weaver.”

“Oh,” I said. “Weaver, just because you’re right doesn’t mean you should say it.”

“Sorry,” she said, turning to look at Golden while Huntsman turned, making a spin that wrecked the front of a music store. “How ‘bout I make it up to you by not letting Boss’ plain toast-ass styledrag yours down?”

“Hey.”

“I’d like that.”

“Hey!”

Weaver laughed, and I saw that there was the tiniest hint of a smile in Yua’s face.

Ah well, I thought. They get a pass this time.

Huntsman smashed through a Buckstars, and just for laughs I grabbed a cup off of a table we passed next to. I opened the lid, removed the bottom of my mask to give it a critical sniff, to the others, “Anyone want half of a grande vanilla latte with almond milk?”

“Nah, I drink real coffee,” said Huntsman, who felt the need to posture about his masculinity.

“I preffer tea,” Golden said between pulls of the trigger.

“Does it have sugar?” asked Weaver. I gave it a sip, grimaced, then shook my head. “Blegh. I’m good.”

Shrugging, I tossed it out the open window, accidentaly dumping it on some poor civilian that was standing at the wrong place at the wrong time. Us being the assholes we were, that got us all to laugh at the perfect timing of it, with the exception of Golden who only smirked a little.

“The—heehee—the program’s ready,” Weaver said, still giggling. “I-it’ll block them out for a minute, tops.”

“Th-then—” I paused to put the bottom of my mask back on and get my laughter under control. “Then wait for my signal. Huntsman?”

“Already on it,” he said. “We’ll be out in ten, nine—”

The cop car was on top of us, bumping into the rear right as the windows came to be in clear sight of us. I made eye contact through the mirror with Golden and I gestured, getting a nod back.

“—eight, seven—”

Golden leaned out and aimed behind us, then blew out both front tires. Their wheels soon deflated and sent them on a flip, but I barely paid it attention in favour of the approaching windows.

“—six, five, four—”

“Weaver, now!”

“—three, two, one!”

We burst through the window, landing a little roughly on the streets but not immediately being ambushed by cops or chased by choppers, which were stuck in place over the mall.

Huntsman slowed down to a more regular speed and started taking back streets, hoping the shards of glass and scrapes everywhere wouldn’t make anyone call the cops on us.

And, again, this was Gotham, so the chance of that happening was actually fairly large.

Eventually, we got to the parking building. The underpaid sucker at the front didn’t even look up, which meant he didn’t notice the masks or the guns we had, ready to threaten to gain entry.

After getting to the third floor, we parked next to an old-ish car

I broke into it and opened the trunk, then we transfered everything from car to car as fast as possible, taking off our gear and shoving it in there. Then, I got the gasoline and lit the rental on fire before Yua got in the driver’s seat and got us out of there.

By the time the cops were checking out the building, we were far away with all our loot.

“Well,” I said, leaning against Billy in the driver’s seat. “That was kind of a mess.”

“Worked out well, though,” Farah said. “Big Man’s ‘army’ will probably get set back a couple weeks because of us.”

“True,” I said, smiling a little. “So, what do y’all wanna do?”

We drove in silence for a bit until Billy suggested, “You guys wanna go to the mall?”

{[X]}

“... and then we bought some new clothes for everyone,” I said, stirring the pot.

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” said Butchie. He was sitting at a foldable table he’d brought to a corner of the kitchen, counting cash while we talked. “I’m gettin’ a lil’ worried about all these risks you’re taking, though.”

This was something we did every so often. After so many years of ‘go here do this’, it irked me to be idle, and Butchie didn’t like to be late on work, so we tended to talk while we did shit unless one or both were exhausted.

“I’ve done stupider shit,” I noted. “Car chase is a bit more public than usual, but still.”

“Yeah, but that was when you were younger,” he pointed out. “You’re supposed to do less stupid shit as time goes on, Sam.”

“Sounds fake,” I said. “Wanna try this soup?”

