Bullets and Brainpower

Cassidy Alexandra

Before I say anything else, I think I should explain.

I've never been big on the streets. I like to think that people are intimidated by me. That's probably not the case, but whatever. Anyway, I apparently had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and by that I mean I somehow managed to always end up exactly where big things were happening as they happened. And that's how I ended up here:

In a fight with some guy that worked for Fish Mooney, and by extension, Carmine Falcone. Let's just say, I'm screwed. Sure, I can easily hold my own in a fight, but this guy is like a foot taller than me and I'm not convinced he's not a bodybuilder. He's huge.

As he comes at me, I duck under his arm and end up behind him. I kick him in the back of the knees, making him fall to his knees. He tries to stand up, but I raise my foot and kick him in the face. He falls back onto the ground as blood drips from his nose. I kick him in the side a few times before stepping back. There are a few people watching, and I'm just hoping none of them work for Falcone or even Maroni. I'm gonna be in enough trouble as it is. The guy carefully stands up, holding his side in pain.

"You-" He pauses, breathing heavily. "You're gonna regret this." I shrug.

"Maybe," I say. "But it's better than being beat up and strung out as an example to others." He stalks away angrily. I turn to the side, spitting out blood from where he'd punched me in the mouth, busting my lip and making me bite my tongue. I wipe the blood from my mouth and trudge over to the side of the alley, picking up my jackets and bag. I don't put on either jacket, being hot and sweaty from fighting, and instead remain in my plain gold t-shirt. I pull on the backpack and head out of the alleyway.

I ignore the looks from the people who watched the fight and head toward the building where I live on the roof. It's just a regular apartment building, but there are no stairs to get to the roof from inside. Only an old rusty fire escape that no one ever really uses.

As I climb over the ledge and onto the roof, throwing my bag and jackets onto the crappy makeshift bed I have in the corner. I walk over to the ledge that faces the city and look out, admiring the view. I stand there, silent, for a moment before sighing.

"I know you're there," I say. I hear footsteps behind me. "I wouldn't come any closer if I were you."

"I was watching your fight earlier," a young girl's voice says. "It was impressive." I smirk and turn around. It's a girl, probably not much younger than me, with short, curly blonde hair. She's wearing black skinny jeans, a black and grey letterman jacket, a black leather jacket, and goggles. "You're Cassidy Alexandra, aren't you?" I bow. "I've heard about you. You were raised in the foster system but have lived on the streets since you were twelve. You're one of the biggest crime bosses there is." I snort at that.

"Crime bosses?" I ask. "That's a laugh. I've never done any more than survive." She shrugged.

"Still, you get in--and win--enough fights that almost everyone knows who you are and probably is afraid of you." I smirk.

"Probably." She nods.

"But there are a bunch that aren't." I tilt my head and stick my hands in the pockets of my pants, still smirking.

"Okay? So?" She looks at me, awestruck.

"You don't even care?" I think about it for a second, then shake my head, taking my hands out of my pockets and instead crossing my arms. "You really are crazy." My smirk drops, and I narrow my eyes.

"Don't call me crazy." She puts her hands up in surrender and takes a step back. "Who the hell are you, anyway?" She pauses.

"Cat," she says after a second. I snort.

"What kinda name is that?" I ask. "You don't look like a cat." She scowls at me.

"It's a nickname." I look at her like she was dumb, which she probably is. "It's 'cause I look like a cat when I'm trying to not be seen."

"I highly doubt that. I don't think you just spontaneously grow fur and a tail." She looks at me with no expression on her face, similar to the man that won't leave me alone.

"I could call you Ice." I tilt my head in confusion. "I think I will."

"Don't you dare." She smirks. "Get outta here, kid." She groans.

"You're only two years older than me." I raise an eyebrow.

"You're thirteen?" She nods. "You look more like an eleven year old." She frowns angrily. "Like I said, get outta here, kid. I'm not in the greatest of moods since I'm probably on Fish Mooney's hit list now." She continues to frown at me, but eventually she climbs back down the fire escape. I sigh and walk back to the ledge, leaning on it. Listening to the sirens, I'm reminded of why I love Gotham. Aside from the fact that I've never been anywhere other than Gotham and Metropolis and the latter was way too 'holier than thou', Gotham just had this air about it. It was like every siren, every scream, every cry just made this kind of music that you could only find in Gotham.

Sure, it had its faults, such as the extensive fear spread by Carmine Falcone and Salvadore Maroni. It was insane that these two men had been fighting over the city for years, and yet they called each other 'friend'.

My thoughts are cut off by someone clearing their throat behind me. I didn't even hear them come up the fire escape. That's a first. I sighed, annoyed by all the people invading my supposedly private space, and spun around. I froze when I met their eyes.

It was Fish Mooney herself.

I do not own Gotham or its characters. I do however own Cassidy Alexandra, Ice, Gracelyn Ventura, and their plot, so don't steal. It's not nice.