Barbara Gordon

I know my limits. Better than most. So when I see the gang that's been knocking over mom and pop joints in the neighborhood I don't even hesitate. There's five of them, one of me. They don't have a chance. Especially since I take down two of them as I land, using a line from the nearby rooftop to slow my descent so I'm not dropping via gravity alone. Means I can knock down my first target as I spin and kick down the other. That leaves four.

I give the third guy points for reacting first, lunging for me as he curses. But he's too heavy to move fast and I deflect his punch while giving him one of my own. Right in the solar plexus. He goes down wheezing. The last two had time to grab weapons. One's got a knife, the other a gun. Not smart with his friends around and so close, so I go after him first, lunging away from the knife-wielder and into the stomach of the gun-toter.

Maybe I need better names for these guys. Idiot One and Idiot Two.

I.T. with the gun falls back into the wall of the building they were hanging behind with a grunt and a huff. Ew, liquor and cigarette breath. He tries to bring his knee up, but I block him and whip my head up, knowing that the plate in my cowl will keep me safe and probably break his nose. It does. I'll have to wash the blood off, but it's worth it to hear his muffled exclamation. His free hand comes to his nose and now that he's off balance, it's not that hard to twist his wrist behind him until he releases the gun. For good measure, I push him into the wall again and he goes down.

I.O. tries to come to his friend's aid and I feel the edge of the blade rip my cape as I dodge. Closer than I'd like, but since it's caught in my cape, I might as well use it, spinning to catch the blade and pull him off balance. With a regular fabric cape, the knife would tear, but honestly, who wears just regular fabric in their uniforms these days? He might have managed to stab in, but ripping down is something else when your cape is laced with a kevlar derivative. The spin opens his body to me, leaving him wide open for the fist I swing at his face. He's got a glass jaw, most bullies do and these guys are little more than grown-up versions of the kids that shake down their classmates for lunch money.

Looking around, I see that my first two targets are stirring. "I'd stay down if I were you, I'm trying not to break bones tonight, but I'll make an exception." Behind me, I catch movement in my peripheral vision. Number... not armed, so we'll call him Idiot Three, he's starting to stir as well. So I'm three down and three kinda up. "But please, take a moment to think." I might be enjoying this a little too much.

Little do I know, I have an audience.

Okay, why did I decide to do grad school again?

Oh, right, jobs. As in jobs that pay real money in real careers in this strange place I'm sometimes convinced I'll never leave. This place that has me cut off from all my friends and family back home and has replaced it with... a newer stranger one. And since my circle back home includes costumes and vigilante super-heroes this place has really upped the game in the weird department.

Not that any of that matters tonight. Aggie's at a sleepover. My kitchen table is covered in books and papers, somewhere underneath all of that is my laptop, and there's a fresh pot of coffee. I am woman, hear me study. Or something. I can do this. I will figure out my thesis tonight if it kills me. Or, you know, not.

I pour myself a cup and start to wade through the mess I've made of my academic career when there's a knock at the door.

It's been six months since Cass disappeared. She's the first person I've known to do that and I still can't quite believe it. It hurts. She was family. A bat. And a friend. And every night since then, I've been killing myself to cover her turf and mine. Maybe literally now.

I was tired, too tired to be in the neighborhood I was in and I should have known better. But the deal was going down and I had to stop it before those drugs got on the street. One the good side? The bad guys are all tied up and the drugs were destroyed. On the bad side, I'm on the nearest roof losing consciousness after one too many hits after one too few nights' sleep. I remember calling the bust into the cops right before I remember thinking, "These bricks look really soft. I should lie down."

I don't really remember much after that.

Game over. Mirror’s down and I’m... man, am I tired. But I’m not tired at the same time. It’s the craziest feeling and there’s nothing like it. I’m still not used to it, the way this feels. The power of it. The high before the crash when I feel every bruise, scrape and knock to the head. I’m going to sleep until noon and then -

Shoot. Tomorrow’s Christmas, isn’t it? So maybe I’ll sleep later.

There’s a moan and the ground twitches under my boot. “Stop moving, I’ll sit you up after I call the police.” Not that they’re not probably on the way already. The old carnival’s closed, but that gunfire probably carried and it isn’t like the police weren’t expecting something like this. I mean, I warned them when I gave them Mirror’s list of the miracles he planned to revoke.

I have the radio in my belt tuned to the police frequencies and after a few words with a very surprised dispatcher later, units have been dispatched. Mirror’s disarmed, bound and semi-conscious and after a quick check, I’m sure his pulse is steady. He doesn’t get to die. Not today.

You get your miracles whether you deserve them or not, that’s what I said, wasn’t it?

Time to make my escape before the police show. As I sprint towards the Hall of Mirrors’ exit, I can feel the crunch of glass under my feet, hear the night air whistling through the nice new bullet-riddled walls, smell the snow as I leave the building. It’s a beautiful night, can’t deny it. Any night with a win is a beautiful night. But who am I kidding? I’m smart, smarter than Mirror was, but I was also lucky. This was a win, but it was a nasty one. I screwed up. At the hospital. On the train. I should have been faster, better, I need to be better or the next one’s going to worse. I know I can be better. I know I can do... this...?

I skid to a stop in the alley where my bike should be. “Sweetheart, you didn’t get stolen did you?”

And now I am talking to my bike. Or rather the space where my bike should be. God, Richard would never let me hear the end of it if he saw me now. Which makes me glad I’m alone.

Very alone.

Way more alone than I should be.

I should be hearing sirens by now. Lights should be flashing, maybe even people shouting. Turning around, I start to wonder exactly how hard those last few hits I took were. Because there’s no carnival. No carnival, no cops, no familiar Gotham skyline. Somehow, I'm not where I was. There are buildings. Lots of buildings and without thinking, I jump onto the nearest fire escape and pull myself up. Bless my arms, they will never let me down.

Racing to the top, my mind tries to work through all the possibilities. Aliens? Hallucinatory drugs? Coma? None seem likely but when I hit the roof, my thoughts stop cold. Not an easy thing to do with me, let me tell you. But the sun is coming up. I know you lose track of time fighting, but this is ridiculous. It can’t be morning already. And there aren’t any landmarks I recognize, anywhere. I know Gotham from the rooftops to the sewers and she’s gone. How does that even happen?.

I twist the radio at my hip to the frequency I swore I wasn’t going to use. I was going to do this myself, alone. I don’t need them, I really don’t, but that was when I was going after the costumed creeps, not losing an entire city. Or losing myself, or whatever is happening here. But I can’t be the only one seeing this.

“This is Batgirl, is anyone on? Robin? Nightwing?” I’m not calling out to him. I just need a reality check, not a lecture. “Hello? Anyone have their ears on?”

Nothing.

Static.

What. The. Hell.

Where am I?

Ye olde paper mail goes here.