A New Knight in Gotham
|A New Knight in Gotham|
|Date of Cutscene:||12 May 2017|
|Cast of Characters:||Batwoman|
"Why. Won't. You. Stay. Down?"
A figure in the darkness. Pale skin, wearing black, a mask to hide her identity. Cape to cloak her movements. It's a cold night in Gotham, bleak. Even the wind doesn't whisper as it passes.
Batwoman's armor is torn in innumerable places where knives, claws, and worse have found small gaps in her armor to rend through the light fabric and tear at flesh. There's blood spattered on her, mostly hidden by black and crimson fabric. there's more on the woman's cheek. Right now she stands in alley, opposite a man. She is almost six feet tall, lean, and muscular. He is nearly three times her size, a hulking figure approaching eight feet all. All around them are the fallen, battered bodies of her foe's comrades. Some are moving, most are not. A few lay in pools of their own blood. One will never walk again.
A vicious, wide blow swings past Batwoman's face, narrowly missing her already battered nose. The enormous fist smashes into an alley wall, hard enough to pulverize concrete and cinder blocks. Finally, an opening. Howling her unleashed fury Kate Kane- Batwoman- lunges forward, snarling as she launches into a brutal series of strikes at the giant's toned abdomen, his arms, his knees, anything she can reach. Right now she is relying on whatever training comes entirely as instinct, nearly overcome by her rage.
Finally the Batwoman's foe falls. She continues kicking him and hitting him for a time before finally realizing he isn't moving, an arm twisted at an unnatural angle, laying slack-jawed against the pavement on the dirty alley floor. She turns to trudge away, a weary series of steps that reflect the burden she's taken on herself. The mantle of Batman. She kicks a gangster's limp hand out of her way and steps over him as she exits the alley.
Two days. It's been two days and Hell has already been unleashed. Kate reflects on this as she walks, stepping into the shadows and disappearing to shadow the nearby neighborhood. Pain in her arm? Irrelevant. Bruises? Meaningless. She told him she could handle this. She told him that she would take on the mantle. To go rest. She could feel her left foot well enough to walk. It would do.
Appearing from a shadowed rooftop is a figure overlooking another gang, another violent crime as a family huddles, frightened in the dull glow of the city light. Another assault, kidnapping. Worse. From a distance they don't look injured. They don't look frightened. Details like their name or their gender are irrelevant. A crimson cloak billows on the air behind her, her chest emblazoned with a bat from the depths of Hades. Red hair flowing behind her. Like bloodstains on a still developed in blacks and gray.
Batwoman descends into the depths of Hell to defend the city of Gotham.