[Ewa S]

** LIGHTNING STRIKES, SPLITTING THE DARK, CLOUDY SKY **

** The two figures on the roof move erratically, in a complex, flawless dance. The tonfa strikes, and scores flesh. The whip crackles, wounding the air itself, before slicing a cut through the armorweave vest of the hooded figure. The bitchy banter continues, one that could never hear on the food network itself!!! **

** The camera pans upwards, to capture a panoramic view of the cancer-ridden city; its wrecked docks, Church square, and continues till there is nothing in view but the dark clouds, and a  slowl-hovering blimp. Somewhere on the roof of the GCPD, rests the Bat-signal. Broken, rusted, useless. A relic of an era that has long passed. For this is the time of the Vigilantes. **

** THUNDER ROLLS -- And the narration begins **

I joined the force because of Renee Montoya. It's as simple as that, really.

She's Dominican. That sounds so damn sexy to me. Dominican. She was strong, and capable, and fighting a GIANT PLANT with nothing but a riot gun and her guts, saving Harvey freaking Bullock, and he's almost as scary as the Bat.

...my mother's hand covered my face, as she begged too. I could still see through her fingers. My father falling down, blood running from his mouth, as they kicked his ribs in.
I remember, our first introduction, to Gotham's Justice...

I ran, but the cops stopped me. And then I saw her body wheeled out on a stretcher. It was missing a shoe, but the one that was left on, made me know who it was... The mother I was never to see again...

See, nowadays the criminals are so big they're not even criminals, mostly. They're VILLAINS. Big V on that. They have SUPER plans. They have giant robots and dangerous drugs and somehow they ALL have fucking Kryptonite. But that doesn't mean there's not regular little C criminals around. They're just quieter now. And these little C criminals need to move quietly so the Bat doesn't notice them, and what they do to move quiet is the same thing you do to make a rusty door close quiet … they use grease. The cops in the GCPD are good, brave, strong, Americans. But they're also human.

It was four years later, when they finally figured it out... The source of all the electrocutions.... The evidence was damning. But they would not sentence a 13 year old to the gas chamber; and I was deemed too dangerous for Juvi.... So, I was sent to the infamous Arkham Asylum, narrowly missing out the honor of being it's youngest ever inmate.

And I just …
… I snapped.

"You still have a chance to redeem your soul, child...." -- He was all kind, it almost moved me...

Almost.... So I decided to tell him something...

"What took them so long, Father??" -- I whispered, my lips curling up in a little smile, my head leaning back, as my eyes shut...

I could feel them place the helmet on my head, check the restraints.... and..... BZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzttttttttttttttttt!!!

The first night I went out, I knew I wanted to honor The Question, whoever he was. And so I picked a name that matched his in theme. There's a motto that appears on a lot of the margins of the FTH … "Quis custodiet ipsos custodies?"
Who watches the watchmen?
... I do.
... Quis.

I was contemplating; leaving town or staying and raising more hell.

But the choice was crystal clear; and it was neither.

You don't get sent back from the dead for nothing.

Plus.... I hated that old fucking name I gave myself....

... I've always wanted to be... Blitz....

This summer!! Watch the epic showdown on the rooftops of Gotham!!!

Coming to a FCF's screen near you.

SOON!!!

Or more accurately, when it's ready!! Cuz fuck me, this took me 50 minutes to montage!!!

[~Rox Erotique~]

Quivering Cum Sluts Batman! Gotham is in for a REALLY good time!

Holy shit girls... two of my favourite minds clashing together in Gotham City?

I CAN'T FUCKING WAIT!!!!

x G x

PS. Bloody AMAZING intro Ewa!

[lilfightingcutie2]

OMFG EWA! I love it and i can't wait to read what happens next!

[LilMishyRocks]

Too long to wait!!

[Anna the Marine Chick]

Anything you write has me on the edge of my seat!!!

[Michelle]

WOWZA...no surprise...

it was way beyond the phrase..."well done"...

But I would have not have expected any less...

Thanks for sharing...

[Rowan Chance]

Sitting in front of my TV, bowl of popcorn and bottled water. I turn off "Agents of B.O.R.E.D" and switch to this.

[ThePurpleVixen]

Please God, don't let Zach Snyder direct this.

Wait until the part when I have a 30 minute dream sequence about a world ruled by Ewa that ends up having no bearing on the actual plot whatsoever except a vague hint about a future story!

[Ewa S]

-= Episode One =-

Megan: I joined the force because of Renee Montoya. It's as simple as that, really. I was just a kid from Robbinsville when the GCPD rolled out the MCU and began to work against the lunatics that were running wild in the city.

 We all knew who the Batman was, but that Bat wasn't someone you could really imagine BEING as a kid. The Bat was a legend. He was a living myth, a god made flesh. He fought SUPERMAN, for Christ's sake. He saved the whole PLANET.

 But the MCU were guys who you'd see in delis and on the train and on the street, wearing riot gear and carrying nightsticks and taking it right to the weirdoes and nutjobs who worked for psychos like Two-Face and the Joker. How fucked up was it that pretty much everyone under 30 in Gotham grew up knowing who the fucking JOKER is? Grew up knowing that any minute the street you're on might be flooded with Joker Gas or your school might get blown up to send some crazy message to the Bat.

 But we had the Bat, and we had the MCU.

 And I had Renee Montoya.

 First time I saw her she was up in Monolith Square, and I was one of a bunch of kids getting evacuated because Poison Ivy was trying to grow some sort of giant fucking carnivorous plant there. Detective Bullock was chivvying us along, cursing and bodily tossing us down the sidewalk if we didn't move fast enough - and a tendril wrapped around him and yanked him up into the air, and he went for his gun and dropped it. He didn't scream or anything - I dunno what Harvey Bullock was afraid of, but it wasn't much - and then a shotgun blast rang out. Montoya just shot the vine out, one fluid move. Harvey hit with a thud, and she made sure he was okay, looked up - and I looked into her big dark eyes for a moment under the bill of her riot cap.

 "Go! Get them clear!" I dunno if she was trusting me with responsibility because she saw the possibility of greatness in my eyes, or if she just figured she'd get me moving since I was staring at her like a stupid tourist from Smallville. She had a great voice - just a tinge of that great fucking accent of hers. A lotta kids think she's Mexican, but I read her file. She's Dominican. That sounds so damn sexy to me. Dominican. She was strong, and capable, and fighting a GIANT PLANT with nothing but a riot gun and her guts, saving Harvey freaking Bullock, and he's almost as scary as the Bat.

 I made the decision, that day. Started focusing everything on getting into the Academy. You might think the Academy would be kinda open enrollment in a city like Gotham, but we're a scrappy bunch. We went through the earthquake that cut us off from the world. We went through alien invasions and uprisings and ninjas and friggin' DEMONS, and we're still standing. So yeah, it's hard to get into the GCPD Academy. DAMN hard. But I made it my whole life.

 I read up - Jim Gordon's memoirs, and the articles on Harvey Bullock and Crispus Allen and the pop stuff on Gangbuster from Metropolis and the book that guy wrote about the Spirit. I read up on heroes and villains, on vigilantes and madmen. I worked out like a lunatic, turning my young body into a damn machine. I did sit ups until I couldn't count them anymore. When I graduated high school as salutatorian, I had abs you could shred fucking cabbage on. I didn't drink, didn't smoke. I FOCUSED.

 I started reading up on other stuff on the 'net. Forums that talked about the Bat and his sidekicks. Forums about how they make the stuff they use. Notes from home-grown vigilantes, like the Swordsman and the story that British guy wrote about Barbara Gordon showing up as Batgirl without Batman's permission. She was another hero of mine. So fucking sad what happened to her.

 I was reading, all the time. I was in the Academy, focused and driven. Top of my class, got the silver baton. Three of the meatheads tried to jump me in the locker room after I beat them all on the mats during CQC training, and I ended up leaving all three of them fucking unconscious and with separated shoulders and dislocated knees.

 But it was only once I was in the real GCPD that I saw the problems.

 Now, it was nothing like the old days. The old guys talk about the Old Times, when the Mafia ran things before the Long Halloween when all the super weirdoes showed up. Back then the cops were just thugs.

