"Billionaire Adopts a Tiny Orphan!"

"Tiny Girl To Move In With Famous Aristocrat"

"What Goes On in the Walls of Her Castle...?"

When Lady Bryce first appeared before Rachel, she had red coating her lips, dripping down to her collar, gushing out of her glass. A hoard followed her movements, with camera flashes and microphones almost knocking the little girl away. The whole orphanage was more cramped than ever, its decrepit walls bursting with fully-sized people.

Of course, Rachel had seen The Lady Bryce before. Everyone in the city had. The tabloids and fashion magazines she huddled inside, when surviving on the streets at tiny scale, prominently displayed every bit of her. Narrow features, dark eyes with a distant gaze, and a raven "hime-cut". Photos, candid and official, with her in every assortment of dress and suit possible. Headlines usually reported on one of three things:

1) Reckless spending of her parents' wealth, after their sudden disappearance, leaving workers scrambling to her whims and partners (both business and romantic) sobbing.

2) High-profile scandals, where she was spotted in seedy bars, motels, or rumoured criminal meeting spots, often alongside tiny people.

3) Her statuesque height, even when in flats. Most of her pictures were shot from a complimenting low angle, making it seem like she towered over everything.

And that familiar angle was only accentuated, here, since Rachel lay at a table before her - uncomfortably close to her thick, bulging bosom. The frilly, tuxedo-like dress suit and shirt seemed to bulge around her. Photos didn't capture how much she lumbered - tipping, wobbling, taking long swigs from the glass, waving and weaving between the paparazzi... and her little ward.

"Oh, why make such a big deal out of it?" She tilted her neck closer, chocolatey eyes rolling. "It's perfectly normal for celebrities to take in disadvantaged children, isn't it? And who could be more disadvantaged than this poor, bite-sized thing?"

She scooped Rachel up in cold, gloved hands. A few strokes of her brunette hair made the small thing shiver in her ill-fitting red sweater. "Doesn't she look sweet like this? Oh, oh, yes, please, take a picture at this angle!"

Getting almost crushed by the hold, Rachel pushed against the leather mass in defence. The fingers flexed for just a second, before leaving her head - only giving occasional pokes and brushes, like she was handling a hamster. It ruffled Rachel's short, messy brown locks in uncomfortable curls. This was, of course, in between continuous sips from her champagne glass.

One reporter in thick glasses jotted notes in a quick shorthand, which seemed like an alien language from the tiny girl's perspective. "So, Lady Bryce, you've already filled out the adoption papers?"

"Adoption? Oh, Clara, that makes me sound so oooold~!" The wealthy woman vogued, spilling more of the strong-smelling red liquid on her dress. "I suppose it's like that on paper. But I'd rather this little girl think of me as her friend! And I'll think of her as... my pet? My cute little lapdog?"

She gave a long look at Rachel, seeing her quiver. "I joke. She can call me 'mommy' if she really, really wants~"

Rachel breathed heavily. "I... I don't..." Nothing she did could free her from the lady's hold, keeping her tightly compacted to the dark bosom. Some of the juices dripped on her. Every attempt to kick away just made her sink deeper into the masses of cushioned flesh, buttons appearing ready to pop out. "Hey - some personal space?"

The press murmured. The air grew colder, tension palatable. Finally, Lady Bryce put down her glass, and tapped a finger to her little toy's nose. "Cute. I have a soft spot for little fighters. Don't worry, I know exactly the kind of love cranky small ones need."

The glass, bottle, and Rachel went with her to the old, black Rolls Royce - though not before the tipsy lady gave a few more waves and blew messy kisses to the event's attendees.

"Home, Frieda." She signalled the driver.

After pounding noise, shallow questions, and forced laughter inside the room, the silence inside on the night road was even more blaring. Neon lights and skyscrapers faded away to dead trees, graves, and rustling winds. With no seat for smaller people, Rachel was placed in a cupholder - where Lady Bryce, from the back seat, kept staring at her like a used candy wrapper. Her swinging and teetering had settled to an almost gargoyle-like stillness, eyes pointed to the road.

And that was fine with the diminutive gal, hugging her messy old clothes. She had a lot of time to process the events of the past week. Seeing her parents pressed underfoot. Coming within an inch of her own life. Friends telling her it wasn't safe to stay around. Wondering if it was all her fault...

