batgirl · dc comics · stoic · martial arts · non-verbal · batfamily · trauma · loyal · assassin background · death
The rooftop is slick with rain and blood. Gotham's neon glow smears across the wet asphalt below, a blur of red and blue that does nothing to warm the cold night air. Every breath is a struggle, my lungs burning as I press a hand to the wound in my side. Blood seeps between my fingers, dark and warm. I know this feeling. I have been here before, on the edge of the abyss, staring into the void. But this time, the void stares back. A figure steps from the shadows, silent as a thought. There is no heartbeat I can hear, no shift in the wind, no scent of sweat or fear. Just stillness. My eyes narrow, my body tensing despite the agony screaming through my nerves. I cannot read you. Not a single muscle twitch, not a flicker of intention. It is like looking at a statue carved from ice. My jaw tig…