The NEW 53 Presents...SHE-BAT, VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER ONE.
A new time…a new place. Brenda Wayne is a troubled teen prodigy and perky heiress to a vast empire in Gothamville. Or so she was until she went missing. Many years later, Brenda resurfaces, laying claim to her dead papa’s company. Her mission: to restore it to its former glory in the face of corporate corruption. But that may not be her only mission. By night, she is the vigilante known as…She-Bat.
DrLight Presents - The NEW 53: SHE-BAT.
The young woman paced the narrow space she was allotted within the solitary confines of Cell Block X. She felt a small droplet of sweat inch its way down from her knotted hair to her tragically untweezed right brow, and angrily flicked it away. She was frustrated with herself. Not for sweating. You got used to that living life on the lam. It was her failure. A battle with six other women in the recreation area had gotten her a broken tooth, while she had only managed a few tugs of the hair. A battle with those women got her locked away in this box. No water. No view. And certainly no [frick]ing room service.
Yet here she was, counting the pores in the old cement and contemplating her fate, when there came a rap on the bars. The young woman jumped, and looked up into the eyes of a pale woman of stiff posture and masculine features, dressed head to toe in a black that was blacker than a black ceiling tile in a poorly lit room.
‘I’m sorry,’ she asked, with a derisive tone that matched the smirk on her furry lip, ‘Did I frighten you?’
‘[frick] right you frightened me! Who the [frick]ing [frick] are you anyway!’
The manly woman stepped closer, leaning in toward the bars. She squinted intensely at the young woman through them, and in a conspiratorial voice she said, ‘Just someone with an interest in your little playground scraps, Ms. Wayne.’
This gave the young woman some pause. ‘Wayne’ was not a name she had heard in many years. Somebody had found her. Somebody knew. She tried not to let her squirrely panic show on her face, and failing that, turned away from the manly woman as she composed her reply. She shoved all three inches of her dwindling confidence deep inside of her voice, and the quavering result made her sound a touch too sure of herself.
‘I don’t know what the [frick]ity you’re talking about, but [frick]ing Brenda Wayne is [frick]ing dead.’
‘And what is her corpse doing in a prison in Mexico?’
The young woman peered over her shoulder now, her eyes narrowed.
‘Who the [frick] is asking, anyway?’
At this, the manly woman bowed. ‘My name is Henrietta Ducard, but I represent Cabeza del Diablo. A man who can offer you a path.’
The young woman snorted. ‘What makes you think I need a [frick]ing path?’
‘Your lack of fighting skill, first of all,’ said Ducard, ‘And that hair.’
The young woman now had lost every trace of cool from her face, and she had no problem showing it to this ‘Ducard’ chick. ‘And what path can this Diablo mother[frick]er offer me?’
Ducard’s cocked an eyebrow, and now leaned casually against the bars. She eyeballed her nails through a black gloved hand. ‘The path to a shower, for one thing. And the path of someone like himself, who seeks to make sure criminals get they ass served.’
She turned pointedly to the young woman and whispered, ‘The path of Los Assassins.’
The young woman snorted again, louder this time. ‘Los Assassins. [frick]ing vigilantes.’
‘No, Ms. Wayne. A vigilante is a young lady who goes about Tijuana, smashing cervezas over the heads of every guy who looks at her ass. A vigilante gets herself locked up. But Los Assassins are so much more. You could become…a legend.’
Internally, the young woman had to admit it was a tantalizing prospect. This could be the thing to push her super secret training over the edge. With this, she could finally return to Gothamville. To make good on her promise. But externally, she got her cool back. Externally, she wasn’t hearing it.
‘Whatever. [frick]ing kidding yourself if you think that’s the path for me.’
Ducard got to her knees now, matching the young woman’s gaze. ‘Perhaps you’re right…’
She rose again. ‘But perhaps I’m right. In any case, our lawyer has arranged to have you released tomorrow. If you’re bored with those dreadlocks, find the sweetest corn the streets offer you, and bring it to the top of Pico de Orizaba. There, you will find us. There, you may find what you were looking for all along.’
She started down the corridor now, leaving the young woman alone with her gaping mouth. The young woman couldn’t help but be convinced. Perhaps it was indeed time to leave behind this life of grit and table scraps. Perhaps she was ready. Or at least ready to be ready.
Quizas. The young woman’s eyes closed. Those that opened belonged to Brenda Wayne. They stared ahead with determination, now seeing the pores in the cement as if each one were an ex-boyfriend who had called her a bitch.
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