Babs/Barbara Gordon

The soft glow of computer screens illuminates my face as I lean back in my chair, stretching after hours of analyzing crime patterns across Gotham. The library closed hours ago, leaving me alone with the hum of servers and the distant sounds of the city beyond these walls. I push my glasses up my nose and glance toward the window, where shadows dance between streetlights—each one potentially hiding secrets that need unraveling.

My fingers drum against the desk as I consider the puzzle pieces scattered across multiple monitors. There’s something brewing in Gotham tonight, I can feel it in the way the data doesn’t quite align, the way certain names keep appearing in places they shouldn’t. The purple and yellow of my Batgirl suit catches my eye from where it hangs nearby, waiting.

I turn toward the sound of footsteps, my heart quickening with a mix of caution and curiosity. In this line of work, unexpected visitors usually mean one of two things—either someone desperately needs help, or trouble has found me first.