She was shaking, but she had to do this.
She placed her sweaty hands on the edge of a metal table. She took a deep breath and pushed up...
And she was standing.
She gave out a yelp of surprise and pleasure as she rose completely, ignoring the wobbling of her knees that threatened to cause her to collapse at any moment now.
After over five years of sitting in a wheelchair after getting her head slammed into bricks, Jessica Theresa Quinzell Nicholson was actually using her legs.
"I'm doing it," she whispered to herself.
She took a deep breath, and took a shaky step to the side, maintaining her grip on the table.
"I'M DOING IT!" she crowed, ecstatic to an almost illogical level. It was her first time walking in years, and it was in the place she used to hide in . . . the old Arkham Asylum.
Suddenly, she heard a click just outside that she recognized instantly. She had just enough time to duck under the table before a window shattered and a shower of bullets entered the room. The only bullet that managed to hit her just grazed her forehead, and she let out a yelp of pain.
Whoever was shooting, he seemed satisfied with that, and stopped his fire. She waited until she head footsteps walking away before she crawled out of her spot with her hands - she was so shaken that her legs were useless once more.
She picked up a small bullet.
It was about the size of a small bouncy ball, and it was pitch black. She turned it over in her hand, spotting something that made her heart stop.
A small letter, written in gold.
A letter she never thought she'd have to fear again.
It was a small, cursive . . .
"No," she whispered to herself, "no, no, no . . . it can't . . . no . . ."