Batwoman: Hydra

'Batwoman: Hydra'

By

Kit Downes

This is a non-commercial work of fan fiction created by Kit Downes 04.06.2022. All characters, settings and other features are the property of their respective rights owners. Cover image copyright of the CW Network, LLC.

Also in this series:

Batwoman: Dead Man's Shoes

(Authors note: By popular demand, this is now a continuing series. Welcome to The Further Adventures of Kate Kane).

Both eyes were moving independently.

One was fixed on Kate, staring unblinking along the slide and through the sights of the gun. The arm holding it was as steady as a mountain. The trigger was drawn back more than halfway and held motionless, with same poise and precision as the fighting stance Kate was standing in, eight feet from him. Less than a twitch was going to release the hammer. That perfect body control, as well as the laser-focused marksman's gaze, told her she could not move. The bruises on her wrist, ankle and thigh ached as they pressed against the inside of her Batsuit. Her skin felt naked at the three openings in the suit; around her jaw and neck and both eyes. He had the reflexes to send the bullet through any one of them the instant he saw a movement.

The other eye was moving without stopping. It swept, circled and jerked back and forth as it hunted, noticed and double-checked. It roamed into every corner of the private lounge at the back of the Hydra Club, over the shattered glass on the bar and floor, the spilled drinks dripping from the leather stools, and the members of the North American Numismatics Society, kneeling trembling with their hands on their heads. Even as the eye searched, the second gun in the other hand below it stayed aimed, just as steady and motionless, at them.

Caitlyn - her pink dress soaking up vodka from a shattered bottle - shivered on her knees beside Kate. One arm was locked around Kate's leg. Her shoulders moved as she tried to breathe deep enough to calm herself. Kate could see the girl knew that might be her only chance of survival, even though neither of the eyes had looked at her for several seconds.

The moving one was now searching the display cases. The angled glass caught the lounge's spotlights, and so did the rare coins beneath them. Gold, silver, copper, electrum, bronze in the shape of ring-handled knives, ox-hides and cowrie shells, stamped with alphabets, faces and symbols from around the world, glowed on beds of velvet. The eye swept straight over the ancient coins - far smaller than modern ones - and ignored the gold, bronze and other metals, focusing on the silver.

After several more seconds, the face the eyes were set in snarled. That also happened independently. One side - lined with middle-age, unshaven and uncombed - pursed its lips, eyebrow lowering and brow furrowing. The other side opened its lips, and clenched its teeth, venting a hiss like liquid in a frying pan. Its bald eyebrow arched, and the scars, bubbles and pock-marks distorted as they were stretched against the jaw and cheekbone. The moving eye - in the smooth side - swung down to focus on Caitlyn. For the first time, both eyes looked in roughly the same direction. Each one looked a perfect match to its side, as well as an artist could have painted them. It was strange to see that they were identical.

"All right, you thieving bitch," said Two-Face. He started in an even baritone, that changed into rough, jagged growl. "Where is it?"

FOUR HOURS AGO

Light evening jazz climbed with soft steps up and down the scales. Small talk murmured, rising in the occasional peak of giggling laughter. The penthouse's lights gleamed on the champagne glasses, chandeliers, and the sequins on the gowns of the women.