(Edited with Grammarly to clean things up a bit more, 11/13/25)
Rain, as cold as ice, hammered down from above. Each droplet, like a bullet in flight, lands loud and all-encompassing. Pot holes, formed by negligence and corruption, quickly filled with miniature lakes. The downpour was so heavy that it even obstructed the overhead street lights, which were barely even letting out a dark orange-ish hue. Being nothing more than decoration.
From one end of a parking lot, overshadowed by a massive bridge, two separate people stood under a black umbrella's dark embrace. One, a reedy-looking man dressed in a rather nice-looking black coat. With its collar unfurled and wrapped tightly around his ears. Buttons running up its front, with a single maroon tie peaking out. His skin was pale, paler still under the harsh Gotham night. Possessing slicked back black hair, with a few streaks of gray, and a finely trimmed mustache, he looked every part of the distinguished gentleman. If only those dull blue eyes would cease their constant flickering. Halt themselves from darting in the direction of some unknown sound in the dark. His unease only caused those crow's feet to become more pronounced.
In contrast, his blonde companion didn't seem to look on with any level of concern. Her blue eyes, colder than even the heavy raindrops, stared off steadily into the dark streets. Wearing a single navy blue overcoat with what appeared to be some sort of water-resistant leather and a simple wool cap that covered all but a few loose strands of her locks. Face pulled into a neutral expression, lips pursed and jaw set, she waited there in silence. A small bag was looped over her shoulder, leather gloves resting atop it protectively.
The man shivered in place, hand moving the umbrella just enough to cause a slight sprinkling of rain to hit the woman's shoulder, before he quickly moved it back in place.
"My apologies."
His voice was smooth and conciliatory, years of people pleasing coming out in full bloom. One simply didn't get to his position without bowing the head to people ahead of time. Especially to people of power. And this person wasn't someone for him to offend lightly, no matter their amicable relationship over the last couple of years.
"No need." She sent him a small but comforting smile, one that his wife always gave him, even when he was being an idiot at times. That small kindness was gone in an instant, that cold and aloof expression back in place with such ease that maybe it would be appropriate to consider it an illusion. "I wouldn't have bought this coat without expecting it to get wet, but don't worry, we shouldn't be here much longer."
Right on cue, a lean car with a slightly elongated frame. Sitting low on the ground with what looked to be four doors. Painted black and blue, but from the make and model, there was no getting rid of the immediate 'cop' feel the vehicle possessed. Bright headlights illuminated the dilapidated parking lot. Enough to make it impossible to see exactly who sat in the car itself. But there was a total of two people present.
His eyes, bleary from the sudden blinding lights, flickered over to his companion. That wasn't a part of the plane, but seeing her not look concerned, I just turned back to the new arrival.
The driver's door opened, and out came a giant of a man. A bulky silhouette looking to be a solid six feet tall and built like a brick house easily loomed over the low-riding vehicle. Its arm moved, moving aside what seemed to be a coat, and pulled out two objects. A flicker of light, a small flame, illuminated the severe face for but a moment before the rain doused his attempt. Frustrated, the figure stuffed them back in place and stalked over.
Their massive frame devours the light, shadow blocking out the light. In what seemed like too few steps, the three of them were finally within speaking distance.
"Commissioner Gordon." She greeted first, offering up a gloved hand. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on these conditions."
"Mrs. Gramercy," James grunted, hard blue eyes flickering over the two of them. Obvious distrust in them both. A massive engulfed hers and shook once. Neither losing eye contact with each other. "I hope you have a good damn reason to have me out in the rain."
"I do." The handshake ceased before she motioned towards the distinguished gentleman who had silently faded out of notice. "This here is Gideon Clarnette, a high-level manager at Gotham's National Bank."
"A pleasure."
Gideon held his own hand out, only to be consumed too by that massive mitt. Even though he had on his gloves, he could tell how heavily calloused those hands were. And strong, too, from how firm the grip was. Taking this time, he actually looked at the newly minted Commissioner. James was a very popular figure in Gotham. Tall, muscled, and stern-looking. The exact mold everyone wanted a cop to fill. But this close, it was obvious how worn down the man was. Heavy bags under those eyes, a five o'clock shadow on his square jaw, and deep lines etched into his face. That and the guy smelled heavily of cologne, old clothes, and cigarette smoke. Not exactly the well-dignified one would expect from a commissioner.