 It's not like that now. Gordon and Allen and Bullock and Montoya have made sure of that. The Bat has made sure of that. But there's still … little things.

 See, nowadays the criminals are so big they're not even criminals, mostly. They're VILLAINS. Big V on that. They have SUPER plans. They have giant robots and dangerous drugs and somehow they ALL have fucking Kryptonite. But that doesn't mean there's not regular little C criminals around. They're just quieter now. They're more sly. They don't knock over banks - robbing a bank is how you get Nightwing to show up and beat you silly with his baton or make Ragman show up and punch you with his weird magic rag suit. They do crimes that are SLY. In the background. Blackmail. Kidnapping of low-profile people. Drugs. LOTS of drugs. Do you have any idea how many drugs there are now, with Poison Ivy and actual magicians and aliens around? Exotic weapons, too, that's huge in Gotham.

 Everyone's afraid of the Hawks invading again and wants an unlicensed zetan-energy blaster for the apartment. And there's people who can get them. And these little C criminals need to move quietly so the Bat doesn't notice them, and what they do to move quiet is the same thing you do to make a rusty door close quiet … they use grease. The cops in the GCPD are good, brave, strong, Americans. But they're also human. They see terrible things, they do scary things, and they fear for their families - or they're just greedy fucks. That happens too. You can be a greedy fuck and still look like a good cop.

 And I started to see that, more and more.

 Hero cops who wouldn't hesitate to throw themselves in front of Killer Croc to save a bus of schoolkids tarnished their fucking badges taking a bag full of unmarked bills in exchange for looking the other way while some sleaze in a cheap suit moves a truck full of Apokolips red-eye into town. That shit melts your actual brain, but it makes you feel like Darkseid while it happens, so people buy it. Buy it and die.

 And I kept seeing it, and kept seeing it. Little things until the badge I was so fucking proud of started to look RUSTED, started to look CORRODED.

 And then one night I was taking the train home, and at the Knight's Dome stop I saw a cop I knew, a kid I'd come through the ACADEMY with, taking a handoff from some fucking sleaze I had personally run in before. A fuckwit who moved things left behind after the really big battles. He'd pick up leftover things, unexploded grenades, bits of costume, bits of DNA, whatever he could get. They called him Bits.

 All of that shit is controlled. Anything left behind during a sanctioned metahuman combat scene is considered property of the UN and the Justice League, but this little rat moved shit in and out, gnawing at the edges of battles where guys like Superman and the Green Lantern bled for us.

 And I just …

 … I snapped.

 I yanked my hoodie up, covering my forehead down to my nose, and snapped a cobra baton from my pocket, and came in quick. A shot at the back of my pal's knee dropped him and another behind his ear shut him up - and then Bits tried to run up the stairs towards the exit to the big ol' Knights Dome … and I came after him.

 I cut him down on the stairs before he got six steps, quick as he was, tackling him into the wall, and I yanked him up to face me, the hood still covering me. "Time for a new hobby, Bits, you fucking RAT FUCK!" Okay, it wasn't really on par with "Flash fact" or "SHAZAM!" or the cool shit heroes say, but whatever, I grew up in fucking Robbinsville. He was lucky I didn't call him a shithouse softsack. But what really made an impression on him was how I twisted him around and choked him out with my cobra baton. It's not recommended police procedure. It's dangerous and can cause permanent brain damage. If I did that in the field I'd be suspended and probably asked to resign.

 … but I wasn't in uniform. No one knew who I was.

 And holy FUCK, that's quite a feeling.

 I left Bits and the bribe-taker zip-tied to the hand-rail at the foot of the stairs in the 3:00 AM-quiet station - I actually had taken some zip ties home with me from the station because I was intending to roll up some winter blankets, if you can believe it. I left the bag of bribe money ziptied to the rail as well, along with the samples Bits was carrying. Looked like some sort of green ooze. Forensics would get it tomorrow, I figured. Probably the Swamp Thing's left pinky or something. I used the emergency call box on the platform to let them know there had been a disturbance, and I took off, keeping my hoodie low. There's just … something about anonymity that's like a damn drug.

 And that's how it started.

 I followed guides online, most especially the one written by the Question called the Free Thinker's Handbook. That guy is amazing. It was through his guide I was able to find out how to get into the dark net, where you can get special things for money that was just gonna be wasted on food or saving for a home otherwise. Things like a  bodysuit of light, flexible armor. Things like a hood with a mask and goggles that let you see at night. Things like gauntlets, and custom made tonfa.

 My bank account went from a secure rookie cop's future to a college student's ramen budget, but fuck it.

 The first night I went out, I knew I wanted to honor The Question, whoever he was. And so I picked a name that matched his in theme. There's a motto that appears on a lot of the margins of the FTH … "Quis custodiet ipsos custodies?"

 Who watches the watchmen?
 I do.
 Quis.

 … and man, I dunno WHY I thought of all that NOW, while I'm up on a rooftop. Probably too many night patrols and morning beats turning my brain into Tastee Wheat. But whatever, it never hurts to remember your origin story in case you ever become famous like Ralph Dibny and wanna write it down and become a bestseller.

 But the little Waverider earpiece I paid the price of a car for is going off. It scans all the available radio bands, not just police but everything, including handhelds and cell radio traffic, and it can be programmed with the Oracle OS to look for key words.

 Someone just radioed someone else a message that included the words "Penguin" and "Cathedral Square". I grin and snug my hood up, my goggles lighting up. I leap from the roof and feel that wonderful heart stopping moment when you're hanging in the air and hoping you remember how to roll when you land, suit a flash of dark police blue and copper, the hood and gloves and tall boots and belt black with copper facings. There's a badge shaped like a Q on my chest, a blue mask over my face with copper-rimmed goggles lighting up my view of the night. My tonfa are snugged at my sides as I land with a heavy thud, rolling and laughing behind the mask as the high that never fades races through me. The Penguin's boys are in Cathedral Square?

 Looks like I've got a date tonight.



Ewa:
Kneeling on the rooftop, my gaze transfixed down, on Cathedral Square. The warm lights bathing it from the dozens of lamp-posts surrounding it, clearing everything to my sight. An odd place for an operation. But the Penguin was never known for subtlety. When the sewer rat decides to bathe the city with his stinking breath, seeping through his rotten, decaying teeth, he pays heed to nobody. The least, not since the bat is gone. My blue visor covering the upper half of my face, as two lines lines keep sweeping both the X and Y-axis, scanning for anything that moves. And I mean, anything, considering it picked that plastic bag blown by the wind.

 I take in a deep breath, and I smell it again.... The scent of the docks, filling my lungs.... Bringing a rush of memories to my mind... Resisting my urge to keep my hawk-like sight on the square, I turn my head to the left, and I see the old docks, or what's left of it, less than half a mile, upwind of me.

 Where it all began....

 I was only six, when we arrived to these docks. Escaping an impoverished Poland, all I had in my arms, is a one-eyed Teddy, and a Flash-backpack. It was no longer red, colored more of a filthy brick brown. But at least, we were in the New World. I remember how my mother squeezed my hand, while my father went to talk to a strange, tall man. I barely spoke any English, but I could tell when a man was pleading, begging. I remember when my father's face turned to look at me and mother, worry in his eyes, and before his face turned, the metal knuckle smashed into his face. I screamed, and started wailing, my mother's hand covered my face, as she begged too. I could still see through her fingers. My father falling down, blood running from his mouth, as they kicked his ribs in.

 I remember, our first introduction, to Gotham's Justice...

 But what I remember more than ever..... Is their uniforms.... The navy blue.... The five-spoked stars on their chests.... And the letters adorning the rusty, ugly bronze....

G.C.P.D.

 I don't remember ever seeing my father smiling since then. I guess he did not want to scare us, seeing the dark hollow where 7 of his teeth once were. His temperament changed as well. And I could not tell, who started most fights. I don't remember if my mother actually vocalized how much she hated him for his decision in leaving Rybnik to pursue the new life here; or if he just saw it in her eyes.

