#twtask001

The stillness in the air was enough to distract the young Bruce Wayne from his usual reverie, his head tilted up as his eyes followed the flurry of clouds hovering over the city, dark and heavy with set lines vivid against the dark indigo sky. The moon a heavy contrast in comparison as it hovered over him, the only source of light in an otherwise dark street.

 A grimace crossed his face as the idea taunted him, his thoughts returning to its usual grim pondering that only causes him to turn away from the light the moon cast and resume his walk. His shoulders heavier then they were when he’d snuck off from whatever obligation he had that day – the appeal of running away more poignant now as he breathed in the night air and found himself so deep in the city he no longer knew where he was precisely. But the fear that should have beheld him made no appearance. He felt as calm and as afloat as a leaf flying with the passing breeze.

He kept his path, forward and without looking back, only stopping when he heard a scuffle in an alley. His natural curiosity got the better of him and he came to a full halt, meekly turning his head to watch as muffled threats were whispered in the shadows - their outline vague in the darkness.

As the criminal pulled out a knife, a glimmer of light bounced against the surface as the moon came peering out from behind the clouds, seemingly to judge or just to gander at the unruly lives of the people that lived underneath her. The man was unfazed and only in the spotlight managed to gather the courage to make true his threats as he waved his knife around the young woman’s face.

There was rage before thought, action before introspection, a flood of memories before actual observation. In the next few seconds it took for him to walk towards the man, the memory of his parents death had already played itself half a million times in front of him, only replacing the figures with the faces but staying true to the trauma. He saw his parents crumble to the floor with blood seeping from their torsos followed by screams echoed into the night and his ten year old self crying helplessly in between them.

There was no act of forethought as he shoved the man roughly by the shoulder, enough to catch him off guard and make him stumble. The girl he’d attempted to protect forgotten in the sidelines, shaking and crying and clutching her chest. He didn’t see the mugger’s confused face and only saw the stone cold reaction of his parent’s murderer staring back him. He didn’t hear his threats or the fear in them as his own face managed to stay flat and inscrutable while he stepped on his hand and kicked the knife away as he let it go.

The man weaponless and defenseless wasn’t enough for Bruce. Joe Chiller’s face still as clear as it stared up at him, mocking him, just as he did eight years ago. He kicked at his sides and stepped on his shoulders, unhindered even as the sound of bones unlocking from sockets pervaded his current daze. He didn’t stop even when the man had begun begging for mercy, face bloody and body broken from his abuse. He still didn’t feel it was enough. He wasn’t…dead.

A small splash of clarity woke him up and left him staring at the miserable pile of tears and pleas which was the mugger and the weight of the moon’s fixed gaze on his back. It’s rays dancing off the clean surface of the knife he’d kicked away just minutes ago. He stared at his blood shot eyes staring back at him, his knuckles aching now with lucidity. His heart weighing heavier as he turned around and found not the dead bodies of his parents but of the young woman and a police man staring at him as if he was the criminal.

“Jesus Christ, kid.” The police man breathed, walking towards him warily.

How he wished it was his parents instead.

He pushed past them just as the man was reaching for his shoulder, his feet more eager to sprint now than to walk as he ran till he couldn’t breathe and no other thought ran through his head than: keep running.

     Travis Coogan. Steve Kenzel. Anthony Travers. Johnson Lewis. Oscar Richards.

  Their names like a mantra she repeated until the worlds were inscribed on the wall of her mind. Carved into bone and breathed in like air stained with vengeance. The night she'd met them was one she'd never forget, and Selina would make sure it was one they'd live to regret for the rest of their lives.  

           She knew their schedules by heart now, where they lived, where they worked, where they stopped off for cigarettes en-route to one of the aforementioned. How Oscar spit in the change cups of the homeless and walked away with a lecherous grin. How Travis was cheating on his wife of twelve years with at least two prostitutes, whom he saw on a regular basis. How Anthony had knocked up his housemaid and beat her around on more than one occasion. She was the shadow that woke up them up in the dead of night caked in cold sweat. All of the surveillance was worth it though, because she knew when she finally rained down like salvation it would be at the crux of their weakness. Taking each one down when they were at their most vulnerable, cradling their heads at the bottom of a staircase trying to find a piece of remorse in their miserable existence.

