[sub][right][b][color=988140]P A S T[/color] // [color=988140]2013[/color][/b][/right][/sub]
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Victoria Vale tapped the base of her desk as she looked at the blankness of the computer screen in front of her, the light illuminating the darkness of her apartment. She was nearing closer and closer to her current deadline and she wasn’t sure if it was going to come to her at this rate.  

[color=orange][i]This retrospective is going to kill me.[/i][/color]

After thirteen years of covering the exploits of the ambiguous caped crusader that the criminal underworld had dubbed “The Batman” she had begun to second guess herself in fear that she was just repeating the same old tired tirade. It almost made her regret not exposing the vigilante as real several years prior. It was not hard to come to the conclusion that the exposé would’ve elevated her career; a thought that had often come to her mind in the recent years. She was sure had she done just that she would’ve been rubbing elbows with the likes of [i]Ben Urich[/i] or [i]Jane Arden[/i] and would’ve put her name on the proverbial map. It might’ve even resulted in her winning a [i]Pulitzer[/i]. Had she been without her integrity and convictions that The Batman was a good thing it would’ve been all different for her. 

She probably wouldn’t have gotten assigned a tedious opinion piece about Gotham City’s perseverance against any disaster, terrorist, or gang. Vicki didn’t have much interest commenting about the progress from the earthquake that hit New Jersey two years ago, no matter how “uplifting” and “inspiring” it was. Inspiring the people in Gotham City was going to take more than the equivalent of a puff piece about a city that had been soulless for over forty years.  

Though there were certainly others who were trying to fix that soullessness. 

Wayne Enterprises’ prodigal son, Bruce Wayne, had certainly turned his company around in recent years; a fact that any citizen of Gotham didn’t need to be told by the press— the proof was already in clear view. The Wayne Foundation’s countless charity drives, Bruce Wayne’s industrious efforts to destabilize Gotham’s infrastructure, the investment in the city’s police department and public works… there was no question of his efforts. It was surprising to Vicki most of all as she had been the biggest critic of Wayne Enterprises and Bruce Wayne’s “reform” since pretty much the onset. But that jaded cynicism had recently taken a backseat and over the years their professional relationship shifted to a personal one. A friendship that Vicki had admittedly ignored to write the article and finish before Blackcrow grumbled to her about the importance of the piece for the sixteenth time this week. 

It was a thought that caused an exasperated sigh to leave her breath. She was sure that Bruce was still upset that [i]she[/i] canceled on [i]him.[/i]

A few moments later her cellphone buzzed, as if on cue, snapping her out of her thoughts. Presuming it was Blackcrow, she grabbed her phone quickly and dialed in her passcode so she could send a quick reply before getting back to work.

[color=orange][i]Blackcrow needs to get off my back.[/i][/color]

She frowned; the text was from an unknown sender.

As she opened the message a gasp left her and penetrated the silence of her apartment. The message [i]definitely[/i] wasn’t from any of her associates or friends. The text itself held an attached file that caused her to nervously bite down on her lower lip.

It was a picture of a rooftop, darkness swallowing the light, making the photo grainy at best— but the figure that stood at its centre, back to the camera, devil horns piercing the air and cape suspended mid-flow, was undeniable in its apparent identity. Below the attachment was a caption to accompany it, sending chills through Vicki’s spine, confirming her suspicions.

[quote=609-941-1609][b][i]Where’s Batsy?[/i][/b][/quote]
She fumbled to respond to the text, her nerves getting the better of her as she struggled to type the right letters. She knew that she should be deleting the messages, wiping them from her phone’s, and her own, memory. 

[quote=609-102-8889][color=orange][i][b]Who are you?[/b][/i][/color][/quote]
Three dots appeared on her phone for four agonisingly long seconds before a new text arrived. It was cryptic, giving nothing away and yet raising gooseflesh all the same. Just two words.

[quote=609-941-1609][b][i]A messenger.[/i][/b][/quote]