What is updating? Would someone like to describe it? I'm just confusled.

A man once said, of all ghosts, the ghosts of our old loves are the worst.

There were always ghosts, in our past, our lives living and there was always going to be a reminder of what was and what could never have been. Having ghosts trail at your feet wasn't new, wasn't a belittling humanization, they all had ghost, some more than others.

They drag at your feet and way you down, pulling at the threads till they unravel and come apart at the seems. Sometimes others stitch your holes, glue you back together, sometimes your left forgotten on a shelf, never to be remembered because the effort wouldn't be worth the pain. Either way, the way you come out of it, your never the same. They can see the frayed edges where you were ripped and the jagged lines as you cracked as beautifully as porcelain.

Ghosts were normal, but they often never brought anything other than nostalgic suffering.

She had too many ghosts, they followed her even as she made her escape from the thresholds of insanity in a mad dash to leave her past behind her. They clung tenaciously to her skin in the form of old memories and simple reminders of just how many ghosts she was running from.

Then, there was the one ghost that she knew would always be there, waiting for her to crash and burn to cause chaos upon her. The everlasting son of Poseidon that still haunted her after so many months. After all the death and the pain, the regret of letting normal catch her in its claws made a pit of regret deeper than you can drill into the crust. It felt like the universe laughed as it carved the word 'happy' into her ribs.

But those kind of ghosts were the ones that no one had domain over.

Creak.

She sat up in bed, the heavy comforter falling down to her waist and erupting the field of warmth. It was faint but she heard it, the creak of a tile was unmistakable. Her muscles tensed and her jaw clenched, rigid and unmoving. They must have been coming for her, the court. She could feel her nails dig into her palm painfully, her heart taking on the familiar thud in her ears.

Without a sound, she got up from the bed and flew across the wood tile with lithesome grace. She refused to be the dumb blonde woman from horror movies who was killed in the first five minuets. She waited by the door, listening, watching, barely breathing to accommodate her other senses. The method was futile, all she viewed was the empty hall bathed in light and the sound of her own heartbeat.

Maybe she had been mistaken, the house was old and the foundation, though secure, sat upon an open cave that would bound to compromise the structural integrity at some point. It was cold along with windy outside as well, the temperature difference between the outside and the inside was bound to have an effect on the houses pressure, similar to an imploding can.

Old houses made creepy noises. It was one of the only  feasible explanations besides someone was up and about, which would exactly be strange due to the living circumstances, or someone was inside the house that shouldn't be and she was about to be attacked.

But the house also had security and ever paranoid defenses to the point where a god wouldn't be able to enter. She had heard one tiny creak of a tile and assumed that she was most likely going to die, that had to be due to how sad her little life was.

There was no way to be sure though, whether someone had magically gotten inside, which was a genuine option, or she was being obsessively anxious. Either way, she wasn't going to sleep, that's what people in horror movies do, and they die. So she sat in the middle of he room, wide eyed and awake. She doubted she was ever going to sleep anyway, not with the amount of anxiety that had already begun to suffocate her that night. The feeling of emptiness in such a large room.

She knew she was safe though, she was safe with Bruce. He was the gods-damn Batman, of course he knew what he was doing.  She repeated that in her head a couple of times, for the sake of her beating heart.

And then- Creak.

She shot up to her feet and dragged the dagger that rested beneath her pillow, swinging the door open and staring out into the hall, the empty hall. It was infuriating, the aggravation of not knowing what the hell was out there. Not knowing which ghosts lurked in the corner. Not knowing.

"Miss Chase, I must ask what you are doing up at this hour." Alfred's voice cut into the defending silence and she nearly vaulted out of her skin because she had almost attacked Bruce's butler.

She dropped the knife, it landed with and all knowing clatter on the floor, not wanting to further in her idiocy. She could feel her heart clam down, her shoulders slumping in relief.

"I am so sorry Alfred, I apologize if I woke you." Her lips tightened, her eyes unable to look at him. "I had believed that I heard someone and am reluctant to disclose that I was frightened."

"Understandably so." Alfred responded with nothing but a kind smile. "I have lived with Master Wayne for the entirety of his life, I have become accustomed to his tendencies of paranoia."

"Yes, we both are aware of Bruce's paranoia. He had me tested to make sure I wasn't a clone." She gave a small huff. Alfred shook his head fondly.

