The night in Gotham was damp, the air heavy with that lingering smell of rain and smoke. Most of the rooftops glistened under the weak glow of neon signs, their reflections broken by cracks in the tar. Oracle’s voice had been sharp in the comms just minutes ago:

“Heads up. I’ve got movement on the East End cameras. Doesn’t match the usual rogues or gangs. Whoever it is… they’re fast, they’re agile, and they’re not using grappling hooks.”

Batman was silent, but Dick’s voice cut through with a little more warmth.

“Not using grapples? What, are they flying now?”

“No,” Oracle replied. “Swinging.”

That had been enough to bring the family out on alert.

Now, crouched on the edge of a crumbling apartment complex, Red Hood’s visor glinted as he watched the figure in motion. She cut across the skyline like a streak, fluid and unnatural in Gotham’s stiff, jagged lines. The thin threads she swung from clung to the corners of buildings like they were made for it, gleaming faintly against the moonlight.

“Okay, that’s… new,” Tim muttered under his breath, adjusting his lenses. “Not tech. Not anything I recognize. It’s… organic?”

She landed with a soft thud on a rooftop not far away, perched in an easy crouch, the city sprawled beneath her. Black and red suit clinging to her frame, mask covering her face, eyes white and expressive, widening as they caught movement in the shadows.