I can tell by the way the audience in the courtroom is fidgeting that they are intimidated by the presence of Nightwing and tough little Robin standing at the back. Red Hood, obviously unable to just stroll into the courthouse, is waiting outside in case there is an emergency.

After rumours surged around about me disarming two of the assailants and shooting them in the leg, I doubt anyone will attack here.

Telysha speaks sharply to the witness on stand. We're trying to get to the bottom of a new case, about a recent crime family that has sprung up out of the blue.

My eyes keep darting to the wall. There are no windows in here, but I know of one hundred guns that could blast straight through concrete. The witness starts biting back at Telysha, calling her names. I stand and draw her back to the bench. This trial is boring.

"Permission to treat the witness as hostile?" I demand sharply instead of drawling like I want to.

"Granted."

"I move that this case be postponed."

"Motion carried."

The courtroom clears quickly, everyone afraid of a shootout starting due to my presence. I stroll out with Nightwing and Robin, both doing well in ignoring multiple reactions (including excited fangirls for Nightwing).

"Are such cases always so tedious?" Robin asks, his furrowed brow and angry demeanor becoming somewhat of a relatable trademark.

"Wish I could say a hostile witness keeps things interesting, but that would be a lie. I hate witnesses who don't squirm and squeak straight away," I respond, looking down at him. He looks up at me but quickly snaps his head forward again. I try not to smirk at the kid's bashfulness. My diagnosis? One very dominant woman in his life, but hardly motherly. A bossy, cold sort of relationship.

Interesting.

"Tonight, at the Wayne Ball," Nightwing begins as we reach the ground floor, "We'll be undercover to protect you, as will Bruce Wayne's and Jim Gordon's guards. Will that suffice?"

"I suppose there will be a bigger risk off attack with three of us there. You won't hear any complaints from me." Except about the protection overkill.

Honestly I wish Nightwing would behave more like Red Hood. He spends most of his time on the roof. If there is ever any trouble, all I have to do is call him in.

Not that I need help. In fact I'd love for a bunch of assholes to come to Gin's apartment to take me on, because I will destroy them and prove to all the bats and birds I need 0 protection detail. To this day I've never been open to Bats, or anyone in this city, about my past. They don't know my real name, my kill count or my previous occupation.

Fabricating Venus Meadow was too easy.

Hence, I allow them all to worry over my well-being. If I still had full use of my powers then I could probably take the Sons down in a night (with some investigative Bat help).

When I get home I know he must be back up on the roof, because Nightwing is not present and Robin must have returned to Bruce Wayne.

I spend a few hours going over some files before the time to start getting ready comes.

Tonight for the Wayne Charity Ball, I'm wearing a red dress with a slit up the side, a low back and cut in waist, with diamenties and crystals on the edge.

"Will you be dancing with anyone?" Ginger asks me when she ducks in, clad in a sky blue dress. Her purpose is to assist Gordon. Really, she's there scoping for someone new to play with.

"Bruce, probably. I assume your toy will be there?"

"He's not a toy!" She snaps, before smiling at the ceiling whilst plaiting her hair. "He's different," she giggles. I roll my eyes and slip some earrings on.

"Great. You get the son and I get the father," I say sarcastically, sliding my gun into its holster.

Ginger laughs, "If anyone can get in Bruce Wayne's pants it's probably you; just disregard the twenty year age difference."

Yeah right. Bruce Wayne is a mask for something entirely different that only someone with powers like mine can see.

His past haunts him like a ghost on wages.

My sister begs me to drive with her and her toy to Wayne Manor.

Yeah; no.

Grayson shows up in his sports car. Like father like son I suppose. I opt to take Ginger's car and drive behind them, Red Hood biking behind me. I'm yet to speak to him after our last little fiasco. Our communication is through a phone called Nightwing.

I wonder where his blue-striped friend is?

A distance away but majestic when we reach it, Wayne Manor is no doubt a beautiful piece of architecture. It stands proudly over Gotham like a king standing over its subjects.

My ride doesn't turn any heads since I'm known for my Camaro. Our dad likes to spoil us because he misses us so much, so he sends his two eldest daughters constant gifts, including pretty cars.

When I climb out of the BMW, some reporters meandering by the door come sprinting over with their camera crew. About six of them, yapping excitedly like dogs as I put on my usual confident smile. It always catches them.

"Any comment on the recent shootings?" Seems to be the gist of all the questions.