"I must admit he has reason for his actions. Master Wayne has had quite the life as you have Miss Chase." He grabbed her hand in his, his gloved fingers tracing the scars along her knuckles. "I don't believe that there is any danger at this moment. You have been traumatized by this organization, enveloped in the fear and trepidation they require of you. Falling into their games in unwise. You are safe here Miss Chase, get some rest."

She opened her mouth to find that she really didn't have a response, he wasn't wrong but simply forgetting about the constant threat of death holding over her head was more difficult than he had made it seem.

Sleep though, sleep seemed like a good place to start.

She laid in the middle of the bed staring at the ceiling till she had forgotten why she was keeping her eyes open and darkness enveloped her. She was safe.

---FLASHBACK---

"Why would she leave me?" She asked, her voice cracking.

"She didn't leave, not really." Bruce replied, crouching down beside her on the bunk.

"What do you call dying? Taking an all expense paid vacation? She let them kill her and left me?" She huffed closing her eyes to hide the tears in her eyes.

She knew that the incessant like questioning was close as she could get to a tantrum. She couldn't find it in herself care if she was acting like a child, she was eight, she could be as scornful as she wished.

"There is a difference between leaving and dying. Dying is permanent, absolute and without choice, leaving is a decision and can be reversed." He hesitated for a moment before grabbing her shoulder and pulling her into a hug.

He was the brother that she never had, but that didn't make a difference in the fact that she had lost Thalia. And now he was telling her that it was irreversible, finite. Those were things she didn't want to hear. She squirmed out of his loose hold and stood up gripping the bedpost.

"What are you going to do-," She found herself asking hesitantly. "When you find the man?" She didn't need to elaborate on who they were talking about.

He was quiet for a moment, before forcing his face to become emotionless. She hated when he did that, it was a stupid thing to ask, but she needed to know.

"I want to kill him." He started out low. ".....but I suppose that was never really up to me to decide. Revenge isn't what I'm aiming at. I just want...justice." His mouth twisted into a grimace.

"I just wish that there was some way to input the variables and create a solution." Her blonde curls fell over her face as she dropped her beneath her shoulders.

"A good decision is based on knowledge and not on numbers." He responded, she groaned.

"Quoting Plato? Really? Now?" She scoffed indignantly.

"It seemed to be in correct context, and it fits the problem." He retorted, unable to stop a small smile from forming.

"Yes, a solution extorting numerical value from a philosopher, how unbiased." He shrugged. And she muttered- "...at least it wasn't Confucius..."

"Hey don't insult Confucius just because some of his wonders are basic and self explanatory. The ethical philosophy is groundbreaking and....he's Alfred's favorite." His voice quieted near the end.

"Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." She recited, just to make him grin. "Wise words from a fat Chinese man."

"How about." Bruce said after a moment. "You're not allowed to insult a person until you can spell their name."

She just scowled. That happened months ago, they agreed never to speak of her embarrassment again. Archimedes was difficult to pronounce thank you very much.

"The worst part, I think, Is the ghost." He whispers solemnly. A complete turn around that felt like being drenched in boiling water.

"What if I choose not to believe in ghosts?" She asked.

"Ignorance is the root and stem of all evil." He quoted once more. "And I don't think you can get rid of them if you tried. The ghosts that follow you are the ones no one had domain over."

She frowned, that sounded unpleasant.

"How do you make them go away?" She squeaked out.

"The thing is." Bruce looked up into her stormy gray eyes. "Ghosts never leave us for the same reason dying isn't the same as leaving."

"I can still feel her in the camps barriers, her anger, her hope, her force I-" her voice broke off.

"I know, believe me, I know." Bruce gave her a sad smile as she buried her head into his side.

"I know, and now she keeps us safe."

---FLASHBACK OVER---

Sitting idly in the darkness of the cave, she had finally understood the need for eccentricity. The monitor light glowing throughout the seeping shadows, the echo of bat squeaks filling the cavern. Somehow, it made it feel real. She was here, doing this. Being a hero again and fighting for....well survival at his point.

She was all too familiar with that routine, looking over your shoulder even when your alone, especially when your alone. Only this time it wasn't fighting monsters, it was fighting people taken over by their monsters. She knew deep down, there was seldom a difference between the two. What she did know is that the use of her knife will become redundant as it doesn't effect mortals. She had trained with other most other weapons though, still she didn't know what would be the strongest.

What was really sad was the fact she hadn't decided on a name yet. Not that it mattered to her, but apparently it was a 'vital part' of being a superhero. She didn't understand the need for that kind of eccentricity, code names yes, but there was no in making it sound cool.

