The heavy scent of rain hung in Gotham’s air, mingling with the faint tanginess of metal and gasoline. A single streetlight flickered in and out at the mouth of the alley, casting long, trembling shadows along the cracked asphalt. The muffled growl of distant sirens reverberated through the humid atmosphere, their echoes bouncing off the dark facades of old, towering buildings. The city was restless tonight.
And so was Alina Darke.
From her perch atop an abandoned rooftop, she could see it all—the sprawling rundown districts, the seedy nightclubs glowing like beacons for crime and lawlessness, and the occasional throb of red-blue lights where the police tried to assert control. Yet, something darker festered here, something that eluded even the law. Alina was here for one reason: to find it. No, to stop it.
Her costume clung to her as if it were a second skin—the sleek material of her bodysuit was a synthetic blend, smooth and matte-black, broken only by the vibrant accents of yellow along her knees, waist, and down her neckline. It wasn’t just armor; it was a statement. Standing bold against the tide of chaos Gotham threw at her.
The choker around her neck gleamed briefly under the faint moonlight, a silent reminder: *No one controls you anymore.*
Alina adjusted her gloves, tugging them a little tighter over her sleek forearms that extended into long talons of segmented, reinforced black gloves. She was a predator dressed in speed and shadows. Her mask, the intricate black half-cowl, hid her eyes, but left her mouth and jaw exposed, lips pursed in muted determination. The bat-like ears atop her head were inspired more by myth than practicality, but they helped with one thing: intimidation.
From below, a thrumming engine broke the silence—the unmistakable growl of a mobster’s muscle car. Alina’s sharp eyes followed the black sedan as it rolled up to an alley, skidding to a halt. The windows were tinted, but she didn’t need to see what was inside to know who he was.
*Kessen.*
A notorious human trafficker, known for working in the shadows and rarely glimpsed in the light. His twisted network suddenly grew visible in the city’s underbelly just weeks ago, with girls disappearing from orphanages, streets… their scents vanishing into the smog forever.
Alina gritted her teeth. She wasn’t just here to stop him. She was here for revenge. These streets had once swallowed her whole too. The helpless girl she had been—abandoned, broken—had clawed her way out. The woman on this rooftop, powerful and unyielding, was forged from that struggle.
She moved.
There was no sound as she leaped from the rooftop, a shadow that seemed to melt into the smoky haze of the city night. Her yellow-clad boots met the ground with no more than a whisper. She glided closer to the sedan, long black gloves brushing over the worn brick walls to steady herself. Her silhouette became one with the darkness—twisting, silent, unstoppable.
Her mind raced, recalling the brief moments before her transformation: She wasn’t Batgirl, wasn’t Catwoman, and certainly wasn’t any copy of the heroines the world knew. She was *both* and *neither*, something new born from rage and resilience. Alina never hesitated, and when the moment came, she surged forward.
The door to the sedan opened, and Kessen himself stepped out: a mottled leather jacket, greasy haircut, his eyes darting nervously around. His size didn’t match his cruelty—a rat more than a wolf. Two men—his goons—flanked behind him like obedient watchdogs. They didn’t notice Alina until it was too late.
A sharp swipe from her leg snagged the first thug’s foot out from under him. He crumpled with a pitiful shout. The second tried to follow up with his fist, only to have her glove catch his wrist with impossible precision. She spun, and her elbow crashed against his temple, sending him sprawling onto the asphalt.
Kessen’s wide, terrified eyes glanced at the woman before him, flickering with muted recognition. He knew the rumors.
“You made a mistake coming down here, girl.” His voice trembled, squeaking like a rusty hinge.
Alina stood confidently before him, her arms crossed, her body clad in midnight hues, broken by those electric accents of yellow. Beneath her mask, her brilliant eyes pierced him, glowing with the fire of a woman who had seen herself perish in the shadows and had returned to conquer them. A smirk curved her lips, slow, predatory.
“You should know better than to call me ‘girl,’” she whispered, her voice a husky echo in the cavernous alley. She stepped forward, each movement stalking, assured. “I’m everything you fear.”
Her muscles coiled as she suddenly closed the gap between them, the yellow highlights along her outfit flaring under the light—a warning sign of the danger she carried with her. With a twist of her arm, she sent Kessen crumpling to his knees, his face scrunched in agony as he howled louder than the storm brewing in the distance.
“I know what you do,” she continued, bending down so her words, sweet as venom, dripped into his ear. “And these streets? They belong to me now.”
His terrified whimpers were all she needed. As the sirens in the distance grew closer, Alina knew she’d leave Kessen a gift bag for the police, bound and bloody. Tonight, she was sending a message, not just to him, but to anyone who ever dared take on Gotham’s underbelly.
She was no hero, not in their classic sense. But she was the vigilante this city had earned—a dark whisper in its twisted labyrinth calling out that there were still predators on the hunt.
As the lights of the police cars blossomed in the alley behind her, she disappeared into the shadows, vanishing as quickly as she had come. Her heart thrummed in her chest. But her night had just begun.
This wasn’t the final chapter of her story. No, this was a prelude. And she would weave her destiny one strike at a time.
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