 But I still remember the two men. The two officers, every time they came knocking. Every time my dad handed them his hard-earned cash. I remember waking up at night, to hear them talk at the door. He was whispering, but they did not care who they wake. And I remember the brown bag they handed them, and I knew very well, what that metal barrel poking from the opening of it was.

 The words did not make much sense to me then so were the names like hundreds that befall a child's ear in a day. But two names were ones I heard before. I remember 'The Penguin'. And I remember 'Bruce Wayne'.

My father was shaking, but they just shoved the brown bag into his chest, and told him to get the job done, or else... He nodded, terrified... Whimpering; "I will do it..."

And that was the night that changed my life, forever....

 I ran to my bed, my tears running down my cheeks, wetting my pillow, as I shuddered, waiting for him to leave. I knew who Wayne was, every person in the Gotham knew. And I know that he was a good man. I waited for the morning, for my father to return. But he did not. My mother was going crazy, she kept saying that he ran out on us. No matter how I told her no, she would just repeat it; like she was on a trance. And then, I told her what I saw. And she broke out of it, into a rage.

 She ran to the phone and she called someone. She yelled at me to go to my room, but I was as good at this as ever; and hiding behind my trusty door I could her her screaming at the person on the other end.

 And it did not take much for them, to make their response heard. I was walking back from school, the next day. My head heavy with the news that a gunman was arrested on the premises of the Wayne manor, to see the red and blue lights under our building. I ran, but the cops stopped me. And then I saw her body wheeled out on a stretcher. It was missing a shoe, but the one that was left on, made me know who it was... The mother I was never to see again...

 again... And as they loaded her in the ambulance, I saw the two faces; the same two from the door; the same two from the docks. And they saw me. I tried to turn and run, but my legs could not outrun grown men. I was taken to the station. My head buzzing, and the paperwork was ready even before we arrived. I was the newest inductee to the Gotham Orphanage.

 They took it all.... My father.... My mother.... And now, they had my childhood....

 But I swore, as I looked at the faces in the large ward, where 40 of us slept... That I will not be one of them.... I will not be forgotten.... I'll make my mark on this rotten city....

 I'll show them... *MY* justice.....

 It was four years later, when they finally figured it out... The source of all the electrocutions mysteriously taking place around the orphanage. They found the little make-shift battery under my bed. Along with the punch that i used to create the leaks in the exposed pipe-work of the old crumbling building. The evidence was damning. But they would not sentence a 13 year old to the gas chamber; and I was deemed too dangerous for Juvi.... So, I was sent to the infamous Arkham Asylum, narrowly missing out the honor of being its youngest ever inmate.

 And for another four years, I watched on TV, calmly wrapped up in my cocoon-like straight jacket; the stories. The heroes and villains. I watched Superman battle Doomsday and die; and rolled my eyes when months later, he came back. I saw Harley and Ivy bring the city to its knees in STYLE, and I loved it. I turned my solitary room's wall to a sanctuary for both, but when I got a bit pervy, drawing them making out and making love; the asshole warden ordered my room re-painted. Ah, the audacity.

 I was still allowed one day at the library. Denied access to the internet, I just spent most of my time in the electrical engineering section. I was fascinated by it. And I learned that there is more to using electricty than an exposed wire and a puddle of water. But I lacked the tools to do much. All until the night of my 17th birthday. I was in my room, staring at a rat chew on the bagel where they stuck in a lonely, unlit candle; when I heard the explosion. I didn't do much beside lift my head, staring coldly at the door, hearing the screams, the yells. The gun shots. It was a full-on riot outside.

 BANG!!!

BANG!!!

BANG!!!

 The three heavy slams on the door were louder than cannon shots, but I did not stir, even as the door gave and collapsed, and I saw the hulking frame of a man, his veins were bigger than the muscles on my toned arms and legs. He wore a mask over his mouth and nose, and his voice came deep, Vader-like;

"And what do they have a pretty flower like you here for??"

"... electrocuting 6 girls at the orphanage.... they were bitches...."

"Myyyy Myyyyyyy... We can put you to some good use... Stay close...."

And I did not need a second invitation, rushing after him, following his lumbering steps, watching him swing guards around with a swish of his hands. I did my part, stomping on their groins, of course.

 But sadly, my stay with Bane did not last. Batman had to interfere.... And just like Superman, he had to bounce back from a near fatal injury, and kick my savior's ass. But I had learned enough in these short months to evade capture, and had enough resources to pursue my own career. But I worked alone. And while I took jobs for the Joker and even the Riddler, I made it clear, that I'm trying to create my own brand. Zapper-girl!! A name I regretted the moment it left my lips.

 But again, I was an assassin... So by default I did not leave behind many people to repeat my name. And I was good, very good, that it took Gotham's finest 5 years to finally capture me. I said no words during the arrest, or even the trial. I just kept a cold smile, looking at them all, as they recounted the names of all those whose lives I ended. Including two retired GCPD officers. I'm sure these two were the ones that warranted me the electric chair. And as I sat on it, I let a soft moan, wiggling my butt against the old wood; like I'm sitting on a long-lost lover's lap.....

 "Any last words??" -- The priest said, as he looked at me... With a serious look on his eyes...

"You still have a chance to redeem your soul, child...." -- He was all kind, it almost moved me...

Almost.... So I decided to tell him something...

"What took them so long, Father??" -- I whispered, my lips curling up in a little smile, my head leaning back, as my eyes shut...

I could feel them place the helmet on my head, check the restraints.... and..... BZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzttttttttttttttttt!!!

 .....

.....

.....

.... FUCK... If this is going to be it, eternal darkness, then death is more boring than I thought!!

*GASPSSSS* My eyes opened as I sat up... I could feel the sheet slide off my naked breasts as I stared at the darkness around me.... I could feel the cold marble beneath my skin... I grabbed at the sheets as I turned, panicking.... Hyper-ventilating, scared....

How.... What.... Who....

 In the glimpses of insanity, that would consume me till this day, I could not tell exactly, if what I saw was true, or just a random hallucination-triggering spark... If the light I saw... The voice.... were real.... If I was truly granted a second chance.... If I was given a chance to redeem myself or not.... But at that moment, I knew I needed to get out.... The tables around me with bodies lying over them; and the tag wrapped around my right big toe made it obvious where I was... The same destination I sent so many to before.... Gotham's morgue...

 I slipped off the table, careful to not fall to the floor, my head spinning, i touched the floor with my toes, pressing the sheet to my chest, letting it flap, as my naked back and ass hung exposed for a moment, before I wrapped the towel around myself.... And I guess I should thank Scarecrow for hiring me for that job three years ago, to break into the morgue and steal Damian Wayne's DNA, for a job that I was sure involved fucking with the Batman's head... Totally my type of job, so I did it en gratis.... Trying to remember the layout of the place in my mind took few minutes, and before long, I was outside the poorly protected building... Walking the streets of Gotham, naked, except for the sheet.

 Needless to say, less than two blocks later, I was already standing over the bodies of two pervs who wanted to feast on the innocent-looking, confused girl. At least one of them was wearing a trench coat, so I discarded the sheet, cleaned their wallets for cash, and a switch-blade; you never know when these come in handy, and I made it to my hide-out.... And I guess my execution was enough for the GCPD to not put any officers on watch; so I made it in, and just lurked. Thinking of what to do.

 Staring at a bag full of cash, a bunch of fake passports one one end of the table; my old gadgets and costume on the other. I was contemplating; leaving town or staying and raising more hell.

But the choice was crystal clear; and it was neither.

You don't get sent back from the dead for nothing.

Plus.... I hated that old fucking name I gave myself....

... I've always wanted to be... Blitz....

 But even being one of Gotham's do-gooders; was not an easy life. Not with two dozen lives taken by my hands. Not being a cop-killer. And I knew the justice league would not greet me with open arms, and that no one would trust me. But I was fine, I've always worked alone. I had to deal with the complications of being under constant fire from both sides; but that was still fine. At least it gave me the chance last month to show that bimbo, Bluebird with her electric engineering degree, who was truly the Queen of Gotham-Electric. Pathetic. Gotta say, she had some cool tech that I did not mind 'borrowing' and integrating into my arsenal.

