My Town

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman and/or any and/or all related concepts and/or characters. It is copyrighted to Bob Kane and Bill Finger (?) and DC Comics. I am a mere Fanfiction writer with far too much time on her hands.

Author's Notes: I don't read the mainstream comics, they suck right now, but I am a Batman fan. I read Chris Dee's CatTales .It is my canon. Therefore, to me, Bruce Wayne is still alive and still Batman and everything is their version of normal. You will not me convince me of anything to the contrary. Cassandra Cain is not a killer either.Spoiler's dead and she stayed dead; any questions? This is a writing exercise, the character my own creation, inspired by the released demos of the BATMAN: THE MUSICAL. I do not intend to offend anyone. This is just a writing exercise, nothing else.

Rated: T

3-8-11

Dear Diary,

I'm eighteen today; what's so important about that number? Not many make it to it in this town. I'm eighteen today I, Amanda Skinner, have survived eighteen years and nine months in Gotham City. That's an accomplishment. And with a name like mine I had odds against me.

When I was little I used to ask Mom why I couldn't go for sleepovers at my friends' houses and she would say it wasn't safe, that at night the city was a warzone. Of course I was far too young to understand what she meant; now I do.

When I was young I often wondered why we went to church on Sundays but prayed at Dinner and Bedtime only to the vigilantes that roamed the city after sundown. Now I know; God and his angels have abandoned us, the Batman and his family are the only people keeping this city from sinking deeper into Hell itself. The People try, Bruce Wayne spends millions on schools and hospitals and libraries and rehabilitation clinics for the crackheads and the weed users; Commissioner Jim Gordon tries to weed out the corrupt cops and curb the normal crimes; but for every step forward, there's seven steps back.

Poison Ivy destroys the Flower Parade; businesses are ruined, unable to stage a comeback.

Joker and the Harlequin victimize a preschool; little kids die with hideous smiles on their faces.

One day Harvey Dent is helping old ladies cross the streets safely; the next Two-Face is violently robbing a bank.

The Scarecrow loves Halloween.

The Mad Hatter hats half the police force and those who are supposed to protect us terrorize us.

The Killer Croc is underneath our very feet, waiting until the right time to emerge and gobble us down.

The Ventriloquist robs banks and mugs.

Mister Freeze wants us all to feel the coldness of his own heart.

The mobs and usual gangs, the violence any city has.

The only villain nobody really minds is Catwoman as she doesn't maim or murder anyone; in fact she's sometimes seen working with The Batman.

The schools in this city go year round, allowing us to have half days so we can get our chores and errands done before nightfall, sports games are always on the weekends in the daytime. Businesses close strictly at five pm. Doors to residential homes are dead-bolted by seven. Some kids wear Kevlar vests; most people carry some sort of weapon, usually a firearm of some caliber. But we're still not safe.

So the Batman and his family are our main line of defense and so we pray to them, for them, about them. We pray for their health, we pray for their safety; we pray that they can and will continue what they do for we would be doomed without them. Children in this city are taught the prayers very early in life, regardless of faith. Christians pray to the Bats, Muslims pray to the Bats, Jews pray to the the Bat, everyone prays to them; even the atheists. Sometimes side by side. Sometimes we pray to them in our houses of worship, most pray at mealtimes, and often when marked for death by a Rogue.

They fulfill a duty the people can't. Some whisper they are gods, some that they are monsters, others that they are demons sent by the Devil because he is too afraid to step foot into this city himself.

They are men, women, children, that protect us. They are the dark ones entwined in darkness. They are the fallen angels who refused to abandon us when God did. They fight where we can't, how we can't. And sometimes they lose.

Nobody knows how but we know. It spreads, Robin's dead, The Spoiler's dead, Batman's injured, Nightwing's out. Nobody knows but it spreads, slowly, almost silently. The News can't report it. The vigilantes are breaking laws, infringing upon murderers' rights. We are not to support them. They are to be caught and locked up. So the News can't report any developments, we don't know anything about a floodlight on the roof of Gotham City Police Department Headquarter. But it spreads, eyewitnesses whisper. Teachers to teachers, students to students, parents to children, officers to officers. It spreads and we know, we know and we mourn, we mourn silently. For we are losing, we are failing them, they are giving their lives and it's not making things any better. But where one falls, another pops up.

