[@Psyga315]

The bike was ditched almost as soon as she got into downtown; there were faster and more stealthy ways to travel. Who needed to follow roads, Helena thought, when they could simply glide around and grapple from rooftop to rooftop? In the sprawl of Gotham City's outer rim it made sense for the bike, or the Batmobile, or the...whatever Dick and Tim had going on these days. Helena always lost track. 

But speed and efficiency wasn't her only motivation for the switch: the Huntress had a stalker. They were good, whoever they were, because all she knew was that someone--or something--was out there with eyes on her. It was more the feeling of being watched, a sixth sense, that she trusted than any concrete detail that tipped the stalker's hand. But she wasn't just anyone; her training had taught her to trust her instincts. They rarely betrayed her; much as she often secretly wished they would from time to time. 

Wouldn't it just be peachy if no one was really shadowing her? Huntress had a mission, and more, going on at the moment. There were enough plates currently spinning for her liking. She didn't particularly want another plate added. Soon enough she was grappling, gliding, tumbling to her feet, running, leaping, grappling, gliding, in various variations of the pattern. Steam from rooftop vents mixing with the heavy night air to make the rooftop highway just a little more laborous than usual. 

Really, Alfred just added on when he cut in. [i]"Miss Helena, I'm afraid you have someone on your tail."[/i]

"I know."

[i]"You're still heading to Mr. Bolton?"[/i]

She smiled. "Yup."

He didn't say it over the channel, but Helena was still certain he said it: Oh my.

The next ten minutes were a blur. Not because it was dull and procedural. But because moments after finishing with Alfred, one of those instincts told her to turn around, and survey. She spotted the dark figure dropping on a rooftop just a few rooftops behind her. When it wasn't what she'd imagine a League assassin would look like, when she saw that...brow? That was the moment she just kept grappling and gliding and running. Was she wrong?

Again, she just wasn't that lucky. 

There was too little time, too much focus required to stay ahead of the Brow. Coming from a higher angle made it possible for the Huntress to get a lock on the target with the cowl's heads up display--a perk that came with a Batman designed Huntress suit, a fact she both hated and loved at the exactly same time. Their relationship was always so full of contradictions. She came in fast, cutting the line and letting herself drop, smashing into Anton Bolton's living room window. She thought she'd have time to turn her crossbow at the window if the stalker followed her in.

She didn't. The stalker was on her back the moment she hit the glass, causing the impact of her landing to be extreme, to be painful enough for her world to go black, then white, before anything resembling true vision returned to her. When the stalker, apparently a large well built man a few inches past six feet in height in a seriously questionable getup, stuck the dagger between armor plates--she gasped, and her trigger finger twitched. She figured he'd strike while she was down and under him. She didn't expect the dagger.

But he didn't expect a crossbow bolt in his chest, either. 

The dagger was ripped from her abdomen, and tossed, the crossbow simply dropped as she found her feet and dared a look this way, then that. She half expected to find Anton Bolton's dead corpse, or to find the man gawking. The moment of looking cost her, as the figure the Bat computer was suddenly identifying as a "Talon" on her HUD was drop kicking her in the back, sending her body flying forward and destroying the poor couch that caught her, tipping it over upon it's back. "BOLTON! YOU BETTER BE HOME."