Chapter Text
“Excuse me? Ma’m, excuse me, are you alright?”
My head snaps up to look at her, suddenly remembering how I’m in a coffee shop.
Calm down, you’re fine
The woman keeps talking, saying something about how I don’t look well.
She’s probably right, but I can’t move, can’t talk, can’t breathe –
Calm. Down.
“And you’ve been sitting here for a while, so I guess I just wanted to check in—”
She rushes her words, letting them blur together until it’s hard to tell what she’s even talking about.
I’m trying to say something, maybe about how it’s alright, but all I can manage is a small smile.
It’s almost sad how much I’ve let myself slip.
Come on, get up; you have work to do.
“I’m quite alright, thank you.”
The woman practically collapses on herself with relief, letting her eyes shut for a moment before snapping back open, just in time for her to launch into another ramble before someone stops her.
“Mommy? Can we go yet?” A little boy appears in my peripheral vision, running up to his mother recklessly, like he knows she’ll catch him.
And she does.
My throat tightens at the innocence in his eyes, like he hasn’t yet been touched by the dangers in Gotham.
That’s why I fight, though, isn’t it?
So there can be fewer kids like me in this world?
It’s only when the lady has long since left with her kid and my coffee has turned cold that I realise how dark the sky has become.
I know I… zoned out again, but I never meant to stay this long.
I’m only grateful the lady pulled me out of it before the staff did.
That’s always an interesting conversation to have, and one I’d rather avoid.
I start to stand, grabbing my bag and 10$ for the coffee, before leaving the money on the table and walking out of the dimly lit coffee shop.
I can hear yelling in the distance, but tonight, that’s Batman’s problem.
Because I’m finally going to make my suit today.
I’ve been running around at night in a black shirt and pants, a vest and a flimsy face mask for far too long.
My mind drifts as muscle memory does the work for me, guiding me to my apartment with practised ease.
When I reach the front door of my complex, the moon is high in the sky, and there’s frost on the doorknob that always comes with late November.
I walk inside, the heated space hitting me like a truck after being out in the cold, and slowly make my way towards the elevator.
When it finally opens, another person steps out, but I barely acknowledge them before the lift doors close in front of me, and I’m cut off from the world, just for a moment.
Then the doors open again.
And I step out.
And the moment’s over.
I stride across the room to my door, pressing the key into the lock with a click.
My eyes take in the familiar space, the TV still humming in the background from when I forgot to turn it off.
The blinds are closed, but the lights still illuminate the room, and when the door shuts, I finally feel like I can breathe.
I’m home.
And nobody can take that from me.
I ignore my living room, though, because my goal is the office.
Because today I’m going to finally make my own suit.
The door creaks as I open it, but when my eyes find bulletproof metal, I sigh with relief.
It’s still here.
I pick up some material from the corner – stretchy, light, and breathable.
The toughness will come from the armour.
My hands test the weight of the fabric, and as I lay everything out on the table, staring at everything from welders to sewing kits, I let out a small laugh.
Time to get to work.
- · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
My hands are shaking, sores line the edges of my nails, and my clothes are singed in places, but I’m done.
I take in my work laid out on the table, and I nearly jump for joy.
It doesn’t have all the newest tech or special adjustments.
But it’s mine.
And that’s what makes it perfect.
I try everything on, from the mask to the boots, and it fits like a glove.
There’s a mask that’s covering the bottom half of my face, the edges lined with a dark navy, and a thin sheet of metal covering the front of it.
My shirt is made of a light, breathable fabric that clings to me perfectly, with the same navy lining on the sides. A much thicker piece of metal covers my back and front, as well as my shoulders and arms. Not to mention the strap on my back that is perfect for larger guns. Full protection.
For my legs, I have tight-fitting pants with those same streaks of colour running through them, although it’s not a one-piece suit, with the pants being a separate part with a belt. There are two gun holsters on the belt, as well as a thigh sheath for a throwing knife, even though I may have to learn to use one first.
My boots are simple. No high-tech, no special hold, just good, black hiking boots.
I have a watch too, something easy to call the police station with, wherever I’ve taken somebody down who belongs behind bars.
I’m no Batman.
But I never wanted to be.
I ended up calling myself ‘Maelstrom’
It’s a powerful whirlpool.
I thought it was fitting.
Get close enough, and you can’t escape.
I’m starting to strip it off, setting down my costume into a small locked case for safekeeping, when I hear it.
It’s coming from above, the roof.
Why would somebody be on the roof?
Running… stumble, fall.
Then nothing.
Whoever it was didn’t get back up.
And I can’t just leave them there.
Because even when I’m not roaming the streets, I’m still a vigilante.
I’m still just trying to do what’s right.
So when I’m already running for the stairs, I’m not surprised.