After releasing their grip, the large man turned his full attention to her. Completely uncaring of the heavy rain pelting down from above….okay, maybe not so callous as he pointed further underneath the bridge, gaze piercing the darkness with some levels of visible annoyance. Retreating a few steps, the three of them finally experienced a ceasefire from the storm. Now both dry enough and quiet, they could actually talk without yelling over the heavy blows of water from above.
"I will try not to take up too much of your time," Mrs. Gramercy started, shifting her back to the side and pulling out two separate folders. Both are seemingly identical in all ways. "Recently, I received a...tip about an underground fighting ring here in Gotham. You have heard of the Circuit, right?"
"…."
James only answered with a grunt, pulling out that lighter and cigarette once more. Hunching his shoulders, he held the stick of death to his lips and flickered that flame to life. His chest expanded, causing the butt to glow a deep red. Exhaling, a plume of smoke rolled over them both.
"Then you must also know that this organization has been responsible for multiple injuries over the years. Usually not something I would really bring to you, but the Circuit has begun to evolve into something more problematic. Just this year, they've introduced a new tier called 'the Black'. Essentially, a modern-day gladiatorial pit. Where death or maiming is completely on the table. Just this month alone, multiple disappearances can be attributed to this new tier alone."
"There is already an active investigation into them." The Commissioner sucked more heavily on his cigarette, a near snarl on full display. Whether it was at them for 'wasting' his time or from his own knowledge of what this organization was doing. "I cannot go into further details."
"We don't want information or details. In fact, we're here to provide a tip. Through the corporation of Mr. Clarnette here, we've found evidence of who the primary backer of the Circuit is. Bank statements and checks from earlier transactions that link them directly to them."
"What do you want?" Those blue orbs narrowed into near slits. No longer possessing that exhaustion they once had, now piercing like that of an eagle. "I can't imagine you doing this out of the kindness of your heart….especially you, Gramercy."
"I'm doing this because it's bad business to have people like this running around. We both want the same thing, Commissioner. I want Gotham to thrive, and we can't do that if there are gladiatorial pits in our city. Think of this as me doing my part." The blonde held up both folders, seeming ordinary but containing some intangible weight to them both. "The primary problem in all this is that the backer is a member of Gotham's elite. And you know how prickly they get when you poke around in their business. So here's my offer. In the first folder, there is all the information you need to quickly tie this case up. Arrest the upper managers of the Circuit and get them thrown behind bars for the next decade or so. Completely dismantle them and get the victims their due….but missing the identity of the backer. An easy win to solidify your position."
Both of the two metaphorical giants were normally hard to read, but Gideon could easily see that that option did not appeal to the man. Not the slightest. From the way his jaw clenched, nearly biting that cigarette clear in half, it was clear that option was not going to be chosen. In fact, it probably didn't even have enough to settle in his brain before being violently rejected.
"I figured that wouldn't work for you." The woman sighed but didn't look displeased in the slightest. Everyone there knew the type of man the Commissioner was, and this shady cover-up wasn't even up for discussion. The previous Commissioner, sure. He would go for this without a second thought. "This second folder holds everything from the first but also includes all the evidence you need to make sure this backer pays for their crime. This'll be the more difficult path, obviously. The family will dig their feet in and lawyer up so fast it'll make your head spin. The case will probably drag on for months, years, even as they throw money into this pit and make it too expensive to even put before a judge. But if you succeed, this will act as a message. An example that no one is above the law, no matter how much money they have or how important their family might be."
"…." He gazed over the two folders, a hunger in those orbs, but restrained. It was clear he'd already known something of the many victims of the Circuit and wanted justice for them. "Where did you get this information? I can understand where Gideon here comes in, but how did you get your hands on this lead?"
"I-" Gideon felt the need to speak up right about then, more than ready to lie to the man and fully put himself in the line of fire. Mrs. Gramercy obviously had her own sources, and it was already agreed that he would put himself forward. He took a majority of the credit for himself. But just as he readied himself to do exactly that, he froze in place. Gordon's piercing gaze was like a spear of ice slamming into him; those orbs dared him to lie. Daring him to try and pull the wool over this man's eyes. It caused his jaw to click shut a moment later. Cold sweat, even more frigid than the rain, dripped down his back.
"I have my sources." The blonde spoke up for her companion. "For obvious reasons, they wish to remain anonymous."
"…." Gordon's lips turned up sourly, but he still held out his hand. "Give me both, people have died, Gramercy. I will not play these games that make light of their deaths."
