Two Sides of the Same Coin | Young Justice

Chapter Twenty Seven | The Game

I pulled the trigger.

And sure enough, the bullet never reached her. I'm not entirely sure what happened, either my gun malfunctioned, or I just suddenly became the worst shot in the world. The bullet flew into an electrical box, sparks flying out as the piercing sound of the gun ricocheted down the street.

A low growl rose in my throat. "I don't have time for craziness, woman. I already deal with Batman enough as it is."

She rolled her eyes. "He can't help you like I can, regardless. Now please put the gun down. It's taking a lot for me to be here, and we can't really have an effective conversation with that in the middle."

I weighed my options, the sounds of the city becoming muffled sounds in the background as blood pulsed in my ears. Well, I have two choices. Either throw the gun and run, or listen to this randomly-appearing, magical crack addict who claims to have given birth to me. Honestly, out of all the people I'd assumed would be my mother, that description was the only one crazy enough to kind of make sense.

I slowly lowered the gun.

"Thank you." She gave me a small smile out of what I guess was... relief? "Now, we don't have a lot of time. At least not right now, so please hold all of your questions to the end."

I scoffed. "Well, you just wasted like, ten seconds giving me that garbage, Ted Talk intro, so hurry it up then. Why are you following me?"

She lowered her gaze. I put my hands up in mock defense. "Fine. Questions at the end, got it."

There was a brief pause, and I recognized the pounding of my heart in my chest. The way your palms got sweaty and your breath got short, and your stomach wanted to run in the opposite direction of your feet. I was nervous, and I hated it.

"You have a very special gift," she began slowly, seeming to carefully pick her words.

I wanted to open my mouth to ask if she meant my movie-star good looks, but decided against it. Probably wasn't the time.

"And I don't want it to kill you like it did to me."

I blinked. Did I hear that correctly? Maybe that was weird, magical crack addict slang for something else.

"You're dead?" I found my usually confident voice fell flat in my throat.

"I am." She sounded hollow and assured.

My heart dropped a little at her face. She wasn't lying.

Her dark hair was blown back by a large gust of cold wind. "I had hoped you would've been a bit more perceptive, but I can't blame you. At your age, it's easy to let your ego get the best of you— I would know."

The frozen state my body was currently in jolted at the comment. I narrowed my eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Haven't you ever wondered why things just work out for you?" she asked, ignoring my statement. "Why you're naturally just so great at everything?"

I blinked again. What the hell was she trying to tell me?

"Uh, not really. It's just because I am naturally talented at stuff."

Her face seemed disappointed, the way a parent's would be. "No fourteen-year-old should be on par with Batman, Brielle."

"That's because I'm not your regular fourteen-year-old, you crazy bitch," I sneered, putting my gun back into my holster as I pulled out the grappling gun yet again. "So if you're done telling me how amazing I am, I really have to—"

"That's right, you're not. You have a power. That's why you're good at what you do."

There was silence as I stared at her in utter disbelief. My mouth dropped before I barked out a laugh. "Powers? You really are a crazy woman. What powers would I have, exactly? I think I would've figured it out by now if I could fly or shoot lasers from my eyes."