MISS AMERICANA & THE HEARTBREAK PRINCE (BATTINSON)

CHAPTER ONE: "BLAME IT ON THE MARTINIS."

CORINA O'HARA JOURNAL ENTRY 1:

I always believed New York was hell on earth, with it's signature scent of piss and it's one of a kind mascot: the radioactively large rats. Even after seeing so much bloodshed and destruction abroad I never changed my mind, because cities at war were once beautiful, New York has always been the Devil's backyard.

But as I stepped off the train to Gotham Central I couldn't help but wonder, If New York is the devil's backyard, then Gotham is his home. Piss becomes sperm, rats become the most sadistic criminals of all time. One thing is for certain, news is seeping through the walls and clogging every corner. Murder, Robbery, Rape, Arson! I would be lying if I said I still did the job to seek justice, Iraq taught me there are no good guys, just the bad and the worst. It is all about glory now, and Gotham will give me a Pulitzer.

There is nothing important to note about my first day in Gotham. I arrived at the station around eleven pm and before I could whistle down a cab I was escorted by a private security to an armored black vehicle. It seems my dear aunt Charlotte has hired me a bodyguard, I assure you I protested quiet fiercely, but she threatened to send me back to New York, so I yielded. 'This isn't New York darling, only the fake rich hail cabs here!' She told me, and so that was that.

But don't fret! I'll mislead him when the time comes, as I did in Iraq with those wretched press barriers and escorts.

Goodnight,
Corina O.

P.s: It is interesting to point out though that those native to Gotham don't seem to care about my prosthetic arm, I suppose they all have enough trauma of their own, no time to care for my missing limb. It's a relief, truth be told.

CORINA O'HARA JOURNAL ENTRY TWO:

I woke up sweating and with an acute pain to my shoulder today. I have found that although my parents have been able to keep my days safe and suburban, they can't stop me —, I can't stop me, from spending my nights in phantasmagoric battle scenes of my past. Regardless, Yemen is to blame for my arm, not for my wretched sleep schedule, the Sandman stopped visiting me long before I went there.  By the time I woke it was still early, around six, and breakfast was only at eight, so I had plenty of time to make preparations for tonight.

I would be lying if I said I have a particularly sound plan, there is, after all, no way to e-mail a shadow, and as far as I can tell, everyone knows of Batman, but no one knows him. So I gather I have two possible routes, I could find wherever that ominous symbol of his flashes from and turn it on, (I have heard rumors that is how the police gets in touch with him), or, alternatively I could get mugged; After all, isn't that what he does? Save people? And most certainly it would make him more empathetic towards me, who doesn't love a damsel in distress? After that, i'm not sure what I'll do. Beg? Offer him money? Sex? Between me and you my dearest diary there is very little I wouldn't give him in exchange for this. To work with him, the BATMAN. If everything goes right (and I know it will, luck owes me) by this time next year I'll have 'Pulitzer Award Winner' in great bold letters in my resume. 
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Breakfast with my family is always a somber affair, I figure it is because we are all raging undisclosed anorexics and to have cottage cheese as your first meal of the day 365 days a year is maddening, but it's just a theory. My aunt barely acknowledged me of course, I sat to her right and she made a quick show of kissing my hand and saying 'it is very nice to have company', her focus then shifted to the gossip column of her newspaper, today's headline read: cannibal serial killer on the loose! Interesting, I couldn't help but wonder if Batman had read that same headline. Gruesome criminals are undoubtedly his jurisdiction, and it would make for a wonderful story.