"Very well." She handed over both folders readily enough, not in the slightest offended by his demand or rebuke. Snatching them, the man opened one after another. Face growing more grave as time went on in that moment that felt like an eternity. Scowling, he closed the first folder. Obviously not pleased. Before opening up the second, scanning over a few lines, a single bushy brow rose high in the sky.
"Who the hell is Quincy Shellford?"
"Just some spoiled brat from the Shellford family." The politician shrugged. "Not even their heir, but still the third child. But they're not particularly big fish, big enough to make your job harder, but this is the path you chose. If you're going after them as well, then you're going to need this."
From her bag, she pulled out not a folder but a full two-inch thick binder. Filled to the brim with neatly stacked paper.
"This here contains everything I could gather about the Shellfords. Pages of signed testimonies, evidence of unsafe business practices, corporate espionage, and even some money laundering in the midst. Enough to-"
"Open up both a federal case and multiple civil cases against them." James continued her sentence, snatching the binder too. Hard gaze, devouring the near-endless mountain of evidence with a critical eye. "Dangerous game you're playing."
"Even for such small giants, you still need massive swords to take them down."
"This seems too thorough to be anything but personal."
Gideon couldn't help but agree; even while knowing of the plan, he honestly didn't expect this harmless-looking woman to possess such razor-sharp fangs. That evidence, even in a city as corrupt as Gotham, was enough to attract the gaze of federal judges. To drag an elite family down from their lofty heights and force them to wriggle in the mud like the rest of the rabble. Frankly, it made him glad he had no desire to ever cross someone like her.
"I will not lie to you, Commissioner." Mrs. Gramercy smiled, eyes narrowing to serpentine slits. No amount of warmth or comfort anywhere in sight. "I will admit to having some personal feelings invested in seeing them ruined. They funded a very vicious smear campaign against me during my campaign; in itself, I can handle it, but they tried to bring my little girl into it. They crossed a line. As a parent yourself, is that not enough of a reason?"
"…." He didn't respond with words, only looked at her. Visibly weighing her words, her answers, to try and sniff out some falsehood, but probably for once, she was as easily read as a clear, shallow pond. Nodding, the man gathered up everything under his arm. "I want any copies you made in my office by the morning. Everything will be sealed, and I will have my team validate the validity of these documents. Once that happens, get the DA, and we will begin our investigation in full. This is now an active case, and you will not be afforded any information we find. Gideon and all willing witnesses will be placed under witness protection for the duration of this case. If there are any leaks, I will be coming for you, Gramercy. Keep your 'sources' under control."
"Pleasure doing business with you, Commissioner Gordon."
The two 'smiled' at each other, but from the banker's position, it was like watching two predators eyeing up the competition. For the first time, since she somehow convinced him to go out on a leg like this, he actually had a smidgen of doubt. What in the world had his old friend gotten him involved in?
***
"Who the hell is this?"
(A/N: I thought myself to be a comedy genius here and giggled while writing this transition.)
Malcolm exclaimed, one hand coming to scratch at his head. The other clutching a small sheet of paper filled with scribblings. The large youth looked very presentable right about then. Wearing a freshly pressed button-up shirt and a pair of dark blue dress pants. Presenting a very clean and professional appearance. Even the little patches of stubble he'd been able to painstakingly grow had been shaven clean off, hair washed and cut to something way more manageable. Under one arm was a thin folder pressed tightly to his side.
'My question exactly.' Finding out the identity of the primary backer had been both relieving and disheartening. Relieved that Albert could finally put this case to rest, but also disappointed at the perp in question not being a particularly smug heir to a construction company. What he would've given to point the blame at Patrick...but alas, life wasn't always so convenient. Villains weren't always familiar faces; some of them just turned out to be strangers.
"Read that paper but don't say anything aloud….and obviously don't go spreading it around."
He had no idea when the Circuit was going to be slammed from all sides, but it was almost a given that the media would put up one of the organizers as the primary puppet master. A scapegoat to protect the real person behind the curtains. Frustrating, but it was just how Gotham ran.
Quincy Shellford is the third child of the Shellford family. The group itself wasn't anything all that deeply entrenched as the other heirs he met during the soiree, but they were still heads and shoulders above the rest of the general population. Being freshly minted millionaires, it was clear they wouldn't be fully accepted by anyone from old money. But that means they didn't benefit from that same level of invulnerability as the rest of those powerful families.
Originally involved in the snack import, like off-brand chips or candies, they copied the Wayne strategy and spread out to other fields. Toiletries, DVDs, and even trying their hand at 'designing' their own kitchen appliances. Like those scammy cooking gadgets that failed to do anything but take up space in cabinets. And surprisingly, it worked. Eventually. But this success only drew more heavily on their greed, and they dipped their toes into the cosmetic business, to disastrous effects.