"All I have to say about that is Gotham is a tough, resilient city with strong citizens and an equally strong leadership team," I grin my rehearsed lines, all politician-y. "I am a part of that team and proud. Myself and the other Gotham Officials who have been targeted will not be intimidated by a few criminals. Thank you."

Over the rough gravel is a thick red carpet, like this is some celebrity event screening a movie and not a charity. Bruce Wayne is a true showman.

"Good evening DA Meadow," I am greeted by an elderly man at the door. Bruce Wayne's butler; I've met him a few times.

"Lovely to see you Mr Pennyworth," I front, stepping over the threshold. My sister seems to have already made it inside. The ball is on already, with many of Gotham's highest on the floor with their husbands, wives or dates.

Automatically I spot Bruce Wayne and his sons, one of which just jogged into the room doing up his tie as if he just arrived.

"What a gorgeous little gene-pool, right?" Ginger sidles up next to me.

"Three of them are adopted," I say doubtfully.

Including Jason Todd, whose disappearance involving a hundred other victims and the Joker is still shrouded in mystery. Still, no one dares ask about such a sensitive topic. And these days with masked villains popping up with insane plots every month, there is no such thing as unbelievable or impossible.

At least, that's what the press releases say. That he was one of hundreds of people who disappeared off the face of the Earth, believed to be dead, when really they were imprisoned. My own assessment of Jason Todd tells me that he hates these things and has a grudge against Wayne, so at this point I don't know what to believe.

They travel around the room slowly; the youngest, 13-year-old Damian, clearly trying to be as manly as possible next to the four giants beside him.

17-year-old Timothy looks bored as ever, 21-year-old Jason seems pretty pissed and 25-year-old Richard looks like gentleman perfection on legs.

"Mm-mm-mmh," Ginger says, as if she's just eaten the tastiest cake of her life. I frown at her, before realising that she is referring to her boy toy.

"Your latest diet is making you crazy horny...but, you do you," I mumble, before getting away from her. I talk to a couple of the office members; old men riddled with wrinkles and women shining with botox.

I'm at ease though. If we're going to be attacked it won't be a big deal. With all three of us here and a monumental amount of power-guards it would be quite the shock if the enemy got the upper-hand.

Finally, Bruce Wayne approaches with his adoptive sons.

"DA Meadow," he greets with a grin. Fake; he is hiding something.

Don't assess. Don't assess.

"Mr Wayne," I give my best flirtatious smile as I fight down my powers. That could go one of two ways; I assess him and blurt out all his secrets, or entice him into committing what he wants to do most. Not a good idea.

I turn gracefully and swap my champagne glass to the other hand. I wish it were wine.

"A pleasure to see you again. I'd forgotten the extravagant elegance of your home." That should do.

To say Bruce Wayne is a gorgeous human being is an understatement. Same goes for his sons, I suppose. All so cute. They all have black hair, even Jason Todd who was known to have a white tuft at the front. He must have dyed it. Each have different shaded eyes.

Damian Wayne's are an alluring jade colour clearly not from Bruce, who has steely blue-grey iris'. Tim Drake's are a summery cerulean, lighter than Dick Grayson's whose are an ocean colour. Jason Todd is the only one to be paired off alongside Damian with a frightening green. It's haunting in nature, like a bio-luminescent swamp.

In fact, it's familiar.

I am introduced to them all. Richard points out to Bruce that we've already met. Tim is polite and proper. Damian is nervous and shy which clearly does not fit his persona judging by the shocked looks of his siblings.

It's definitely a cold, dismissive mother...figure... Like Robin.

Like Robin.

Jason Todd is closed off and nearly silent. The way he stands, the broad shoulders; it looks familiar. This is all too deja vu-y and an idea forms in my mind straight away.

Before I can start backing them into a psychological corner Bruce asks me for a dance, so I eagerly accept. That's how it looks anyway.

I take his gigantic and suspiciously rough hand before he leads me onto the dance floor.

"You must be thrilled to have him back," I smile as we take position. He nods as our steps start in sync, though the look is skeptical. The first sign that there is a big secret surrounding Jason; wariness.

"I am, as are his brothers."

Across the room, Damian, Jason and Tim are talking to a couple of girls whose fathers brought them here with them. Clearly none of the trio want to be there.

My eyes meet Jason's for a moment. There's a lot there to unpack.

Ginger, who is swaying around with Richard, catches my gaze and gives a wink, nodding to Bruce. I ignore her and look back at the muscle chunk before me.

