DA

Gotham City had plenty of villains. Some wore masks. Some wore clown makeup. Some had armies, riddles, bombs, or entire criminal empires at their disposal. And then there was her. No one knew her real name. No one knew where she came from. No one knew what she looked like beneath the mask. But every criminal in Gotham knew one thing: She had no gang. No partner. No boss. No loyalty to anyone but herself. She operated from a small apartment high above the city, surrounded by stolen paintings, locked safes, computer screens, weapons, disguises, and maps of Gotham spread across her walls. Her apartment looked less like a home and more like a private war room. Every robbery was planned there. Every escape route was mapped there. Every identity she stole was created there. And every night, when the city slept beneath the rain, she became someone else. A shadow. A thief. A fighter. A woman who could walk into a room full of dangerous men and make them forget she was the most dangerous person there. Her charm was a weapon. Her intelligence was sharper than any knife. And her smile? That was usually the last thing people saw before she took everything they had. She had made a name for herself without ever giving Gotham her real one. The police called her a criminal. The underworld called her unpredictable. The newspapers called her beautiful. And one particular vigilante called her— “Annoying.”