A scandal from a year or two back, an ex-worker tried to expose them for their poor working conditions. Sweltering warehouses, poor ventilation while working with chemicals, and even some mentions of wages being withheld 'temporarily'. That in itself wasn't really enough to shake the rising giants that were the Shellfords, but this incident did lay the groundwork for a scandal so heavy that it forever shattered their upward momentum.
It turned out that their 'unique' recipes for a lot of their make-up were just added scents to an already existing product from some small company overseas that had no idea of what was going on. Things wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't marketed their product as high-class luxury goods, multiplying the original price by a factor of three. They'd been forced to take all their resold goods off their shelves, leaving their own original product available. This only caused more issues as more of their customer base started to rally against them because their product caused heavy irritation to the skin. Acne and other skin conditions cropped up in large numbers. And when it was revealed that they used formaldehyde, they silently pulled out of the cosmetic field altogether.
This series of events just stunk of some hidden hand pulling strings from behind the screen, maybe an old family wanting to cut a rising star's ascent fast, or some enemy taking their bit of flesh. Whatever the case, it left them as multi-millionaires.
Still enough to afford their children all the benefits that that might include, and more. Quincy Shellford wasn't a very public figure. Went to Gotham Academy and graduated, but didn't really leave a splash. Just lived life, enjoying the benefits that had nothing to do with his own accomplishments. A very, very easy target to hate.
But other than that, there wasn't a lot on him. This wasn't yet the era of massive social media, where people posted about their lives to random strangers on the internet. Maybe there is some forum out there where the guy posts, but it'll be like sifting through needles in a haystack at that point.
"I can't say I'm not disappointed." Malcolm sighed. And despite how ungrateful he sounded, Albert couldn't really help but agree. "Maybe it's all those noir-style films Livi watches all the time, you know? I kinda expected it to be some megalomaniac, or some mastermind, or really someone who isn't just a guy...But do you know why he started all this? I can't really imagine him being strapped for cash or anything."
"Power." The teen shrugged. That's what all this had always been about in the end. Being a third child, there was probably no way Quincy was going to be allowed to handle any important family or business decision. He probably wanted to be allowed a chance to flex his power over other people. A rather disappointing reason, but that was life.
"Oh wow...now I'm even more disappointed!" The large man shook his head morosely before he turned fully to his companion. "But thank you nonetheless. I know I've been difficult, stubborn….and idiotic during all this, but still, thank you for not just dropping me as a client. And for actually finding all this out."
[Case Closed: The Circuit!
Requirements: Find out who is behind the Circuit and their goals!
Difficulty: F+
Reward: 1 IP]
'Looks like my guess was right.' Albert shook off imaginary sweat from his brow. It had been a gamble, but it looks like it did pay off. Or did it? Would the system really allow him to cheat like this? What if he just sat his clients down and started spouting off a long list of theories, while using the system to find out when he was right? That didn't sound like the system he knew. 'Wait a minute….'
Looking at the notification again, he noticed an oddity. Particularly with the reward itself.
'Wasn't there supposed to be two improvement points? Did the system really just deduct my reward for guessing like that? What a load of bu-'
"I feel like I have to ask," Malcolm brought him out of his downward spiral, that annoyance at the unfeeling system for screwing him over once more being forced back for a later day. "But where are you taking me? I know you said you had a possible interview for me...but I'm not looking to be an enforcer, Albert...nor a bouncer or guard."
He knew this neighborhood didn't look the best; being in the seedier parts of the city gave anyone who dared to walk these streets a hint of danger. Eyes darting back and forth to the multitude of worn-down buildings and ominous alley mouths, as though waiting for some assailant to come out of the shadows and drag them into a hell filled with knives.
"That's a surprise, but don't worry, I wouldn't suggest shady work for you after all this." The teen snatched the paper out of his now ex-client's hand before folding it multiple times, enough to easily fit it into his pocket. A grin in place. Despite how frustrating the guy might be, it was impossible not to want to see him do better. To silently root for him. For both his own sake and his small family's. So Albert decided to do a little extra work, unpaid, of course. Stopping in place, he pointed up at the familiar sign. "We're here, though. I'll do introductions."
The Wildcat Gym was almost the same as the last time he'd been by, and opening the door to the smell of sweat, iron, and tears. Soft music was being played in the background, the same song he had been thinking on repeat. And there, standing not even a couple of feet away, was a giant of a man. Towering even over the young man. Massive biceps bulged in place as he stood with arms crossed, square jaw set into a stern grimace. Those blue eyes ran over the two of them, assessing them both.
