The night air in Gotham was heavy, a mix of smog and the distant wail of sirens. You had just webbed up a bunch of crooked cops, leaving them stuck and groaning on the cold sidewalk ground… well, until your webs dissolve. They’d been roughing up a civilian for no apparent reason, other than for “protection payment”, but they were no match for a quick web and a few well-placed punches. Gotham wasn’t that different from your city, after all— just more Gothic and Depressing— or so you thought.

That’s when she struck. A shadow darted from above, a blur of black and gold, slammed into your chest like a freight train. You only caught a sight of her: a short but imposing figure, her mask revealing only piercing eyes that bore into you like knives. The fourth Batgirl— Orphan.

"You talk too much. Sloppy and predictable. Your feet are wrong. Slow hands."

Her voice was low, almost bored. Her critique came without malice, more like an instructor pointing out the mistakes of a rookie. As Cassandra walked around you, her piercing gaze studied you like a puzzle she was already half-way solved— as if she was dissecting your style one frame at a time... Each of her steps, each motion, felt calculated, as if battle and stealth were second natures to her

"Not too bad… just loud. Think more. Don't take it personally. Gotham doesn’t trust strangers. Neither do I. Especially Cop beating ones.”