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"Duela, these results are appalling..." The massive figure infront of her scolded, broad muscles bulging through his checkered white shirt. He crossed his vast arms, glaring down at her with murky blue eyes, one coppery eyebrow curving expectantly as he awaited an answer. 

"S-sorry, s-sir..." The young girl mumbled, slumped back in her shabby plastic chair. She moped miserably at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. 

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He barked vociferously, belting the desk that stood between them with one bulky fist. Duela bolted upright, her ears ringing viciously from the sheer force with which the man's hand had struck the wooden surface of her desk, startled by the sudden outburst. Meekly raising her head to examine the individual who was addressing her, the teenager was greeted by a look that was brimming with aggression; his face discoloured by cheeks that were flared crimson, a vein visibly bulging in his creased forehead. 

"S-sorry, sir..." She muttered softly, her tone of voice and flinching body language highlighting the obvious fact that she was intimidated. 

She could hear snickering from all around her, echoing off of the classrooms uncostly plaster walls. The fact that her teacher was not even attempting to stop her peers from openly mocking her did little to bolster her already shaken confidence. 
 
The hulking educator tore his eyes away from her, turning his attention to the crumpled sheet of A4 paper that was gripped firmly in his free hand.

"3(X+2Y) equals 24..." He read off of the sheet, the manner in which he spoke making it clear that he thought very poorly of the answer she had supplied him with. "Would you care to enlighten me as to how you came to that conclusion, Miss Dent?" 

The entire room went silent for several short moments, Duela only speaking when she came to the unfortunate realization that it was highly unlikely some enchanting creature would appear and whisk her off to a magical realm where snide classmates and overly zealous math teachers didn't exist. 

"I guessed..." she said softly, unease gripping every cell in her body, her cheeks turning purple with embarrassment as she became more and more flustered. 

The humongous maths teacher bore down on her with searing rage abundant in his eyes. His gargantuan frame was shaking with a worrying amount of animosity, and for and agonizingly long moment Duela was practically certain that he was about to strike her. Fortunately, he simply scrunched up her homework, before placing it on the desk in-front of her, and then marching back to the front of the class to continue teaching. 

The fact that he had simply and wordlessly abandon her was more wounding to the teenager than physically beating her ever would have been.

Duela could feel the eyes of everyone around her judging her, she could feel their intrusive stares, hear their derisive whispers as they ridiculed her under their breath. She felt like curling up into a ball and simply ceasing to exist. 

The young teenager put her head on her desk, shut her eyes, and tried to force herself to fall asleep. All she could think about was how utterly useless she felt, and by the time the lesson had finished she was on the verge of tears. 

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The mass of scars that criss-crossed the surface of her wounded face throbbed with an un-yielding pain, not at all helped by the fact that she had managed to draw blood whilst trying to cull the agony that was infesting her likeness, by raking her own skin with her bestial nails, in a similar fashion to which an infant might scratch at their chicken pox, yet with the fiery strength and vigour of an enraged jungle cat. 

Running her serpentine tongue over her fang-like teeth, Duela surveyed the situation before her with a hawk-like gaze. 
There was an air of silence lingering throughout the establishment, yet the atmosphere was the farthest thing from calm; an unspoken hostility ever-present, visible in the patrons hunched body language, and the burning electricity in their squinting eyes. 

Her long fingers scrapping over the blemished glass of her cup, Duela pulled back the woollen scarf that was covering her deformed visage, taking a lingering sip of bourbon, hoping that it would in some way contribute to numbing the blistering pain in her face. Pulling the scarf back into place, she gently placed the glass back on her booths table, letting her posture slip as she reclined backwards. 

There were no more than a handful of people in the bar, which made it the perfect place for Duela to lay low, at least until the heat died down. Unfortunately for the young fugitive, a sudden gust of cold air from the world outside, blown in as the bars front door swung violently open, followed by the entrance of a rugged looking figure in a trench coat and weather beaten fedora, soon indicated that she was perhaps not as well hidden as she had previously believed. 
She recognised him. She’d seen him before somewhere. 