"I thought I told you I didn't want to see you in my gym until you put some more meat on your bones?" Ted's voice was deep and imposing, enough to make a lesser man shiver in place. But Albert knew the old boxer was a softy at heart. "Whose the big kid?"
"Good morning, Ted." He smiled, waving his brace-covered arm between the two of them. "This here is Malcolm, the friend I told you about. Malcolm, this Ted Grant. A heavyweight champion boxer, a legend in the martial arts world."
"Ex-heavyweight champion." Despite his rebuttal, the old man still had the nerve to look to the side. Sheepish. "It ain't that of an accomplishment….So you're Malcolm? I don't know why you came looking all nice, but show me your hands."
"Errr...my hands...sir?" Malcolm took a step forward, unsure as he was forced to look up at the man. A rarity to be sure. And after sending his guide one look, he held up his resume ready in hand. "Don't you want to look at my resum-"
"Call me Ted, I ain't no sir and I don't need some paper telling me you're good for this job." Ted plucked the folder from his hands and placed it on a nearby desk. Before he looked over the man's hands, he checked their heavily calloused hands. Knuckles wider than the norm, and dirt underneath those fingernails. Nodding once, he reached over the same desk and threw over a pair of old boxing gloves. "You know, hard labor, good. You ain't got dainty hands like you never worked a full day of work….no offense, kid."
"None taken."
Albert shrugged before taking up a nearby seat, settling in to see the show. It wasn't every day he could witness the making of a possible peak human. Malcolm looked between the two, boxing gloves in hand, confused as could be.
"What am I supposed to do with-?"
But his sentence was cut off as a pair of rough hands darted out and began to help secure the gloves on his hands.
"Don't know how to put on a sparring glove? Fine, watch this." It was a harsh but still a teaching tone as he slowed down the near blur that were his fingers and showed the proper technique. "If you do it too loosely, you'll form some nasty blisters. Too tight and you'll cut off circulation, making you feel tingly. It's distracting. You want it to feel snug and to be able to form a fist comfortably. You got me?"
"Yes si-Ted."
"Good, then get in the ring; that'll be your interview."
"I'm not a trained boxe-"
"I know," Ted snorted. "You're footsteps were so heavy I could hear you coming down the street from here, and I have hearing issues. I just want you to show me what you got."
Even though Albert was smiling, he couldn't help but feel some small fragments of jealousy stir in his chest. He hadn't even gotten to the glove part, not even speaking of the fact that this random guy was going to be put in the ring with one of the greatest martial arts instructors in all of DC, it was hard not to feel envy starting to rise its ugly head.
'He hasn't refused to teach me.' He tried telling himself, but it came out hollow even to him. 'Just said not now….Later, when my body won't be a liability.'
Looking on, he watched as the two stood across from each other in the ring. Malcolm was wearing headgear and gloves, while Ted just wore a pair of old, beaten-up-looking boxing mitts. Slamming his fists together, he fell into a basic boxer's stance. Legs slightly bent, arms up to defend his head and upper body, back straight, and body turned a bit to the side. With a single foot leading the way.
"Show me what you got, kid!" A taunt to shatter his opponent's unease, to cause him to loosen, to annoy him. And from the way Malcolm cocked his arm back like a wind-up toy, it worked. Leaning heavily on one foot, he swung his massive fist around. Throwing his entire weight into it. A blur slammed into his shoulder before he was even allowed to build up much momentum. "You're trying to take my head off or something?"
Instead of responding, the younger man just began to swing wildly. Trying to use his youth to overwhelm the ex-champion's stamina. But instead of dancing out of the way or meeting him blow for blow, the older man just took all of them right on his guard. Not even flinching under the barrage. Arms raised, he ate everything thrown his way.
"Got some strength to you, but that's it. You were an underground fighter?"
"Did he tell you that?" Even from this far away, Malcolm still had the wherewithal to send Albert a look. He only shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
"The kid ain't tell me squat." Ted obviously used that moment of inattention to his advantage and jabbed forward as quickly as lightning. Gloved fist slamming through the fighter's laughable guard, striking home in his stomach. Not enough to cause him to double over in pain or puke everywhere, but more of a check. "Keep your eyes on me. I can tell by how reckless you are. All power and no defense? It would've been better if you didn't know how to fight, now I gotta beat all those bad habits out of you."
"What are you talking about?"