      Then she'd leave them just as broken as they'd left her. In shambles on the sidewalk with broken ribs and a bloodied mouth. When she was through with them the only way they'd murmur her name was in a silent prayer to a God she didn't believe in for a benediction of mercy.

            { you could try and take us                          but we're the gladiators. } 

   Leather-clad hands bludgeoned the punching bags, their names malevolent whispers shimmying in the air around her. Taunting her and forcing her to the brink, once she dipped her toes into the black waters she'd never be able to retreat to grey again.

     This was the message Ted had ingrained in her mind, "Fighting is in your blood, Selina. Your body is a weapon, yield it carefully, because once it's stained by the blood of another it'll never wash clean."

             But Selina didn't care. She was ready to plunge her hands into the carnage, or so she thought. All she knew was that she was tired of living a life cloaked in fear, letting other people dictate her next move and falling prey to their ministrations.  

          { glory and g o r e go hand in hand. }

  They drove her forward, the eagerness to take them down and leave the imprint of her as an acrid burn on their tongues, if they survived the war. She had doubts on whether or not she would let them live and thats exactly what drove her forward. This, at least, had been her plan. Until the time came for Selina to deliver the blows.

         The night was crisp, bitter wind chopping at the bit to chafe its next victim as she buckled the lapels of her coat closer under her neck and ducked into the dark of the night. She hadn't told Ted her plan. It was easier to not have him sitting on her shoulder offering warnings about how murder could mar her soul. The leggy brunette arrived at Travis's door at approximately 11:02 pm. Every night at 11 o'clock, Travis, the ringleader of his rogue posse, was in bed, reading. Such a novel and innocent act for someone so twisted. It was that reason alone Selina didn't trust people who claimed to be ordinary. What a word. As if anyone truly was. They were always the ones most unexpected.

 Scaling the side of his building, she reached the terrace outside the bedroom window, and sure enough, there he was. Propped up in bed with deep purple bags around his eyes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose and an ample amount of russet scotch at his side which he drank down hungrily.

         It won't quiet your demons coward, but I could.                                      After all, dead men tell no secrets.

  It would be so easy, so easy, to creep in through the window and throttle him. But what would the fun be if he didn't fight back? Fact was, he probably wouldn't, not until the shock left him anyways. Selina wasn't sure how long she stood there, deliberating. Long enough for him to turn off his lamp and tucker into bed when she looked up again. The flames of fury licked at her insides, charring almost, because their was no denying just how badly she wanted to end him. Selina despised men on power trips who thought they could use women as barbie dolls and then toss them aside, before proceeding to squash the rest of those they deemed lesser. When in reality they were the true scum.

       However, would this suffice? Did he deserve a quick death? Did any of them? It would undoubtedly have an adverse effect on her too.  

                                 { we gladiate but I guess we're really fighting ourselves. } 

    Despite the unwavering wrath that had fueled her over the past few months, Selina made a snap decision. She tumbled with ease into the bedroom and went straight to the dresser and closet. It didn't take long to find items of value. A gold wedding band, an antique pocket watch, a ruby belt buckle in a glass case of surmised value.

                             Why kill him when she could leave him penniless? Diamonds were forever while emotions were fleeting. Her new agenda would be far more rewarding, far more devious. Skulking after each man like a puma, a black panther stalking its prey. She'd make herself known this time. Make sure they suspected she was after them, she wanted them to drive themselves crazy.

        Am I going insane? No, that couldn't be her...

                 Stashing the goods, she perched precariously on his window-sill. Making no move, simply watching him toss and turn before making the tiniest noise, so slight it might have been missed. But he heard it, she was sure, he jerked up in bed and squinted towards the window, fumbling for his glasses. By the time he had them and placed them on his face she was already gone.

    { secretly you love this, do you even wanna go free? }