Nobody knows how it works. When one dies another one takes their place. Some say Batman takes boys and girls from orphanages and makes Bruce Wayne adopt them so they can work for him. Some say he rebuilds them; some say that he has pods of him, each waiting for their turn. Some say that if your parents died you're eligible for a mantle; some say it's the kids that choose to help and merely run around in capes until he decides to takes them under his wings.

Dick Grayson-Wayne was a Robin, it's common knowledge. The last Flying Grayson took to the roofs, hiding it from his adoptive father. The circus brat earned his wings. But he grew up, left Gotham and his mantle behind, moving to Blüdhaven and becoming the only clean cop in the city. The blood of the Bat never leaves you I suppose. The second Robin died, he was obviously Jason Todd-Wayne who went to 'study abroad' at the exact same time and hasn't been seen since, and now we have the third Robin. We don't know who he is yet, as Wayne has yet to adopt another boy, but there're whispers that a boy is often seen entering and leaving the Wayne Manor and its' lands. I know that Bruce Wayne knows something, something more than he admits to. When he adopted a mute girl we gained the second Batgirl, the first having gone missing when I was very young. But the idea that he is Batman himself is too obvious to be true. The Huntress is not a true Bat, we think, he just tolerates her presence, but nobody knows who she is. There are few women hanging around Wayne Manor often enough to be a Bat and none match her description, not that I've ever seen her.

I've never seen any of them, not one. They say you can hear them if you have the bad luck of being outside at night, that you can hear the flutter of capes in the winds, hear the cries and grunts of the people they take down. The gunfire that is useless against them. Whether or not it's true I can't say, I'm not stupid enough to be wandering at night. They have a lot a work to do and it won't help them if they need to save the butts of people hoping to get a peek at them.

As soon as I graduate, three more months, I pray that I will make it, I'm getting out of here and into the Marines as a sniper and as soon as I can I'll be back, with my rifles, and I'll be helping the Bats. I'm sick of this town taking people, good people. I'm sick of the madmen and monsters picking us off and not being able to do anything about it. I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of burying my friends because they got in the crossfire or they matched some bastard's 'theme'. I'm tired of the police just sitting on their asses, either not giving a damn or being blocked by red tape, and trying to prosecute anyone trying to make a difference. I'm tired of the court systems that keep letting people like the Joker walk free on technicalities instead of just frying the bastards, without the sponge.

I won't be a hero, and I won't be a Bat, but it's time to kill the sick fucks that run this city. The way I'll be killing them will be too good for them but if that's the only way they'll be stopped, permanently, than I'm okay with that. Hell, I'll douse Arkham and pick them off one by one as they're escaping, letting each know that the timer of their lives are winding down. Maybe I'll send the Riddler clues, maybe I'll send the Joker and his Harlequin a videotaped stand up routine about their approaching demises. Maybe I can play Two-Face's twisted game against him. Whatever I do they will know fear. And it won't be the Shadow of the Bats they'll fear, no, not anymore. It'll be the knowledge that even in the daytime they're not safe anymore, that it could happen anytime, anywhere. One minute they're fine and the next they're lying on 16th and Main, bleeding out.

And when I finally get caught, because I will, and they decide to execute me I'll be grinning like the madmen I've killed. My entire life's been leading to this, ever since my baby brother was murdered by that mad clown. I've been preparing. Gymnastics, Martial Arts, I'm a master in five styles, forensic sciences, chemistry. I've saved enough money, Mom thinks it's for college but it's for supplies. It's war and I'm ready.

The Rogues will learn to fear The Sniper.

The Mobs will learn to fear The Sniper.

The Gangs will learn to fear The Sniper.

A few more years and I'll have my revenge. I'll make my list, I'll check it twice, and I know I won't find anyone who's nice.

This is a promise.