"You got some talent." He lowered his guard a hair before throwing out a few testing jabs. "And you lack that glee a lot of those types got. They feel that just because they can inflict unnecessary pain on others, they should. And feel happy about! No, you're not that type. You're a protector, a provider. I can tell. You got a kid?"
"No, sisters."
Malcolm did everything in his power to try to withstand the prodding blows, hunkering down behind his guard. Losing ground as he stepped back under the storm, only stopping when his back bounced against the ring ropes. His chest expanded and contracted as he wheezed for breath, completely out of gas.
"I think that's all you can show me for now." Grant nodded, taking a step back and lowering his guard completely. "Come back at four tomorrow, ready to work up a sweat."
"Four in the afternoon?"
He said between gasps, sounding a bit hopeful.
"That's for lazy folk, the morning obviously." And just like that, it looked like the young man's soul had been sucked right out of his body. "I got some ground rules. First, I ain't you mama, and I will not clean up after you. In fact, that's what you'll be doing for all my clients. Cleaning up the gym. Making sure the weights are back in place and the mats are sprayed down. Don't want anybody getting ringworm or athlete's foot. Second, no drugs. No performance enhancers like steroids or anything like that. I can't have you being all aggressive with my clients. And thirdly of all, no more underground fights. I will not teach you how to fight if you're just going to go out there and hurt people. Stay true to that protector and provider energy around you, and we'll be all good. Work with me for about a year, and I will get you into your first amateur boxing fight through people I trust not to screw you over. What do you say?"
"I would be honored!"
Malcolm, the lucky bastard, shook Ted Grant's hand. A massive grin spread across his face.
***
The crowd cheered from above, their masked faces stretched with wide dark smiles. Looking more like demons than humans in that moment.
But that didn't matter to her; that's what they were at the end of the day. Demons. Monsters. Creatures that relished in the misfortune of others. Breathing in the coppery air, her gaze flickered across the hard cement floor. Three different bodies lay in bloody messes. Exposed flesh already turning purple under her unmerciful attentions. Their weapons, knives and bats, lay scattered and broken. Just like their wielders.
From this close up, she could see their chests subtly rise and fall, and instantly it took all her self-control not to run over to end their lives in one final boot to the throat. But she held herself back. Now wasn't the time to expose the fact that they were in the presence of a predator. Not the time to show these...vermin that they were nothing more than sheep before her. Sick sheep that needed to be put down for the betterment of the whole.
A voice crackled over the intercom overhead, nasally and grating, but familiar.
"And look at that folk!" The announcer almost screamed, only adding to the growing cheers. "Our very own rising star against The Three Raiders?! We all thought we would be getting a different kind of show tonight, but it seems Huntress really lives up to her name! Let's give her a round of applause!"
Clapping ensued, and it only further churned her guts. That bile only further fueled her simmering anger. They truly thought themselves invincible here? The organizers knew the type of men The Three Raiders were. And actively encouraged fights with women just to see them do what their namesake implies. Revolting, disgusting….evil of the highest degree.
"Next up!" As the announcer began to ramble off, a door opened before a guard waved her over. His eyes were roaming over her body like she was a piece of meat, but he nonetheless took a step back as she got closer, covered in blood that she was. Stepping into the small and much quieter locker room, a warm rag was handed to her. And without a single thought, she began to wipe the streaks of blood off her skin.
"Nice fight out there, Huntress." The guard, larger than normal, grinned. Leaning against a nearby locker casually. She ignored him completely, using a reflection to make sure her purple mask was still in place. A masked woman with long black hair and hard brown eyes met her glance, a near scowl in place. Seeing her inattention, he continued. "While I know the money is good, and you're probably sitting pretty right about now...but how would you like to earn yourself some more without so much….risk?"
She only looked at him; his offer was obvious, but it was better for him to dig his own grave with each word.
"Our boss, the head of the Circuit, has watched a few of your fights and finds you very interesting. He wants to have dinner with you….and maybe more if the night goes right. What do you say?"
It wasn't an offer; from how many women had gone missing from the Circuit, it was clear she would too be dragged away to this boss character if she were to decline. They probably felt so secure in their actions, so sure that she would be exhausted and that this goon could take her down. They could continue to think so.
If they wanted to lead her directly to the person behind all this, then who was she to decline their 'gracious' hospitality?
Standing to her feet, the man grinned lusciously.
"Good girl, maybe he'll let me have a turn when he's done."
The Circuit would fall that night, for they were but mere prey in the eyes of the Huntress.