She’d first caught sight of him a few days after she’d hauled her ass out of the Nethers, catching a brief glimpse of a faint silhouette in an un-stylish hat, as he trailed her in his worn out hatchback, and he’d been tailing her ever since, never more than a few steps behind. 

She wasn’t sure if he’d been hired privately or if he was ununiformed GCPD, but she was certain that he hadn’t been in the exact same place as her for the past week by sheer coincidence. 

Duela watched as he slowly made his way over to the counter, presumably to question the barkeeper as to if he’d noticed any scarred faced young girls come in or out of the bar recently, his eyes darting back and forth from place to place, taking in everything around him. At this point in time Duela was particularly thankful that her booth was shrouded by the flickering shadow that was cast by the bars dimly glowing lights. 

Her pulse was quickening, and her breathing was becoming increasingly rapid. Steadying her nerves, Duela downed what little of her bourbon remained, before cautiously making her way across the bar, setting her sights on the front door, all the while making sure to try and keep herself out of sight. 

Her rudimentary combination of scarf and hoodie might work well enough against strangers, but she doubted it would do much to fool the prying eyes of someone who knew what they were looking, almost certain that her coat-wearing pursuer would be able to see right through her masquerade, should he catch sight of her. 
She was contemplating making a mad dash for the door, but didn’t fancy running the risk of drawing any more unwanted attention and potentially ending up with her own personal stalker for the rest of God-knows-how-long, and so she took one careful step after the other, drawing ever closer to the door, and to freedom. 
Reaching the foot of the bar, Duela made a special effort to shuffle past her trench-coat clad friend, watching cautiously from the shadows as he spoke to the barkeeper, whilst attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible. 

A mere few steps from salvation, Duela could practically feel the outside breeze against her wound-ridden flesh, the beat of her black heart quickening tenfold inside her. Duela took a confident stride forwards, only to have her hopes suddenly and brutally crushed as she felt a firm hand clamp down on her lean shoulder. 
Cursing under her breath, Duela reluctantly turned around, now face-to-face with her pursuer, catching a brief glimpse of the barkeeper out of the corner of her eye, noticing as he watched both of them from his station behind the counter, one eyebrow arched with curiosity. 

The trench coat wearing man grinned through broken yellow teeth, dark stubble clinging to his beefy chin. Flaring his nostrils, the broad man recoiled slightly, even going so far as to make a slight gagging sound. 

“You don’t ‘alf stink love…” He observed bluntly. She hadn’t had the chance to wash the stench of the sewers off of her. She wondered if that had tipped him off, or if he’d always know she was here. 

“Mind taking off that pretty lil’ scarf and showin’ us what’s unda’neath?” He asked in a manner that clearly indicated his query was a demand and not a request. 
 
By this point in time they were starting to draw the interest of more than a few of the bars patrons, and she could feel their iniquitous eyes bearing down on her, even without looking. It reminded her of her time back at Gotham High, when those pricks had intruded on her personal space with their indiscreet staring, thriving off of her humiliation. The resurfacing of old memories made her skin crawl, and she suddenly felt like vomiting. 
Steadily raising one hand to her mouth, Duela slowly begun to unravel her scarf, her eyes franticly searching for a means of escape, her heart beating faster and faster. Trench coat man gawked at her with his piggy little eyes, an obnoxious smile that glowed unbearably with self-infatuation plastered across his pudgy face. 
He thought he’d won. She’d show him otherwise. 

Spying an empty beer bottle on the counter, Duela’s one free hand shot forwards, snatching the bottle up off of the counter, before smashing it into the side of trench coat man’s smug face. He let out a startled gasp as the brittle glass shattered on his ugly mug, causing him to stumble and lose his footing, momentarily losing his hold on her as he fell to the floor. 

