On the Nature of Daylight

Chapter One

The evening that marks Katherine Harding's arrival to Gotham City is a quiet, rainy one. Drops pound against the roof of the train, an old, rather slow creature that crawls along the tracks, shifting passengers here and there as it turns and swivels.

She glances down at her old but trusty watch - it reads 11:24 pm. She was meant to get here much earlier - closer to one, actually - but that flight had been cancelled. Glancing out the dirty windows of the train car, her mouth quirks up at the sheer cliche of the sight before her.

She doesn't know much about Gotham, but what she is aware of pertains mainly to the city's infamous perpetual gloom - a gloom personified by the rather striking lack of light in the neighborhoods they pass by. Then there's the crime rate, which just so happens to be quite high in the East End, where Katherine will be living for the next...

She lets out a deep breath, clutching her single suitcase tighter. The uncertainty of it all is unrelenting these days. Who knows how long she'll be here? In a tiny apartment deep within the city, utterly alone.

Shivering, she pulls her gaze away from the window. She steals glances at the other passengers every so often, wondering what their own stories might be. Are they like her, a bit lost and lonely? Or are they perfectly happy - content with what they have, wanting for little - as Katherine's only wanted to be?

God. She shakes her head a little, straightening her spine. She needs to snap out of this stupor that she's been stuck in. There are positive things in the future, including some job interviews within the week. And even if those don't pan out, she's always got her tech repair side gigs. Sure, they don't pay much, but it's certainly better than sleeping out on the streets.

She knows the little savings she's got is partially her own fault. She'd be at least slightly better off if she charged more for her services. But she's lived among the working class for too long, has been part of the bleeding soul of the community. She's seen and experienced first hand the bullshit this economy has handed them. She'd never have the heart to charge them too much for her repairs, could never bring herself to put someone in the hole for even a little while over something so ultimately small. The big companies are asking for too much, and she's the one they turn to. She can't let them down.

It's nearly midnight by the time the train finally squeaks to a stop at the dropoff closest to her apartment. Wrapping her windbreaker tightly around her middle, she steps off into the chilly October night.

~

She's lucky that her apartment isn't too far off, and the apartment is only four or five minutes away - but the knowledge does little to ease her anxiety as she walks down the flooded streets of the East End, old tennis shoes splashing in dirty puddles of rainwater.

Incredibly alert, she reaches into the pocket of her windbreaker, wrapping her free hand around her mace. It's not much, but it's something to help lessen the tightness in her chest.

When she reaches the correct address, she books it inside, wet feet slapping on the cold stone of the building floor. It's old as hell, and the elevator looks particularly dubious, so she opts for the stairs. The heavy door shuts with a slam behind her, making her jump. Sweat beading on her forehead despite the evening chill, she quickly climbs the three flights of stairs, exiting on her level and making her way down the hallway.

She finds her room number towards the end of the hall on her right: 311. She fumbles around in her crossbody purse, pulling out the key, turning it, and -

Home sweet home.

Unsurprisingly, it's pretty dingy. The walls are a rather pale beige, stained here and there. It's only one room, not counting the tiny bathroom to the left of the bed. Directly in front of her is a small kitchen area, equipped with a sink, a few cabinets, and a countertop.