Specs.
Specs.
>>
She makes her way quickly down the boulevard, not taking the time to speak to anyone or take in the sights. Keeps her head down and hood up. That and the dark glasses, hopefully, she can go by unnoticed by the people looking for her. Like her family.
Ever since she had to leave home, she's been having a hard time finding a place that was safe. And the people. The people that she'd...
But, they were attacking her, and... and...
And she didn't know what she was doing. Barely understood any of this.
And then last night? Those two? In the alley, and they were going to...
No. No, they didn't. Instead, she'd... She'd done it again. It was like an instinct. Bad things happened and then...
They were dead. With little holes in them that punched all the way through, and a splatter of red against the wall behind them. She'd even put a hole in the brick, one that didn't go all the way through into the apartment behind it thank god.
Making her way through an industrial section of town, she dodges a few rent-a-cops and enters one of the many abandoned buildings along the strip. Slipping her sunglasses off in the sudden darkness she sniffs in disgust at the state of the place.
Bludhaven is supposedly not quite as bad as Gotham but she thinks you'd need to be an expert to tell the difference.
Creeping along the wall, around shelving and pallets of various trash that has been left behind by whoever owned the mid-sized warehouse last, she finds the office for this particular monument to material goods. She gets really careful there. If she's going to find anybody, there are really good odds they'll be in there. The smell is a touch off as she approaches, but it isn't like anybody has been doing housekeeping, so she doesn't think too much of it. Slowly opening the door, she winces at the loud creaking sound it makes. So much for stealth.
Walking into the office and seeing it has both power and a joining bathroom is great. The odd chemical smell coming from the bathroom, not so much. The strange man who is staggering her way with the most disgusting leer on his face possible isn't something she was interested in either.
“Stay back!”
The man stops. He looks exceptionally confused. “Ain't you here to buy?”
She raises an eyebrow as she steps back. “Buy what? I'm just looking around.”
The guy mutters. “Thought she looked young.” Then he attempts to rush her. It's more of a stagger and he trips on the way. Then he giggles while his nose is freely emptying his blood supply on the floor.
She jumps back in fright. At barely five feet, the girl is staring in horror as this guy who seems barely coherent snatches her leg and tries to pull it out from under her.
“C... Can't let you go now... tell cops... get in trouble.”
Then he reaches out with the other arm and tries to hit her with something. The instinct happens again, and she screams in shock and dismay as her eyes focus and the red beams leave her. They carve a hole in the man's wrist, and she can see him drop the syringe that he was going to stick her with.
To kill her or addict her? Did it matter?
The man is now mewling on the floor, the red puddle beneath him growing constantly now and she has no idea what to do about this. She's thirteen for crying out loud. Maybe she should just go home. It isn't as though anybody liked that dog anyway, and it shouldn't have barked at her like that. Mutt. Stupid neighbors and their dumb dog. And the family television.
And a couple of spots on the ceiling of her room.
Backing away now from what she is almost positive is a meth lab, she gets to the street and runs.
She can't go to the homeless shelter, cause she's underage and they'll just send her back to her parents whom she doesn't have any answers for. Not that any explanation could cover for now killing probably seven people. Idiots, really. But seven of them. And her dad, when he realized she was the one responsible for the TV getting wrecked? She'd run rather than find out. He's not a nice guy when he's drunk. And he's mostly drunk.
Mostly.
Maybe she'll go to Gotham. If they're right, and it really is that bad? Maybe she can find a place there. At the very least, there it isn't really likely that anyone will have seen an electric pole or milk carton with her face and name on it. Worst case, she can always come back. It's a pretty short ride to make the trip, and she has a pass that will do it that doesn't have her name attached to it.
She just wished she knew more about who Scott Summers was. He sounded nice. He probably never killed seven people on accident while he was terrified. Probably never murdered a dog for startling him.
Probably had a home. At least until the end.
She hikes her pack up higher on her back and starts making her way to the port authority. Her pass will work on the ferry, and she's pretty sure the ferry goes to Gotham.
What's the worst that can happen?
>>
Author's note:
At this point I was waffling on whether or not to do this, but included it as an Omake since I already had it typed up. Batzulger of Twisting The Hellmouth fame basically contacted me and said: Hey. I like this. Let me take a crack at it.
I've always been really impressed with their work and was flattered they were even interested, so I said sure. If you like this do yourself a favor and check out their stuff. It's worth your time.
https://www.tthfanfic.org/Author-15818/batzulger.htm