Tearing herself away from the man’s quaking grasp, Duela bolted towards the door, hearing the sugar sweet sound of her stalker loudly swear as he noticed the steady trail of blood that was oozing from a brand new hole in his stupid head, followed by the fairly amusing awkward yelp from the barkeeper as he instructed the pair of them to “take it outside”, stammering in a broken voice. At this point in time most of the other patrons were up and out of their seats, transfixed by the sight of the injured man scrambling uneasily to his feet, and of the young girl who was making a speedy escape. 

During the ruckus Duela’s scarf had come loose, and as she burst out of the establishment, dashing forth into the grimy streets beyond, her warped face was exposed for all to see, her miss-matched eyes glistening in the pale moonlight, a mischievous grin gracing her plump lips. Leather boot clad feet pounding against the rock-hard pavement, Duela sprinted onwards, cold night air hitting her like a fist as she felt icy winds beat against skinny body, propelling herself forwards, trying to put as much distance between her and trench coat man as she could manage. 

A thundering shout booming from somewhere behind her, Duela craned her scrawny neck, just about managing to catch site of trench coat man as he came barrelling out of the bar, powerful legs pumping vigorously as sprinted after her, one bloodied hand pressed up against his gore-stained forehead. 

She tried her best to press onwards at full pelt, but soon found her dodgy leg giving out on her, causing her to slow to an awkward hobble. A few weeks ago she’d gotten into a scrap with some thugs, and it had cost her more than her dignity; leaving her with a crippled leg, several fractured ribs and a few missing teeth. Her time as empress of rock bottom had made her arrogant, and that arrogance has cost her dearly. Things weren’t the same without her girls; she couldn’t afford to play the role of queen bitch anymore. 
Flinging herself into a nearby alleyway, Duela pressed her frail body up against a grubby brick wall, panting hysterically as she waited for trench coat man to come bursting around the corner. Reaching down the back of her jeans, one ragged hand reassuringly grabbed hold of her .45, long fingers coiling around the handgun. 
By the time trench coat man came running full pelt into the back alley he found himself staring down the barrel of a fully loaded firearm. 

The arrogance that once radiated from his face was gone in an instant, replaced by eyes wide with fear and trembling lips. He raised two hands above his head in surrender, looking at her with sheer terror seeping off of his very form. 

“P-Please missus, I gotta wife ‘un kids…” 

As he stood there, shaking uncontrollably, his rasped breathing making his broad muscles bulge visibly through his mucky t-shirt, he reminded her of a maths teacher she’d once known. 

The noise of a bullet erupting from her gun sounded like a powerful fist beating against a wooden desk. 
 *
Duela awoke early the next morning, waking tirelessly for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. Thin rays of light broke through the cracks in her blinds, beaming down into the otherwise dark apartment. 

Her back popped loudly as she stretched, a content yawn escaping from her mouth. Duela half climbed, half rolled out of bed, wadding through the piles of clothes that had been strewn across her floor as she made her way over to the lone full figure mirror in her apartment. She gazed wearily into the reflective glass, peeking through foggy eyes and strands of unkempt raven streaked hair at her naked form. 

Her arms and legs were practically skin and bone, but she still retained some of her old thickness in her broad hips. Turning, she noted that her bum was bigger than she would have liked, and her belly was beginning to bulge like those malnourished children from the water-aid adverts. Her skin was warped and slight grey, although not quite to the extreme hue it had been around the time she’d stuck a needle in her arm every other night. 

Scavenging what clothing she could find off of the floor, Duela slowly begun to get dressed. She’d once had to fight an uphill battle to fit into her fashionably torn jeans, but she now slipped into them easily, finding that she even needed to use a belt to stop them from falling off of her. Fitting a spotted purple bra into place, Duela was far happier than she’d admit that her quest to scourge traditional beauty from her body hadn’t cost her any cup sizes. Slipping into an oversized A7fold t-shirt, the young girl fished a set of keys off of the nearby table, before slowly making her way out of the cramped apartment, shutting the door behind her.