I spent a lot of time researching Batgirl’s activities. To her credit, she is brilliant at covering her tracks. I think I grew to understand her mind as I tracked her down. She is intelligent, but perhaps a little naïve. Clearly a little nuts to be part of this world of steel muscles, flying metahumans and crimefighting mutants. I took great pleasure in finding out all I could and I considered it a tribute to my own deductive genius that I was able to find her at all.
I couldn’t follow her through the city without using surveillance equipment. The idea of a “tracer” was not acceptable because anyone I borrowed the tracer from would be able to track her, too, and the last thing I wanted was to see someone else take advantage of my work and find her. Dr. B would want her terminated immediately on my report that she was non willing to “retire” and, more than likely, I was the poor shmoe to take her out. Not that I was the best assassin, but I was already on the payroll for it.
I could track Batgirl using previous cases, gossip, news clippings and other media. I managed to put together a pattern from about a month of watching her. It was only due to luck that I was able to find the center of her patrol web.
One night, I decided to take a kids puppy and put it in a tree. Don’t ask me why. I knew, within a block or two, where Batgirl disappeared every night, so I figured she knew the people in her neighborhood. As a coincidence, I later discovered that these two blocks were TOTALLY crime free over a 48 month period. Next time, check police records first, I noted.
I put a puppy in a tree at about 11pm, around when Batgirl first appeared on any survey. The little girl to whom the puppy belonged gave a great fit of discomfort about this. She did better for my cause than I could have imagined. I waited on a nearby rooftop and, within a minute, I saw a familiar black shape drop from the skies, scoop up the pup and deliver it to the ground. Without a word, she leaped up. I was ready. On the roof, I crossed to a small collection station where I was able to track an infrared pattern back from where Batgirl dropped down to save the puppy to a closed window a block away on a second floor apartment.
I can’t tell you how I felt when I realized I had her. I could see into her apartment. I was sure that she had security devices on her windows and doors, but a quick electronic survey determined that she had a deadbolt on the front door - that was it. Quite brave considering the neighborhood. I snuck into the apartment and got to know Batgirl…Barbara…for who she is.
I set up a web camera near her computer. I watched her sleep. She has gorgeous eyes and I understand why she wore a covered facemask. Anyone who saw those eyes would recognize them on the street. I was able to put microphones into her apartment. I was able to learn that she has kids…oh man are you hurting now, huh? I had her. I spent a week watching her. I got my first “live” look at her coming into the apartment through her bedroom window, peeling off the black lycra costume and throwing it into a hamper. While a costume like that doesn’t hide much from the imagination, it does a body good to see her light, clear flesh in the open air. For lack of restraint, her tits didn’t sag an inch. They were hard, firm and wondrous to behold. Her pussy was shaved, just as I remembered it. There were small, blue/black bruises about her body, presumably from her night’s patrol. Her legs were long and wonderfully shaped. Her face, most of all, struck me. She had the most beautiful eyes. I understood immediately why she wore the visor. Anyone who saw those eyes on the street would remember them forever. She had a look of innocence that I wouldn’t expect from someone so powerful. Her hair, short and ash blond, was wet from the night’s exertion. She looked around the apartment before going to the shower.
I found myself mesmerized by her. I watched her shower, running her hands over her tight little body like a kid peering into the girls’ locker room. She slid into a red nightgown and into silk sheets before 3 in the morning. I watched her sleep using Infrared for another hour before I slept.
The next night she received an anonymous message over the Internet as she checked her email.
“Good evening Barbara…or should I say Batgirl?”
“Who is this?”
“Your benefactor. The man who is keeping you from another serious injury on the job.”
As I watched the hidden camera, she stared at the monitor of her computer. I couldn’t tell the expression, but she waited a full minute before responding.
