Batgirl: Year One - Kennedy Harkins (black female authors .TXT) 📗

            The rope burns slightly as I slide down it, but my hands are so calloused it’d take a lot more than that to faze me. I roll onto the balls of my feet as I land, so as to not make any sound. When no one starts shouting and running out of the building at me, I come to the conclusion I was successful.

            I crouched over and peered into a tall, filthy window. The abandoned warehouse/ factory was completely empty except for a few discarded boxes and the thick layer of dirt that covered everything on the inside and outside of the place. From what I could make out, the Joker was nowhere in sight, but Harley had the hostages tied to the base of rickety, metal stairs. She stood in front of them, her back to me, making exaggerated gestures, and no doubt saying things I couldn’t hear.

            I hunch over and move towards a side door, instead of the main one, deciding to use to element of surprise while I have it. Unsurprisingly, the door is not locked. Nothing worth stealing. The entrance has almost completely rusted over, and gives off a terrible squeak as I push it open. My gloved hand comes away brown-red, I brush it off on my leggings before stepping silently over the threshold.

            I pause for a moment, listening for sounds that would indicate the bad guys know I’m here. When nothing happens, I sidestep behind a few crates, and move towards where I last saw the hostages. A few feet away from the metal stairs, I still don’t hear anything, not even Harley’s obnoxious banter. It’s a little too quiet for my comfort.

            I risk a quick peek from behind my hiding spot at the stairs. Dana Winters, Simon Stag, and Damien are still tied to the bars, but Mr. Wayne is nowhere to be seen. I focus in on Damien. He’s awake, but his gaze is dazed, probable concussion.

            A cackle comes from high above, and my head snaps up towards it. Wayne has a precariously thin rope tied around his wrists, and is suspended thirty feet is the air. My stomach hits the ground. The Joker is crouched next to the bar where the billionaire’s rope is secured, spinning a razor sharp knife closer and closer to the knot.

            One swipe away from death.

Publication Date: 07-22-2013

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