"How do you think our current situation is being handled?" I ask with a bright smile as to not raise suspicion.

"I think we're in good hands," he says, mirroring my exterior. Yes, Bruce Wayne and Venus Meadow are just two Gotham leaders dancing together discussing the topic of city gossip, not being assassinated.

"Good hands? The Bat, you mean?"

It takes two seconds. The slight shuffle of fingers on my waist, the twitch of the corners of the mouth, the short dilation of pupils, the glance away and the minimal chest heave.

A highly trained psychiatrist-human could not pick up on that, but a highly trained meta-human can. He cuts it off by looking over my shoulder and making a face at someone.

What is it about the Batman that has Bruce Wayne so concerned? It could be what is so very obvious with my powers, but it's best not to assume.

Before I can ask, the song everyone was dancing to finishes. Mr Wayne releases me, stands back and bows his head with a smile.

"I believe you have an offer," he says. I throw a glance over my shoulder to where Jason Todd is making his way through the crowd; slowly, almost unsure.

So that's who Bruce made a face at.

"Good," I smile.

He reaches me as Bruce disappears. I tap my cheek with my long red nails as he asks for a dance, emotionlessly and dryly.

Turn of shoulders, skin quality, suit wearing, stance, posture, attitude, comfort, hair.

Diagnosis; definitely grew up on the streets.

"How could I resist such a excited offer?" I smirk. 

Surprisingly, I'm rewarded with a softer look.

He knows his past and questions his place in society. I bet in his own head he calls himself something derogatory like 'street rat' or 'scum'. He's a few years younger than me and standing at least half a foot above me. He has the kind of body and proportions that make you want to press yourself against him.

"You seem like you don't like these kind of things," I begin lightly.

"Who does?" He replies plainly. The voice is familiar. I'm definitely onto something here.

He places his hands on my bare waist and looks so uncomfortable I feel like a pervert. It's not inexperience, oh no; Jason Todd sees girls, but not to this type. Not someone who sits at the top of a tower. Not someone who hoards power like this.

I won't deny that I find it alluring.

We begin dancing when I place my hands on his shoulders. He moves much better than I thought he would. With grace, almost. Anyone his broad size who has grace knows their body well.

A light giggle rings through the dancers. I turn my head to see my sister laughing as Richard whispers something in her ear.

"Pointless," I murmur, but Jason hears me.

"He likes her," he mumbles quietly. I scoff unintentionally.

"Tell him to be careful. My sister does this a lot."

"Does what?"

I look back at him, hiding surprise that he responded.

"She uses them. Unfortunately, she'll get bored of your brother and move on to the next hot thing that walks within a hundred yard radius of her," I explain. "They probably both know that though."

Brother. He flinches at the word, just like Bruce Wayne's reaction to the word Batman.

"You should warn your brother," I try.

He looks down and nods shortly, before looking to the side. Nervous. Brother is a sensitive subject.

Holy shit. These guys really are-

A loud smashing of glass rings through the room and slices my thoughts like it slices the guests standing there. Someone screams. I frown and just turn, when Jason suddenly throttles me to face him again.

Something searing hot and painful swipes past my arm, causing me to gasp and jump.

Just in the edge of my upper arm is a bullet.

"Ugh, really?" I murmur, staring down at it as I yank my arm back from him.

More shots are fired and chaos erupts even further. People start rushing towards the front door of the manor, pushing each other to get there.

Men abandon their wives, parents swipe up their over-indulged little brats and screams fill the room. Jason seizes my elbow and puts his arm over my shoulders, guiding me over to the wall.

We drop behind the snack table.

"Stay here," he commands, disappearing before I can even draw my gun.

I watch as the slower people clear the room, screaming and crying at the ruined party, some covered in injuries from the broken glass.

What I can assume are henchmen of the Sons start crashing through the windows, wearing green and orange morph suits with masks. They look like cheeto and broccoli puke.

Almost immediately Batman is storming in behind them with Red Robin and Robin. They're like vast, daunting shadows who immediately alter the room's atmosphere.

My arm is dripping with dark blood. This is not the first and will not be the last time I have been shot. If I still had certain abilities I could use it to my advantage, but I don't. I've got my gun.

I wish Batman hadn't shown up because now I'm going to have to show truer colours. Screw whatever the hell Jason Todd of all people just told me; I pull my leg split back and take out my gun.

District Attorney Venus Meadow protects herself.