 "We're moving in.... *STATIC*..... 15 minutes.... *STATIC*.... Rendez-vous....." -- The voice coming to life on my earpiece alerted me, and I turned my head back to the square.... Great!! So it was not a false alarm then....

My lips curled in a smile.... Out of all the scumbags of Gotham, beating up the Penguin's henchmen bring me the best kind of pleasure. A low purrrrr rose from my throat, pulling my signature whip out of my belt, cracking it through the air, my thumb pressing a button on the handle, as the coiled wires around it came to life, sending blue sparks flying through the air.... I'm ready boys....



Megan: There's a special rhythm you learn crossing rooftops. It's not something you can just read about or train for in a gym. It's an art. And you NEED a grapple gun. I realize that's a weird fucking sentence, but it's true! When you watch parkour videos or those cartoons those guys Dini and Timm made about the Bat, it seems like you can just run across roofs forever, but Gotham's an OLD city, man, and even after the earthquakes and explosions and giant robot attacks, there's a lot of buildings from a lot of different eras as you go block to block. You can leap off a Victorian brownstone and run into the glass sides of a 40 story bank tower. I mean, you probably wouldn't. You'd notice the giant glass tower in your way, ideally, but you get the idea.

 And grapple guns aren't easy to get now. It turns out that cops like me and the Bat's agents and Checkmate all KNOW that non-meta masks working in the city are gonna need a way to get around if they didn't build themselves a jet pack or some sort of ionic repulsor blast boots, and grapple guns are the go-to. So now there's this ongoing arms race between the government and the agencies and the League and the wannabes and the street sellers to get to new ways to track who's trying to buy gas guns and stun grenades and grapple guns, and where they're going, and people trying to get a hold of them and become the next Robin.

 Let's just say to get this stupid grapple gun, I had to head into the alleys down in Oldtown to talk to a guy who called himself Rorschach, and that was just creepy as fuck. But it works, and that's what counts, and the WayneTech d-cel cord means I don't rip my arms out of the socket when I leap off a building and catch the hook on a cornice and swing like Tarzan for half a block.

 … and it's also the most fun I've ever had in my life. I mean, I'm out doing the things I can't do in my life as a beat cop, and I'm risking my life and my job and my family's good name - well, okay name. We are from Robbinsville, after all - and fistfighting guys wearing question marks on their neckties and fat guys dressed as walruses and carpenters - but it's FUN. It's LIBERATING. It's so much freedom it could make my heart burst. I know why the Bat does this now, why the Arrow does it, why everyone who's not an immortal alien or god risks their mortal life to do what they-what WE do.

 And a night of beating up the Penguin's goons sounds like JUST what Doctor Midnight ordered. The bird always hires a better class of thug, so it's not likely to be any local kids or drunks trying to earn booze money. It'll be trained guys, Intergang muscle or the Maggia, or long-time kinda-famous henches like Moose. I got to fight Moose once. I got a little fan-girly over it. He once punched Azrael off a building! My heart rate picks up and I check the bio monitor on my wrist. Training's paying off. It's quick but not racing. My adrenaline and cortisol levels look good. These Holt Industries monitors are fantastic.

 I swing from the corner of Langham Street into Cathedral Square, ending up barely catching my boots with the waffled Cave Carson soles on the edge a ledge, leaning on a gargoyle as I reel my grapple line back in with that sweet little whir it makes. My goggles rotate like the eyes of an owl as I sweep the Square - and see the boys starting to gather. The goggles zoom in and facematch Lark, Tiny, Hammer and Tongs against the GCPD database - although I'd know a couple of 'em on sight, especially that bitch Lark.

 In fact, the sight of the Penguin's gal Friday almost makes me wanna send out an alert on the Oracle's boards - I'm still kind of new in the game, but I know she's always keeping an eye on Gotham, and she can move agents like the Birds of Prey into play pretty fast. But if I'm gonna do THAT, I might as well just go back to the station and see if the captain wants to light the fucking Bat-Signal. I can do this! I can DO this. Get psyched, Meg, get psyched! Just one quick swing down from here to that streetlight behind them, a stun grenade in my hand …

 … my goggles flare an alert as the peripherals pick up something I hadn't noticed, an outflow of energy that sets off alarms.

 I turn my hooded head and the goggles focus in, but I don't even need to see more than that lash of lightning.

 The high-voltage unshielded electrical output in the form of a fucking whip. I've gotten to haul in stuttering hired guns who got zapped by that thing. They end up losing memories and bladder control and being VERY willing to speak to public defenders. Normally I'd be right there in your corner - but I know who you are. You're not Vulcan or Static Shock. You're calling yourself Blitz now, but I know you by another fucking name entirely.

 Zapper.

 One of my first beats, I got to chalk a couple of bodies you'd left behind, fried like fucking pork chops. No one special, just a couple of security guards at a government office building who happened to be on shift when the Riddler decided he needed to learn about Gotham's water management plans. They barely made 19K a year, their insurance was the same cheap paper Gotham gives everyone who works for the city. One of them was just 20 years old, and left behind a pregnant wife. First "Ma'am are you - I'm sorry to tell you" I ever had to fucking do. It broke my heart so hard that it's still fractured.

 You were worse than one of the standard Arkham alums. Because you don't even have a crazy plan to turn the world into a garden or a swamp or a funhouse. You just killed people for money.

 And sure, word on the forums now is that you had some sort of religious experience when you were supposed to have fucking DIED, and ZaurielLives19 on the boards claims that you were given a mission from Heaven by the fucking Spectre, but you know what? Hell with that.

 I had to watch that girl's eyes fill with pain so fucking deep she drowned in it when I told her you'd chicken-fried her husband because he worked at fry cook prices to wear a brown uniform and protect file cabinets overnight.

 I change my trajectory, and fire the grapple in a long arc that catches the far edge of the cathedral, and I SWING,the wind ripping past me, rippling my hood as I bring my boots in front of me, buccaneer style, and I snap off the d-cel cord, leaping and tumbling across the roof just before you can spring into movement down towards the goons in the street, tucking and rolling over the cinders in a spray of them, and coming up smoothly enough to impress fucking Nightwing, my heavy black boots planting to skid me to a stop as I rip my tonfas from their sheaths, spinning them by their handles as I face you, my goggles glowing golden under my black hood, blue facemask shifting when I talk.

 "That's far enough - 'Blitz'," I spit the name like a wad of old gum onto the rooftop. "You're done here tonight." I tighten my grip on my tonfas, the steel gleaming along my forearms as I clutch the handles in my black gloves, the copper knuckles gleaming. "And it's only out of respect for the Bat that I'm not running your sparking ass back to Arkham." I growl. The fact that you're operating in Gotham WITHOUT being hauled out of town by the Bat or his kids means you have his tacit approval, for whatever reason. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you loose on the streets if I can stop you.



Ewa: I take in another deep breath, the scent of the docks filling my lungs again, and once more I turn my head to them. Seeing the destruction. The old harbor laying in waste, half the warehouses leveled, and the other half missing most of their frames, after the last Brainiac attack. I sigh, and whisper; "Things have changed a lot, since the old days...." -- I guess that's another side-effect to being brought back from the dead.... Talking to one-self... Perhaps it's a side-effect of insanity as they say?? Or is it just... loneliness??

 I admit it, I never felt lonely before... I mean... In my old life... As 'Zapper-girl'... I was physically alone... Sure, a bit of makeup, a slutty dress, and a visit to one of Gotham's dive bars or high-class lounges, and I would have a warm body to wake to in the morning. But I never had friends, or someone to come home to. Yet, I never felt alone. But why is it now, that I feel it?? Why is that emptiness slowly eating me up; even though I'm doing the right thing??

 "Ah, good Doctor, you would have laughed your ass off at this... I do miss you though..." -- Another whisper, another thought, as I remember Hugo Strange. We all knew he was nuts, the inmates did, but not Gotham's elite, who appointed him to oversee the Asylum. Where he carried his experiments, where he poked and prodded minds, before bodies; filling our heads with his often deranged ideas.

