𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 ━━ 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐙𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐳

s e v e n

Every resident in Gotham had their secrets, some darker than others. Soren Striker had some of the darkest in the whole city. The only difference was, many of Soren's were secret even to her.

After the surprisingly easy ring heist, Soren went home and fell into a deep sleep plagued by nightmares. Or maybe they were memories, she couldn't tell anymore. Her life had become like a twisting tunnel of uncertainty and an inability to remember the person she was before her mind was emptied of everything that gave her identity and comfort.

She sighed and sat up in bed, a cold sweat making her hair stick to her skin. She reached over to her nightstand for her phone but instead found a notepad.

Soren picked it up and examined the words written on the paper. 56 Mortimer St. It was her handwriting, but she didn't remember writing it.

She furrowed her eyebrows as she tossed the notepad back on the nightstand and got dressed. She wore her work outfit—of which she had duplicates— but decided to bring only about a quarter of the weapons she'd usually carry. She planned on doing some slight investigating and wasn't looking for a fight. 

When she arrived at the location, she stalked down the trash-filled alleyway and around the back of the old industrial building. As far as she could tell, there was no one there, nor was there a way for her to get inside.

Abandoned buildings were common in Gotham, though many of them were often occupied by the homeless or used as meetup spots for criminals. Crime ran rampant in the city of shadows and not much was being done to reverse that.

Unfortunately, this building seemed to be used for the latter. Soren had inhuman reflexes, but that didn't mean she had any more strength than a normal human being. 

So, when a group of 11 big, surly men swarmed her, she knew she was in for a world of hurt.

As they attacked her, she did her best to dodge and block as many hits as she could, but they managed to get quite a few in. Still, she stood her ground—her lips now accented with blood—and kept fighting them off.

Soren wasn't exactly sure why they were attacking her, but she didn't have time to ask them as they were too busy trying to kill her. 

One of them men managed to get one good hit on Soren, and that was all he needed. She dropped to her knees and then to her side, her hands covering her face from the flurry of oncoming kicks.

The group of men kicked and kicked until she stopped moving and they finally left. Her head was spinning and her muscles ached as she laid there and the world faded to black.

Leaning against a brick wall, Soren tapped her boots against the ground, her eyes trained on her target like a hawk. She was waiting for the mark to break away from the busier streets and stroll down an alleyway so she could take him out more discreetly.

With her eyes so focused on the corrupt politician, she hadn't realized someone coming up behind her, not until they had a cloth doused in chloroform covering her nose and mouth. Her hands clawed at theirs but it was no use and she soon lost consciousness.

When she awoke in an abandoned warehouse, she couldn't move, and as she looked down, she realized why. Barbed wire wrapped around her torso keeping her firmly in place. The sharp knots dug into her arms, cutting into her flesh and drenching her skin in blood.

She knew those cuts would scar, and was to afraid to move in fear that she would cut open an artery.

The sound of footsteps gained her attention and she lifted her head, her gaze falling upon an older man and a woman about the same age as her.

"We didn't want to have to do this." The man said as they stopped in front of Soren. "You have to return to the organization or the price you must pay is death."

Something about the two people in front of Soren was familiar, but she couldn't quite figure out what. Her head was still clouded from being knocked out.

"I suggest you choose the option of returning and serving us once again, I know that's the option my daughter would prefer." The man added, gesturing to the girl next to him. So he was her father? Confusion laced through her features. She didn't know who these people were or what they wanted with her.

"What?" Soren asked, trying not to move too much. "Who are you? Return where?"

"Return to the—"

Soren woke up to a blinding light and pain coursing through her body. As her eyes adjusted and examined the white room, she realized she was in the hospital.

In an attempt to sit up and get the hell out of there before anyone figured out who she was, she was immediately pulled back down by the straps around her wrists. The sleeve of her shirt was riding up, revealing the many scars lining her arms. She stared down at them and wondered if she had been dreaming or if it was a memory.

Before now, she couldn't remember how she got those scars, so perhaps her memories really were coming back to her in the dream world.

Struggling to free her wrists from the restraints, Soren winced through the pain as she dislocated her wrist and slipped it out of the leather strap. Footsteps in the hall outside her room alerted her to someones presence.

"Soren Striker is an extremely dangerous criminal and should be supervised at all times, I told you that." Soren recognized the husky, demanding voice that belonged to Jim Gordon. 

Detective Gordon opened the hospital door, his eyes landing on the maleficent girl balancing on the window sill. "Get down from there."

Soren smirked and popped her wrist back into place. "Sorry baby, not today." 

Jim lunged for Soren as she dropped out the window. The room was on the fourth floor, but when he looked out, she was nowhere to be seen. 

"How many times is that girl gonna escape GCPD custody?" The detective asked no one in particular.

Down the street, Soren slipped around a building and into the darkened corners of Gotham. The shadows brought a sort of invisibility that Soren found comfort in.