Never mind she took it back, there was all the need.

"There's a robbery in the Bowery. The apartment complex on 6th and 32nd. Police on their way to the scene but it's open if you wanted to check it out." She spoke into her com, listening the the police report.

"Negative, amateur robbery, unless a death is reported. Police are capable of handling it." He replied with and even voice. She nodded to herself.

"No injury or altercation is reported." She answered and reviewed more of the information.

"There is a 911 call on the Upper West side. Looks like a break in but could become hostile." She informed, and he took a moment of silence.

"Address?" He asked.

"Sending the coordinates to the bat-mobile immediately." She responded, typing along and pressing multiple buttons on the console because if she had spent two day learning every code and button on the thing, she damn well was going to use it.

"Affirmative, heading to location now." Was all the reply she got.

She leaned back into the chair, stretching out her arms behind her. Awaiting for him to get there. It was really only as boring as you made it.

"Arrived." He finally said and she switched the cowl-cam to the larger screen, watching as he entered the house through the window.

"Police ETA is 6 minutes." She said, placing a hand under her chin.

The woman had locked herself inside the bathroom, visibly distraught and frightened. It was clear that there was a break in. The couch had been dismantled, appliances strewn across he floor and smashed, glass littered everywhere. She frowned in sympathy, it would take forever to clean up.

The robber was easy to find, he was still in the woman's bedroom, doing what you wouldn't call keeping it low. More like flinging objects that didn't peak his interest across the room and shoving things into a bag. Not even trying to keep it down, idiot.

Batman had him knocked out in seconds, tied to a chair for police to find. Leaving with 4 minutes and 36 seconds to spare. She leaned back in the swivel chair again and blew a stray hair out of her eyes.

There wasn't anything else at the moment, no reports or murders. Was it bad to want a good murder to solve? She was pretty sure that was indecent but she could embrace her inner sociopath.

"Continue patrol route, I'll notify you if something comes up." She spoke into the comm.

"Affirmative." No 'thank you Annabeth for you amazing helpfulness', no 'you're the most amazing person in the world'. Though, she guess that it became hard to give compliments once you start beating super humans to a pulp for a living.

He had changed a lot, she could see. He was distant, he used to be so driven emotionally. Now, she didn't see anything in him, he was closed off. He was no longer the caring teen who recited Plato to calm his little sister down, she didn't want to be scribe him as cold, but she didn't have any other words.

Well that wasn't necessarily true, she had many words. Isolated, introverted, sociopathic, detached, withdrawn, a ghost...

He was a ghost of what he was but only for the reason that he wouldn't let her see who he had become. She knew a little bit about hiding your emotions, being cold and distant, it was safe to say that she disliked that route of action. Bruce was an enigma, a symbol of fear along with justice. He was ingrained so deeply into history and the minds of people in Gotham that no one could even attempt to erase his presence. She couldn't imagine having that sort of pressure behind her, pushing her, shaping her. Unless you counted the expectations of saving the world once of twice.

In the end, Bruce would always be......Bruce. He had changed from what he allowed her to see. But the things underneath, the things that mattered were still there, hidden below his thick skin.

She was jolted out of her thoughts when the computer pinged. Not of the alerts that she had studied for the past two days in preparation for aiding him out in the field sounded like that. None of them pinged. That was only the online messaging system...

She scrambled to work, opening up the online mail and checking for any hidden bugs and viruses. Not that the system wouldn't automatically run a systems check and scan for any malware, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Then she let herself look at the message.

-Ghost King has connected.-

We need to meet -GK

She bit her lip, inner churning on high. Ghost King. Ghost. King. No it was impossible, a coincidence. Though, none of the on-the-grid villains she had researched had gone by that name. It couldn't be him. She let out a breath of stale air she had forgotten she had been holding .

In the end, it was better to always ask. So, being the better person, she reached for her comm.

"You have a message alert from someone named Ghost King." She notified him in an even, calm voice, hoping to Hades that he couldn't hear her beating heart.

"Acknowledged. Content?" He replied evenly. Always the frustration.

"He is wanting to meet, displaying it as a necessity." She answered.

"Reply with the location of the warehouse that we talked in." He responded and she debated on asking him. " The time as 0100 hours."

"Affirmative." He disconnected and she sighed, doing what he asked.

She was counting on the fact that it was a coincidence, it had to be.

She twirled her knife in her hand as she looked towards a glass case with her costume, still untouched and yet to be worn.

It was always good to check the facts for yourself.