 "You... And Dent, that ugly-ass motherfucker..." I mused sarcastically.... "You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain MY ASS, Harvey...." I jibbed, turning my head back to the square, my hand squeezing the grip of my whip. My palms were both wrappd around in velcro straps, that connected to small palm pads. And I could feel them pressing tightly against the leather shaft, my fingernails painted neon blue, just like my lips. My hair held in twin ponytails, that I hooped through the straps of the visor.

 My costume, was basically the same design as my old one, But unlike the bright blue tones that I wore in the days, I had to go for a darker, navy-blue one, harder to detect, since the number of my natural predators has doubled, since my return. Hunted by both the good guys and the bad ones. Oh boy.... Lucky me...

 Form-fitting, and I mean... Skin-tight, form-fitting... My large D's pushing at the fabric, and even though I'm technically showing no skin, I really did not need to, to let anybody see pretty much their shape and size; nothing left to the imagination. A front zipper ran from the collar down to the waist of the one-piece unitard. But I liked to let the zipper hand somewhere right between my breasts, for ventilation purposes only, I swear!! I mean... really... nothing left to the imagination... For real!!

 But on the left breast of the suit, I had a little patch.... A browned down patch, with a lightning bolt on it; its upper right corner painted deep red.... A blood stain... A piece I cut from my old backpack, that I arrived to this city with. A patch that got only darker brown, and was stained by the blood of the last person on this Earth to have my back; to love me for who I was. The one who paid the ultimate price, because I could not hold my tongue, and let her think that he walked out on us.

 My breathe begins to hasten, and I glance down quickly the monitor around my left wrist. My heart-rate has spiked.... No... not now... I need to remain calm and composed. A mistake could mean the end for me; and I doubt I'll be getting a third chance. A cool breeze make me shudder a little. The fishnet pantyhose I'm wearing certainly not helping to any degree. And I mutter under my breath; "Come on.... Are you trying to freeze me to death, fuckfaces??"

 And as if they heard me, I see the lights on one side of the street blink, and go dim.... "Atta boys!!!" I purr, the left corner of my lips curling up in a hook'ish smile.... I press a button on the left side of my visor, and it flashes red, and I start to see figures moving in the dark. Another flick, and small squares begin to move and flash over their heads, and names begin to appear; Lark, Tiny, Hammer, Tongs. My mouth already salivating at the bounty. Payback time.... Oh boy... BIG TIME.... The black and white tub of lard won't be happy to lose these four in one hit tonight.

 I swallow hard, smirking and whipping the whip again... Slowly rising up, my mid-shin, strappy boots propping me 3 extra inches, thanks to their wide heels, bringing me to a little over 5'7". And just as I ready to pounce off the roof down to the awning below, taking the shortcut that I practiced three times tonight, down to the back alley where I can flank and surprise them, an arrow suddenly appears on my omni goggles pointing to my right, and it's moving FAST. I gasp and turn my head spinning, and bringing my whip-wielding arm back, ready to lash it out at whoever it is, when I see the figure, somersaulting and landing on the roof with admirable acrobatic skill.

 I blink, staring at the figure, as I press the nightvision button on the side of my visors, but even then, I don't need to, to recognize you.... "Quis...." I purr coldly; the most form of a 'greeting' you'd get from me.... I cast a side-glance at the scene below... They are still here, holding boxes, and luckily, no one saw your grand entrance, so there is still a chance....

 "... Still trying out for Haly's Circus, aren't you?? Well, work a bit on your form, and I'm sure Dick Grayson might offer you a job... I'd suggest dropping few pounds around the hips area...." -- I purr sarcastically... GOSH... Why do I fucking DO that??? We're on the same 'team'.... Or something!!! It's exactly the same kind of attitude that got me into that scrap with Harley few years back when I did that job for the Joker... Sure, she was my freaking idol, but... By the time we met, she was STILL 8 years older than me... And... No offense Harleen.... But he's the freaking Joker!!

 And I guess she did not take too kindly to me calling him 'Mr.J' or something... Or maybe it was the costume, that I admittedly unzipped down to a bit below my navel... slowly... verrrryyyyy slowly... while I was talking to him..... On my knees...... At the foot of his bed.... Arrgghhh whatever!! Point is..... I said bitchy to her, and we throwed down... And I gotta say... It was the first time I got my ass whooped by a chick... But still... It was Harley Quinn... But you.. You're no fucking body... That's who you are... So I'll be as big of a *B* to you as I can....

 I cast another side-glance down at the street, and I notice a truck rolling down the far end..... "... You know Quis... This... this has been fun.... But this job is way too big for you.... So why don't you go hop down that roof..." I raise my right arm, pointing at the direction away from the 'job', giving my wrist a flick to let my whip lightly crack and send few sparks across the granite floor.... "... And let a REAL pro handle this....." I purr, and to further drive the 'end of' to the conversation, I turn my back to you and start walking to the edge of the roof.



Megan: My lips curl behind my blue facemask, eyes narrowing behind my goggles - which conveniently hide that, giving me a creepy glowing poker face in the shadow of my hood that not even the reflective sunglasses the GCPD issues can match. You've always been a bitch, back when you were a hired killer AND now that you're supposed to be one of the Bat-approved masks in Gotham. Hell, word on the streets is that you managed to piss off Harley Quinn once, and that chick is fucking NUTS. I don't even KNOW how you would've made her mad. What the hell'd you do, make fun of her brand of clown makeup? Flash your huge tits at the Joker? Probably just a rumor anyway.

 But you DO piss me off beyond words with a little snap of your whip that crackles on the dark rooftop, turning your back on me. Turning YOUR back on ME. Off my belt I snatch a metal orb in my glove and whip it at you in a low, curving side-arm - and as it tumbles through the air a magnetic charge PULSES inside the orb, parting the metal into two halves connected with a gleaming cord, which if I whip it right is intended to wrap around your ankles in a quick, whirling magnet-assisted bola to try to bring you down to the rooftop between one step and the next!

 "There are no PROS in what WE do now, 'BLITZ'," I spit the word a lot more venomously now, coming after you quickly, drawing my other tonfa back out after snap-sheathing it to hurl the bola ball at you. "Because we don't get PAID to hurt people like YOU'RE used to." And I realize I'm emphasizing words sharply, but that's a thing that happens when I get pissed off, moving swiftly across the cinders of the roof and spinning my tonfas in my gloved hands, making that soft keening whistling sound I've come to love so much.

 "And I'M not the one on this roof with a FAT ASS!" I snap back in a perfectly timely comeback to your earlier comment, because god damn it, I have a great ass which happens to look NICE in this deep blue armorweave bodysuit!

-= End of Episode One =-

[Anna the Marine Chick]

Fucking amazing!!!! I can't wait for the next episode, same Bat time, same Bat channel!!!

[lilfightingcutie2]

OMFG I can't wait to read the next episode!!!!! Ewa and yummy Megs you are amazing and this is one of the most exciting and awesome stories ive read so far and I sooooo can't wait for the next episode!!!

[rustedone]

I AM NERDING SO HARD RIGHT NOW YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW

MORE, I SAY! MORE!

[Bella Hugs]

Ugh!
I keep checking this page every other hour for updates LOL.
Fantastic work! Completely mesmerized

Red!

[Ewa S]

Hee hee... Thanks for the positive feedback guys!! And Rusted, your comment really cracked me up!!


I'll try to squeeze another episode in today/tonight, but since the buildup posts were quite sizable, I didn't want to shock everyone's system at once, or no one would read it ^^

[Ewa S]

-= Episode Two =-

Ewa: I've said the last word..... I mean... every extra second I spend talking to this hooded coocoo is a WASTE of time. Plus, I'm sure her eyes are glued are my puuurrrffecctt butt fully featured, and pretty much exposed in this thong leotard bottom, with the fishnet pantyhose beneath it.... By the time you break your gaze, I will be off the roof, and on my way to deliver my own bran of justi---"ACKKKK!!!"

 My thoughts are interrupted as I hear your loud, angry, screeching voice; like fingernails on a chalkboard, and hear the low *pop* of the bola behind my ankles, as the ropes extend and wrap around my feet!! "THE FUU--ARRGHHH!!!" The damn thing tightening around my feet and it sends me falling forwards, in a very UN-dignified manner to the floor, my arms curling, and I land on my forearms, receiving my bodyweight on the guards that run from my wrists to my elbows, the dull *THUD* sound of the padding against the granite making me feel how fortunate my bones are that I have these things on!

