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As the door slams shut, my eye twitches, cringing. I have been tortured by men who knew the craft, fought men, broken bones, but by far the scariest thing I have ever seen is an upset teenage girl. Walking from the training room, I stop at her door, rapping my knuckles against it. "Rose! Listen, I know you're upset, you probably think I'm upset with you, but I'm not. I was scared, Rose…You don't know what the serum does to you…I nearly died from it. I just don't want that for you." No response comes from behind the titanium door, layered with wood for the illusion of normality. I run a hand across my face, sighing. Rose has been upset like this before. When this happens, the best I can do is leave her be. 

Walking back to the training room, I close the false wall, and face the armor. Its orange-and-black countenance stares back at me through its one eyehole. My target may be in hiding, but he is not my only open contract, or my only target. When I took my current assignment, I agreed to kill seven men. Five are currently in their graves. Tonight, the sixth dies. A small time mobster from Metropolis, his name is Bobby Gazzo. When he joined my objective's organization, Bobby rose through the ranks, eventually becoming sixth in line for succession. After the last five assassinations, he's become second in command , holing himself up in a compound five miles outside of Gotham. Gazzo himself isn't very bright, but his employer is. That fact alone is enough to decide to do this now, instead of bringing Rose along. 

I don the armor, holstering weapons as I go along. The guns on my hips, the sword on my back. As I always do, I save the mask for last, staring into its one eye again. In many ways, the mask is my true face. It is my rage, my ability, my soul incarnate. Donning the mask, I lock the false wall, and take the private elevator to the garage hidden two buildings over. The motorcycle sits, blazing orange fading into midnight black. Beside it is the car I use when I bring Rose along. Tonight, however, I straddle the motorcycle, kick starting it to life and racing into the murky night beset by the never ending lights of the city.