“Don’t distract,” he said, even as he gestured for me to bring the ladle over. I handed it over with a hand under to keep it from dripping on the floor, then handed it over so he could take a sip. “Mm, needs some pepper, but other than that it’s perfect. Anyways, I think you should slow down.”

“I can’t slow down,” I said, tossing in some pepper. “Shit’s piling up and pickin’ up speed to hit the fan. The more I do, the less splatter there’s gonna be.”

“And this ain’t got nothin’ to do with Batgirl?”

I rolled my eyes, “Oh for fuck’s sake, not this again.”

“Don’t pick that tone with me, boy,” Butcher snapped. “And yeah, this again. Bitch Dependency is a serious problem—”

“I don’t have Bitch Dependency!” I shouted, throwing up my hands. “And can you not call it ‘Bitch Dependency’?”

“See that?” he said, pointing at me. “Classic signs of early onset Bitch Dependency: no control over your damn emotions, caring about what everybody is sayin’ all the time—”

“Jesus Tapdancin’ Christ,” I muttered, focusing back on my soup.

“—I like pussy as much as anyone, but there’s a thousand things you can get addicted to that aren’t as harmful,” he continued. “You could smoke crack, for example.”

“Uh-huh.”

He threw a stack of bills at my head, which I dodged and caught without looking. “Don’t get smart with me, I’m trying to impart wisdom on your dumb ass right now.”

“Don’t you need to be wise first?” I asked, throwing cash back at him over my shoulder.

He caught it and threw it again. This time I let it hit the back of my head before catching it and throwing it back, so he’d get it out of his system.

“Now look, you can’t let this girl run your whole life,” he said.

“I’m not,” I said. “Honest, I’m not. If I’d found out about Big Man’s shit on my own, I’d be doin’ the exact same things. Even in my Blackgate days, I would’ve done what I could.”

“... good,” he said. “I’m not sure I believe you, but good enough for now.”

I sighed, then looked at the soup. “I think this is about done.”

“Good, get it off the stove and set it aside. We can carry it to the kitchen later.”

I did so, then took a chair over and sat opposite to him. “What needs countin’?”

He gestured me at a pile. “Separate that and check where in the schedule we can fit it.”

I grabbed the accounting journal and winced at the number of full entries. “Sheesh. Nice to know that business is doing well.”

“Mm, good thing you had that strip club idea,” he said. “Passin’ this much cash through one place gets suspicious eventually. We do well enough that it’s not too weird, but it can only last so long.”

“Maybe I should look into gettin’ more businesses?” I muttered. “Fucking hell, even now Cobblepot’s a pain in my ass.”

The man had had billions to his name. And I was stuck with no way to use them because how the fuck would a dive bar cook get that kind of scratch.

Hell, I was gonna have to be careful with how I bought the place for my yet-unnamed club because of the same damn reason.

“That’s just how it be,” Butcher commiserated. “Maybe you could get some help?”

“From who?” I started counting bills after I found a spot where extra income wouldn’t be too out of place. “Everyone I like enough for it is either already helpin’ or on the other side of the law.”

“That’s always been your problem. You gotta learn to work with people you don’t like,” he said. “Maybe some Blackgates?”

I froze for a moment, then started counting from zero. “... from the way you’re leadin’ this conversation, I assume you have an event in mind.”

“Mm,” he said. “I got word yesterday, an old boss of yours killed hisself. You’ve been invited to the funeral.”

“Old boss?” I frowned. “Which one? Big Mike?”

“Nah, he’s still serving at Blackgate,” he said. “It was Namond.”

I blinked. “Namond? Namond Little?”

“The OG,” he said. “I know you two weren’t close, but...”

“Nah,” I shook my head. “Nah, he was fair to me. I should go even if I didn’t have business. Actually, I probably shouldn’t carry business into it.”

Butcher scoffed, “Please. I’ve done more business at funerals than at meetings. Somethin’ ‘bout death brings people closer than any wedding, christening or birthday.”