 My body twisting immediately, my feet tied together, and I bend my knees to my chest, so I can reach down and unwrap them, as I angrily cuss; "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, WE ARE ON THE SAME SIDE YOU PSYCHO!!!" But you are not even listening, nor standing still.. You're moving, and my eyes widen watching your arm snap one of your tonfas off the sheath, as you rush at me, raising it over your head. And... well, it's times like this, that you make decisions that dictate the difference between eating a tonfa to the skull for a quick concussion; or saving your fucking ass.

 My right arm swinging wildly, aiming with immaculate precision, swinging my whip at your wielded tonfa, letting the end of my whip wrap around it, and I give it a powerful YANK, pulling you... INTO me, to give your body that extra jerk, that should put you out of balance, and send you stumbling into my thrusting, joined legs, as I try to drive my boots into your gut, and fling BACK, monkey flipping you over my body, to crash safely over me, and give me time to free my legs... Using EVERY bit of willpower to not press the button on the shaft of my whip, and electrocute your dumb-FAT-ass right away!


Megan: I mean, I'm obviously outside the GCPD manual - I lost my place in that book when I put on a mask and hood and carried a bunch of illegally obtained armaments in a number of trespasses across the rooftops of private property to commit assault and battery on suspects without a warrant.

 That's so many call codes that I'd sound like I was reading pi calling myself in.

 But even outside The Law, there's some guidelines masks are supposed to follow. If there's a Leaguer in your city, you defer to them. You don't make a move on the big villains without help. You never use lethal force. And you don't pick a fight with another mask on a rooftop while there's a crime being quietly carried out in the street below.

 But you know what?

 YOU are a BITCH, and I'm just gonna smack you in the back of the head with my steel tonfa and make sure you don't get up right away while *I* handle whatever's going on.

 I bring you down with a bolaball, satisfied by the flickering whir of my magnetic gizmo wrapping around your ankles and snapping you down onto your front. But before I can put you down like Bullock knocking a hippie protester cold at Gotham U, you manage to snap your whip at me. I get my tonfa up to block it, but apparently that's what you WANTED, the whip wrapping around my weapon - and I grit my teeth, anticipating a jolt from your capacitors, but instead you just YANK me forward, and I curse something that gets cut off in one syllable before your boots crash into my core as you roll over to meet me.

 "NNHHHHH!" I groan, slamming into your legs before you roll those hips and thrust me up, launching me off your boots. My tonfa is knocked loose, sliding across the roof with a metallic clatter - and Lark glances up, suspicious down below at the faint sound, and then resumes her work, watchful - as I tumble through the air. My arms snap down, breaking my fall a bit with my remaining tonfa and my gloved hand but still feeling the jolt race through me, my armored suit absorbing the impact but feeling the wind blast from me, spilling hot against my filtered mask.

 I roll over to one knee, growling and digging my empty right hand into the granite on the roof, hips swiveling and boots dancing through the air, my hood and mask tightening up as my adrenaline spikes to yellow on my biomonitor, the armor weave in the suit strengthening over my aching back and winded lungs. I take a deep breath, glaring at you as the gold in my goggles shifts to a glaring blue as battle mode engages, scanning you to try to help me deal with you - your whips outlined in pulsing red.

 "We were NEVER on the same side, Zapper," I growl. "NEVER. And I don't fucking CARE if the Bat's willing to let you slide." I spin my tonfa in a whir, and set rise up, taking a fight stance. "This mockery of justice ends TONIGHT," I snarl, and it might not be clear exactly why I'm so angry … but seeing you and the smug bitchy look on your face and your little tarty Zatanna stockings, trying to be a mask, trying to be whatever the magic thing that woke you from the dead apparently wanted you to be …

 …. I look and all I see is the electric blue bitch that killed Officer Ed Kowalski. Twenty five year veteran. Survivor of the Quake. Held the Blue Line against Black Mask. Preparing for retirement. The procedures trainer at the Academy. My friend. He was my FRIEND, and I'm supposed to just let you STRUT AROUND GOTHAM?

 With a snarl I snap my right glove out, flexing my thumb and ring finger to make a sharp SNAP and deploy a sharp blinding flash of magnesium flare from a knuckle launcher, trying to distract you as I move in, hot to swiftly get inside that deadly whip range, reversing the tonfa in my left hand and jabbing it for your belly!


Ewa: It's a good thing that you've underestimated me. And while your bola-shot took me by surprise, your charge did no. The over-telegraphed rush with your tonfa up, resembled the tactics the GCPD employ when they rush rioters and protestors with their batons raised; mainly to intimidate them, and get them to turn heel and run; and I'm neither a hoodrat, nor a GU brat to fall for that.

  I grunt, yanking you by the whip, and right into my boots for a full on monkey flip, and I don't even wait for your back to touch the ground, to move. Just as I finish arching back with the flip, I throw my legs down, bending my knees, and I fling my body forwards, into two forward rolls. The only thing I can do to put some distance with my ankles tied together.

  I land on my feet, in a crouch, and I spin on my right heel, like a ball spinning on the fingertip of a professional basketball player. My right hand still wielding my whip, gripping it tightly, my left reaches down and TUGS on the damn strings wrapping around my ankles. Yanking and twisting them one by one, as I free my legs, hissing.

"God damn it Quis!! Cut it out!! They will fucking get away while I waste my time kicking your ass up here!!"

  I watch you turn and rise to your knees, your mask hiding your expressions, but your voice is showing the RAGE in which you are roaring at me... "The FUCK is your problem?? You're a fucking disgrace!! Wanna be hero, while attacking me from behind!! Now get the FUCK out of my way!!" -- My voice starting to lose it's cool, as you literally ROAR at me that we're not on the same side, and never will be.

  My chest expands, starting to heave, as my wrist monitor starts vibrating lightly, showing off the spike in my heart beat and adrenaline rates. "I won't say it again... Get... OUT... of my fucking way...." My right hand flinging the whip with a louder-than-intended CRACK, that sends a flurry of sparks flying up in the air....

  Down in the street, Lark turns her head up again to the roof, and she spots some of the sparks flying (pun very much intended)... And she turns her head and snaps; "Everyone to the car, NOW!!!" And they start to dash, in a bit of panic, one of the goons dropping a box, a bunch of firearms dropping to the floor, as they throw what they can in the back in the truck and start hauling ass....

  But right now, neither of us noticed.... My eyes are fixated on you... While yours... Well... with that nacho-libre -inspired mask of yours, I can't tell, probably staring at my perfect boobs. "Come on then, bring your fat ass and that Costco mask of yours, I don't want to whoop you, but it doesn't mean I won't enjoy doing ittt----AIIEEEHH!!" I screech as you charge and flick your wrist, the magnesium flare shooting and practically blinding me, the sensors in my visor picking up the bright substance and magnifying it, as tilt my head, my eyes shutting.

  "OOMMPPPHHH!!!!!!"

  A loud grunt leaving my lips, feeling the edge of your tonfa drilling into my abs, and you lead with the LONG side of it, drilling it like a fucking short-sword into my mid-riff... And even with my toned, sculpted abs, I feel the hard jab gouging into my muscle tissue, as I double over, my butt rising, and my boots almost leaving the ground.... I grimace in pain, still blinded, stumbling two steps backwards.

  I try to force my eyes open, my right opening slightly and I can see nothing... just brightness, but bless my visors, picking on your boots, the motion trackers coloring them a dark maroon color opposite to the calm blue of the granite floor. I swing my right arm in a downwards motion, while still stepping back, trying to hook my whip around your left ankle and PULL, trying to sweep your leg from under you, and send you to the hard floor; on your self-righteous ASS.


