Fallen Angel

It was not a good day for people in Gotham City Bank.

Some would have to wait a long time before they could make a withdrawal from their accounts.

Some got turned into ice statues and died.

One bitch flailed about on the floor, struggling with all her might to get back on her feet, her downed trousers working against her.

I wasn't doing too hot myself.

Not hot at all.

My hands swaddled themselves in what I just recently thought of as Killer Frost's playful and sexy thong. Now bawling in denial, I used it as a war tool in my fight against letting the cold-hearted broad leave my blast radius.

Thus ensued what I might have considered a comical sight if not for the ticking time bomb about to blow my dick off: an angry villainess, her bare bottom exposed, crawling away on all fours. Yet, as she would quickly find, unable to move from the spot, because of her elastic thong—stretched out an arm's length behind her—pulling her back in towards the screams of a crying madman.

I wasn't crying by the way. Detectives don't cry.

Frost might've been crying; hard to tell over all the swearing,

"Piss off tard! I'm not getting blown up here together with some sad excuse of a mood ring!"

Before I had the time to feel hurt by that, I became obsessed with the idea that something seriously bad was happening. As if frightened by her rage, the floor behind Frost hid behind a layer of ice. Quickly pivoting, the bitch aligned her efforts in the direction her undergarments were being pulled. Utilizing the friction-less surface, she thus slid towards me at breakneck speed. My balance was thrown off, but much worse, I could see a big heap of ice forming around her right hand—a meaty icicle firing towards me like a harpoon!

My legs still frozen to the ground, and having no time to assess the situation, my first dumb-ass move was to scream even louder, my uvula almost jumping out my mouth at this point. Realizing that wouldn't really help me though, I slung my hands across my face and torso for the barest of protection.

I might be crying just a little bit right now. But only because of all the dust in here, okay?

Blinded and scared, and with no better plan, I averted my shut eyes towards the heavens, my only plead rapid breath after rapid breath.

I was in no way yearning to see God, but with seemingly no other option, I resigned to my fate and hoped for the good place.

It's not easy, this hero thing. A lot more sporadic than you'd first think.

I'd know. I've been committed to this crime-fighting thing for, what? Five— ten minutes now? And let me tell you, from the stories you hear, you'd think it's all just puss and action... and well, yes, I... I did actually get puss like the second I began, so that part was pretty accurate actually... But dying is the way bigger downside here!

I should have committed to becoming a catholic instead: then I'd know what the hell you pray for in these situations. I just made up some bull that I hoped would make God think I was cool enough to hang out with him in the afterlife.

Or, to be honest, by some miracle... I think I was hoping for an angel to be sent my way. Cut the dying part completely, you know. Hehe... Yeah.

Who knows? The details didn't matter much to me then. Every second is an eternity when you know you're about to die. So much so actually, that for a moment, I wondered if I might already have died without even noticing.

The imminent feeling of having my ribs pierced like pieces of paper stayed absent for just a fraction longer than one would expect. In its place, flapping sounds, and a gust so strong its origin must have either come from heaven or jumped from it.

Oh jeez, does heaven really smell like unwashed carpet? Am I gonna have to just hold that L for the rest of eternity?

Not wanting to disrespect the Reaper or whatever, I built up the courage to barely squint and see what was happening. But oh lord did my squinting turn to gawking when the image of that thing entered my brain.

It was gone faster than what my brain could hope to register, but in that split second, I saw a figure—more beautiful than anything I've ever seen on this earth—fall from the sky and down, out of my world.

My immediate thought was of a woman. One wearing the most serene wings, bigger than any eagle's, and hued in strong colors that lit up my then terrified soul.

She was an angel!

She much too soon left my field of vision, and I half expected the background to be made up of clouds and pearly gates. But no, just an old roof in need of some dusting, and a gaping air vent.

"Looks like I caught you pants down Frost, allow me to help you back up."

I quickly tilted my neck to follow the subject of my adoration down to where she crashed to the floor below me. There, I was met with a long mane of red-flowing hair, elegantly hovering in the breeze created by the settling of what I now recognized as a black and yellow cape. Its owner—a figure crouching with her beautiful back to me—had her form-fitting yellow boots planted atop Frost's forcibly sprawled out body, and had somehow already handcuffed the criminal in question during the short time it took me to move my head.

Lifting a glowing hand triumphantly into the air, the angel pressed a button on the winged device in her grasp. I flinched, as a grappling hook was ejected towards the roof, and the piercing sound of metal hitting metal could be heard above us. There was a brief moment of silence... before it abruptly shattered, with Frost releasing an uncharacteristic "Eep!" as a rope—apparently having been attached to her handcuffs—towed her in, leaving her and her thong dangling outraged in the air.

I'd been saved. No! I'd been blessed! This woman, this angel! Her presence unlike anything I've ever felt, or ever will feel. This adoration in my heart. I swear she'll be the subject of my praises from here to infinity! Her graze, her courage, her holy nobility! Hell, if I knew worshiping felt this great I'd have dropped the detective thing and become a priest a long time ago!

Forget about Wonder Babes! Her face! I must see it!

"Weather report calls for a cold night and rising moon," the angel quipped. Still crouching, she flicked her glowing hair in time with spinning towards me, granting me the honor of gazing upon her masterly chiseled physique, her Greek proportions—

"Sorry about that. I just had to finish up my winter cleaning. You can call me—"

Her endless emerald eyes—

"Batgirl."

BATGIRL!!!

The Dark Knightess! The Girl Wonder!

Crime-fighter by night, daughter of Gotham's own commissioner Gordon by day. Everyone would surely agree Barbara Gordon lives an extraordinary life! And to live an extraordinary life, of course, takes extraordinary character! Luckily, with her limitless arsenal and excellent martial arts skills, Batgirl already checks in. Add in her MASSIVE intellect and unmatched understanding of computers, and you're looking at a hero in a class of her own!

Our polls: https://www.strawpoll.me/19724842

—are out, and people find her most alluring attribute to be... her butt! Biggest trunk since the Batmobile!

Villains of Gotham, watch out!

Her— her— her... Her face mask.

Ugh.