“Well, ain’t you fuckin’ cheery,” I muttered, setting aside the stack and marking it with a note that read ‘C-3’. “Got some for early April.”

“Nice,” Butcher said. “Let’s take a pause so you can take the soup down to the shelter and then we can continue.”

“Sounds good to me.”

{[X]}

“So!” Steph said, bouncing a little in place with nervous energy. “What’s first? Building endurance? Agility training?”

“Combat,” I said, setting down the mats in the middle of the roof. “You’ve been doing well enough with workouts lately, so I figure it’s time I teach you some of my moves since I’m pretty sure you’re seconds away from picking a fight with the first criminal you find.”

We’d picked the roof because nobody watched while you worked out, and the cold motivated to work out faster so your body would heat up. I was in jogging pants and a t-shirt that read ‘Training to Beat Up Bane’ on the chest, and under it on smaller print ‘Or At Least the Riddler’. She had an eggplant purple tank top on, running shorts that I very carefully did not pay close attention to, and her hair tied back with a scrunchie.

Despite the excitement visible in her eyes at the prospect of learning to dish out violence, Stephanie Brown wouldn’t be herself if she resisted the urge to be a smartass. “Oh-ho-ho! I know an innuendo where I hear one!”

“Then you should know you didn’t hear one,” I said, wrapping my hands.

“Yeah, nice try, buddy. I’ve seen this movie before, okay?” she put her hands on her hips. “First you take off your shirt so I’m all like ‘oh no, he’s hot’, and then we start arguing and fighting and we end up making out, right? Well, dream on!”

“... why are you like this?”

“Fine, we can make out a little,” she said. “But nothing under the shirt, buster.”

“Yes, that’s an accurate description of what you’re packing,” I deadpanned, which got her to try and punch me in the face. I grabbed her by the wrist, spun her around, pinned her to the back and shoved her down on her knees. “Look, Steph, I’m serious. I’m trying to teach you how to—your head is just full of innuendos right now, isn’t it?”

“You’ve literally got me pinned, dude.”

“... Yeah, okay. This one’s on me,” I sighed, letting go and backing off. “Now focus, Captain ADHD. We can work on your banter when you’re good enough not to lose teeth dishing it out.”

“Fine,” she relented, getting up and grabbing the bandages.

“And I’m keeping my shirt on the entire time.”

“Now you’re just being mean,” she pouted, before handing over the bandages and stretching a hand forward. While I showed her how to wrap them around her hand, she asked, “So what’s first? Karate? Kung Fu?”

“Boxin’.”

“Boxing?” she pouted, “That’s it? I was hoping you could teach me some ninja skills like you did in that chase.”

“That was mostly my powers, and the only way to get those melted,” I said, “And besides, while boxing ain’t got much in the way of fancy moves or any kicks, it does teach the most vital lessons in combat.”

“What’s that?” she asked, once I was done wrapping her hand and she started working on the other.

“For one? Don’t get hit, and don’t fall,” I said, and she paused to give me a flat look. “I’m serious! Half of boxin’ is leaning out of the way of the next hit with as little extra movement as possible, and the other half is taking what hits you can’t dodge and not falling. No matter how hurt you get, no matter how tired you are, how hungry, how anything. You just. Don’t. Go. Down.”

Steph listened and nodded, then raised an eyebrow at me, “So are you just gonna beat me up and say ‘don’t do that’ when I pass out?”

“Nah,” I said. “I’m just gonna set yo’ hair on fire if you pass out.”

“Sounds like it would only work once.”

“I’mma do it by sectors. Real small ones, so I start on one side at the start of your training, then by the time I get to the other side some more hair already grew for me to burn.” I tapped the side of my head. “I got it all planned out.”

“That’s very professional,” Steph said. “I’m impressed.”

We stared at each other for a moment, then we burst out laughing.

“Ah, okay,” I said. “Put your dukes up, let’s see that posture.”

She did, and while I immediately had a few things to correct, it wasn’t unsalvagable.