Megan: I drive the leading end of my tonfa into your tight belly right at the centerline of that slutty suit you probably have to butter yourself into before you go out at night, and there's a lot of anger behind the blow and a grim satisfaction as you fold up around it, my fist tight on the upright handle of the club. I've been harboring a LOT of anger at you, it turns out, and it's all coming out now. All I meant to do tonight was just warn you off and then stop the Penguin's goons from getting whatever they just got in the little transaction taking place in the road below, but the fucking ATTITUDE you have, the SMUGNESS … and you don't fucking DESERVE to be smug. You deserve to be in JAIL

  I don't know what the Bat's kids are thinking, letting you run loose. You didn't even CHANGE that much, you just turned the voltage down to stop murdering people and started targeting sleazebags instead of innocents. I mean, I'm sure no one's paying you now, so that's gotta sting, but here you are, talking like a Southside bitch and waggling your big ass at people and flicking those stupid fucking whips everywhere - and we're all just supposed to PRETEND that you aren't the psycho we had to take down in insulated riot gear, that I didn't have to swing a nightstick at the back of your skull to take you down when you got Ryerson's helmet off and had a whip around his neck? We're supposed to LET you be a mask now, in Gotham, where that still fucking MEANS something?

  This fucking city can put a tarnish on ANYTHING.

  I spin the steel tonfa around in my fist, clenching my right with a ripple of my fingers that reinforces the copper shields on my knuckles. Maybe I can just crack you in the jaw and cuff you up here and worry about it later. Lark isn't stupid - if we keep fighting she's gonna - and then you snap a whip around my boot, and I have time to snarl, "Oh, you fucking B-AAGH!" before you yank my leading foot out from under me, and I topple back and hit the granite of the cathedral's theological office building on my ass, the armorweave of my blue suit absorbing some of the blow but the shock of it running up my spine as I hit with an "UNFFF!", arching my back which has the unfortunate effect of pushing my breasts out - there's no way to wear a bodysuit without showing off some curves, of course.

  And unlike SOME top-heavy sparking sluts on this roof, I don't have an access zipper on the front of mine. Mine has secured hidden electromagnetic tabs, the kind the Question recommended in the Free Thinker's Handbook. But even as I hit the roof and feel the pain sizzle up my back, I see you still haven't electrocuted ME - which is surprising. My suit's insulated, but it'd still be a major advantage for you. I don't know what your fucking game is, holding back on me, but I'm not going to wait around for you to change your mind and shoot wattage through me. And I'm not gonna be the only one disarmed, either. I twist my left fist on the handle of my tonfa.

  The handle gives a ratcheting click, and from the long end of the tonfa a crescent blade emerges, shining blue steel in the moonlight - the Question and Batgirl and a bunch of other street level heroes all recommend against FIGHTING with a blade - although the Cavalier seems to have a different opinion - but they all recommend CARRYING one, and a makeshift axe has helped me get through locked doors and break open cargo crates … and now I swing it in a vicious arc aimed across your whip, trying to slash right through the damn thing before you can jolt me, to try to give me a chance to get my boot free!


 Ewa: The blow to my mid-riff certainly has me reeling... There are tummy shots, and then there are THESE kinds of monstrosities; and taking such a blow from a trained fighter, guiding the point of a dangerous weapon, would knock most grown men down.... But I haven't survived this long, going down to such shots... Okay.. Well... maybe I did not 'survive' this long per se... But I did well damn it!!! I grimace and stagger, but even as I do, I cuss and swing my whip at your boot, letting it latch like one of Poison Ivy's vines, a move I learned from her, I admit without much shame....

  The outcome?? Totally worth it!! Watching your legs fly up in the air and you crash down to your butt.... Of course, that over-sized rear-end of yours padding the landing, as I give the whip an added TUG upwards, growling under my breath, trying to stretch my body upright, ignoring the burning pain in my gut; "You just don't know when to quit, do you??" My teeth clenching, my thumb dangerously close to the zapper button on the hilt of my whip... But... I must resist..... I just fucking must!! I've built so much street cred, and one incident like this, will only reignite all the heat back under my ass.....

  But watching you squirm, while pleasuring, has to stop at one point, I need to put you down, perhaps a heel smash to your kitty, or a heel-drop to your jaw would knock you out long enough so I can go and.....

  ... SCREEECCCCCCCCCCHHHH!!!!

  I hear the sound of tires skidding below, and I don't need to wait for the scent of burning rubber to hit my knows to realize what happened, they are on the run!! FUUUUUCKKK!!!!

  My eyes narrow, as I tilt my head up, seeing the truck racing down the street, followed by a smaller van, and four bikes.... and I cuss, turning my head to you, and I roar; "THEY ARE GETTING AWAY BECAUSE OF YOU, YOU B----!!" My words interrupted by the sight of the shiny blade, lashing through the air, and in one clean sweep, slicing my whip in half, my strained grip on it sending me stumbling back, gasping in horror... My precious whip, now rendered to a mere 3' length, sparks flying from the severed end.. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??"

  Okay.... Now this is PERSONAL!!! I watch your legs kick up, as you acrobatically throw your body forwards, to rise to your feet again, the whip falling off your ankle loosely now..... But I just roar under my breath, charging at you, my right foot rising, and I plant it on your left knee before you can straighten your leg up fully, thrusting my body up, in a frontal somersault over your, my body coiling in the air, and landing on my feet behind you, back-to-back, my left hand grabbing the severed end of my whip, I toss my arms back to hoop it under your chin, and I use my momentum to bend forwards, yanking and trying to use the whip-lock on your jaw to fling you  over my back, and send you crashing into the large elevator control box in front of me!!


Megan: I grin behind my blue mask - which between the mask, goggles and hood is almost impossible to tell, except for maybe a crinkling of my cheeks - as the blue blade slashes through your whip. Forensics said you'd apparently made your gear yourself when you operated as Zapper. Me, I never figured you were smart enough, but you sure seem to take it personally when I cut your toy in half. I spin the tonfa in a sharp counter-clock, retracting the blade back into the shaft, and lithely kick up to my feet - only to find you already in motion, and fuck if you're not faster than I thought.

  You come at me in a rush, stepping off my knee as I land from my kip-up, and tumbling over me as I swipe at you with my tonfa, just missing a club shot across your lower back before you land behind me. I reverse the club, intending to jab it back into your kidney and leave you pissing blood for a week, but you snatch the severed whip under my jaw, the wire and segmented steel digging in under the plate of my blue filtered mask, hauling me to my toes with a "GNNNH!" of snarled frustration before you snap forward and YANK me over you, my legs flashing up overhead as I tumble through the air, a line of hot pain in my jaw that only has just a second to get registered before its shoved aside by a much bigger pain.

  I CRASH into the control box, crumpling the steel as my back slams into it, and sparks shoot out around me in a fountain - and some part of me dimly registers that we're gonna be drawing attention up here. "UNNNNNNNNGHHHHH!" I groan, my armorweave suit radiating the worst of the impact away from the crash point so I don't get any bones broken, but the pain is still huge and intense, the wind blasted out of me as I topple to the roof with a heavy thud, the crunched box smoldering and sparking above me. I clutch at my back instinctively even though the pain is really everywhere, my head ringing like the cathedral bells and whiting out my view as my goggles bring up a lot of information from my spiking biomonitor.

  I shake my hooded head, and slam my left fist into the roof, drawing up one knee under me and forcing myself up to that knee, planting my right boot on the smooth granite and growling as I press myself up. This is … this is beyond the fucking pale right here. Your idiocy and swaggering let the Penguin's goons get clear, at least according to the audio pickup from my Waverider earpiece, and now you're FIGHTING me? Fuck, I wish I had my daytime uniform on so I could add assaulting a police officer to the other charges I'm gonna run you in on.

  I stay crouched on one knee a moment, taking slow filtered breaths through my mask, trying to ease myself as the pain from that high speed crash races through me, getting my head back together a breath at a time. Because, see, I don't think you're gonna run off after chucking me at a wall. I think you're a vindictive bitch and you're gonna try to make this a fight you can WIN, somehow.

  So I ease my hand fro my lower back and twist my right gauntlet, arming a weapon from the bracer around my wrist under the gauntlet, and wait, my left fist and right boot resting on the roof, waiting for you to come in close.


 Ewa: They're gone.... They are fucking GONE, and I'm left without my prey for today.... And all because of this over-zealous, over-rated, over-costumed TART.... Gawd, I don't know what's worse, the criminals of this city, or the moronic wannabe-vigilantes, who are dripping idiocy and crass like you. And for the third time within minutes, I restrain myself from pressing the zapper button on my now, torn apart whip... Not really in fear of getting electrocuted myself... Since the 'incident', my body's chemistry has shifted, and small electric shocks do little more than tickle me.... No, I'm still trying to protect this hooded meathead!

   I fly through the air, landing on my heels, and with a backwards THRUST, I slam my tight butt into the tub of lard that is your rear end, bending forwards to initiate the throw... And well... Okay.... Your ass is not as fat as I expected... Unless that fall you received to your butt just bruised and hardened it instantly.... But I strain, feeling my sore abs scream with pain, the tonfa jab you delivered reverberating through the muscle tissue.. But like always... hard work, reaps worthy rewards!!! And I witness a very rare sight indeed.... A flying masked skank!! Your body propelled through the air and crashing into the box, denting it in, as sparks fly everywhere, puffs of black smoke rising from the fried fuses.

  And well, while my instincts are telling me to turn heel, dash and pounce off the roof to the awnings below, and give pursuit, my logic just shuts it down; there is no way I can catch up with them, and if I do... I do not have the element of surprise, or a fully functioning whip.... But fuck me if I'm going home without satiating my call to clean up these streets... If I'm not going back to my hideout with one of those goons as a trophy, I'm dragging back this hooded slut instead!!!

  My right hand gripping the hilt of my whip, but it's starting to come to life, flinch around, like a snake with it's head severed, sparks flying off it, and I cuss, swinging my arm to the side, and sending it across the roof to land few feet away from us..... Turning my head to you, I hiss in a cruel voice..... "You'll pay for a new whip, bitch... "

  And as you push your left knee under you, and plant your right foot to the floor, I bend forwards, planting both of my palms to the floor, and I sweep my legs around, with a speed that would make a break-dancer gawk; and precision that would make a gymnast go green with envy, kicking your right booted foot from under you, and sending you crashing down to your butt again. "STAY DOWN!!!"

  My feet pressing to the floor, I thrust my body up, balling my fists, and tilting my torso to the left, my right foot coming up, and I push my boot under your chin, as you sit crouched on your butt, back to the spark and smoke spewing fuse box.... Every fiber of my body telling me to just... LEAN IN... and CRUSH... But I contain myself... Ignoring the red that I'm figuratively AND literally seeing through my visor; as my vitals are all red-zoning right now.....

  "But you know what, I'll probably collect in your screams and bruises. You probably couldn't afford it, on your paycheck as the Quiz-Nos mascot..." My voice taking a turn to sarcasm, as I start to feel in control..... " Speaking of which, shouldn't your colors be green to match???" I taunt you cockily, leaning a bit more, to add more pressure to your windpipe.... Not too much Ewa... Just a little bit... Resist the urge....


Megan: I hear the whip scatter across the roof and spark somewhere off to the side, and then you hiss at me and come in sharply, sweeping your legs through my unsteady stance and dropping me back to the roof in a tumble. "NNNNGH!" I grunt, groaning a sharp "FUCK!" as my planted foot and hand are scythed out from under me, hitting the roof on my side. I roll back, forcing myself up to my ass, my back against the shielded wires and crumpled fuse-shattered elevator control box I was so recently introduced to. It's always nice to renew acquaintances.

  You push your boot under my chin and I snarl behind my mask, arching my back and lifting my breasts to ease the pressure a little, forced to stare up the length of your leg at your ridiculous centerfold body. What the hell are you doing to get curves like that? I bet it's surgery. You probably had them implanted by fucking Hugo Strange or something. You're probably all silicone and ReNu. Nothing else could explain a fucking body like yours. Not that I really APPRECIATE it much with your fucking boot pressed to my throat.

  I tense up, prepared for an immediate fight against a lethal attack, but you seem content to just fucking purr at me like Catwoman in heat, making some joke I don't fucking get right away - I don't even fucking eat at chain restaurants, not when Gotham has the best hero sandwiches in the world at Harmon's Deli - and you press more against my throat, quickening my breathing. My O2 monitor starts to spike a little as my goggles whir, scanning you. And I snarl as I arch my back and give you just what you want for a moment ...

  … choking under your foot, my tits pushed up and outlined in taunt deep blue, my tight abs stretched, my hips lifted. Looking fucking helpless. Looking DELICIOUS, I bet, to a reputed nympho like you - they say you even fucked Bane, and THAT takes some serious whoring - and I let you drink in the view a moment before I snarl and thrust my right fist up, my hand flipping up and the wrist nozzle in my bracer deploying, like I'm about to shoot webs at you like that urban legend about the Spider-Guy from New York - but instead a jet of high-velocity pepper spray shoots out. I bet your visor will probably keep those slutty greedy eyes safe, but not your fat nose or big fucking mouth!

  I lost my second tonfa in the crash, leaving us both relatively weaponless, but I do have a witty rejoinder for your bitchy commentary, slapping my gloves against the concrete wall of the elevator housing and lifting my hips, my right leg snapping up and out in a wide sharp arc that's not gonna win any awards for flashiness or make it into highlight reels - it's just a short, snapping soccer-style kick with a lot of power behind it aimed to drive the toe of my reinforced black boot up between those thick thighs of yours to give you something ELSE to enjoy while you snack on my pepper spray!

  "I'M not the one who's gonna end up paying tonight, bitch. You've got a FUCKLOAD of outstanding bills," I snarl.


Ewa:  It's easy to get carried away, when rage takes over..... And while I have been mostly 'good' since I was 'brought back'.... I have had few episodes.... Like that time I saw some Two-face lackeys breaking that guy's arm, just because he was trying to protect his wife and two kids.... I lost it.... I pounced at them from three stories above, and using the back of the neck of one of the goons to break my fall... I was coming down with my knee, you see, so I needed something soft.... He went out right away, and relatively speaking, he was the least harmed one.... That squad.... Well, let's say I didn't use any zapping at all.... I went good old hand-to-hand on them.....

  And when I was done, they looked like broken dolls on the ground... Arms broken and joints dislocated. And it felt.... it felt GOOD... But also, terrible at the same time... For the first time I realized that I could lose control... What if next time, I ended up taking another life?? What if I liked it then?? A slippery slope Ewa... a very slippery slope....

  And right now, with my boot pressing against your throat, I just stare at your masked face.. Your fingers wrapped around my ankle, as the fishnets on my right thigh bulged with the fine lines of muscle of my quads and hamstrings.... And I knew, I was loving the feeling.... To have someone under my mercy, under my control..... And those moans coming from under the mask... Those gasps.... Groans.... Shudders... Oh, they were music... Borderline erotic, I dare say..... And I couldn't help but bite the left corner of my lip, okay... just few more seconds, then I'll release the poor thing, she's probably learned her mistake by nowwWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!

  The spray comes out of no where... All I saw is your right hand leaving my ankle, your palm curling back, and then there was the spray.... Squirting in a steady stream hitting my visor, strainning the vision, but also hitting my unprotected nostrils and lips... The same lip that I had slightly parted, as I bit on its corner!! And FUCK it stung!!! And even before the Millions worth of Scoville points got the chance to enflame my nasal package, and the taste buds on my tongue to recognize the burning sensation of the pepper spray... Your powerful right leg shot up in a vicious, short trip, driving the front of your boot square into my exposed pussy!!!

  The blow powerful enough it actually lifted my left foot almost an inch off the floor, or was it the twitch in my calf from the sudden, overwhelming, multi-sourced pain, that did it as I screamed, retracting my right leg, my thighs closing as I pressed them together, bending at the knees, my mouth widening, and SUCKING in air in pain.... Air that is pretty much filled by MORE pepper-spray mist that now filled my nostrils and throat, making me SCREAMMMMM in pain and collapse to my knees, my body bending, resting my head on the concrete, alternating between GASPING and COUGHING, spittle and drool running from my mouth, pooling on the dirty floor....

Holy shit cakes…. I’m FUCKED !!!

-= End of Episode Two =-

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