"A drink?"

Rachel almost jumped at the suddenness of those words. Over the drive, once they’d reached a distance away from the public, the other passenger had wiped the red stains from her mouth. Presently, she reached for the cold bottle.

"No thanks..."

Lady Bryce poured some of the red stuff herself. "It's not alcoholic. Helps me focus."

Rachel shifted. "Uhm, none for me, m-mom..."

The celebrity stopped the flow of liquid with her thumb, and glared for a second. Dark, severe brows fell over her shadowy eyes. "Do not."

Rachel shuddered back in place, sinking into herself. "...Mommy…?"

The woman waited for a second, resting her tall, broad back in the bumping car seat. "My name. Use my name, Rachel."

"Bryce?"

Lady Bryce blinked, finally, and moved her gaze back to the zig-zagging, mountain road.

The Manor's doors creaked as they opened - a Gothic-style structure, with an eerie draft. Pictures of old family members coated the walls, staring down with silent intensity and solemness. Frieda - the same silver-haired assistant who drove Lady Bryce carried Rachel in - stood firmly and quietly at her master's side. Besides them, the house appeared empty.

"Take your time. Adjust." The towering woman led them to a room on the third floor, past bizarre, gaudy decor. Her thick, black boots, with several straps, seemed to torment the ground. Those things could crush even a fully-sized person.

Rachel kept looking at the old, musty furniture - and the bed that was several sizes too big for her. It had been cleaned recently, but showed its age in small bits of wallpaper and cushion that only tinies could see. "Geez, I... dunno if I can really... Stay here.. "

Lady Bryce peered sideways. Her thick lashes beat the air. "This is different for you. You travelled often. You're used to living on the road, between gigs."

Stammering. Warning lights went off in Rachel's squat head. Her hands raised in defence. "How - how did you---!"

Lady Bryce kept a poker face. "Am I wrong?"

The diminutive entrant shook her head, stuck in the spreading shadows as the day sunk away. "Are you a psychic or something?"

"No."

They kept their eyes locked. Neither of them gave anything else. Rachel, frazzled from the time surviving before this; Bryce, looking like she'd been driven between seven late-night parties.

Rachel swallowed. "So you took me in knowing that. Knowing about my parents, and that accident that..." She struggled to recountthe events that had orphaned her.

Lady Bryce folded her arms, hiding her tie and her bosom high above. "You don't believe it was an accident."

How did she keep doing this? The way that towering, shapely woman said it... that wasn't a question, that was a factual statement. And judging by the way her dark nails fiddled with her bracelets, she was getting impatient.

With no words able to come from the tiny mouth, the dark master of the gothic manor continued. "I don't, either. But for now, stay still. Eat well."

Rachel covered her stomach. "I'm... well, you know, with food. For what I did, I needed to be pretty lean..."

A single one of Bryce’s eyebrows raised a smidgen."Hard worker. I like that."

The woman turned away, undoing her dress suit. "I have business tonight, myself. Frieda. See to it that this girl’s bathed."

The nights were terrible, fraught with unearthly screeches into an uncaring distance. Again and again, Rachel awoke panting at the unfamiliar ceiling, and the branches rattling against her window. Memories of the incident kept coming back again and again, clearer each time.

There was little place for tiny people in this sprawling, old city. Many were scavengers on the streets, moving between cracks in its decrepit, rotting architecture. Rachel and her family considered themselves lucky to be performers in the equivalent of a flea circus - parading their flips, dives, and twists with their reduced weight, for guffawing, grotesque faces.

But it kept them alive. It kept them safe, when others lived in fear of the spectres in dark alleyways and shadows. For a while, the little acrobat was happy in her parents' embrace, and happy to show her love off to the public.

It was one day. One bad day. She had heard some of those huge faces speaking, from her perch above, barely out of sight...

"...Yeah, they ain't paying. Idealists. Feh, city has no place for those types. Make it look like an accident. Show 'em what happens when they refuse our services. Naaah, the police ain't doin’ anything..."

Rachel tried to warn the other performers, explain things - but everything happened too quickly. Nobody believed her; a frail tiny, trying to make sense of a random accident. In fact, some seemed nervous to even address it. They told her to stay quiet about it, leave town, make sure not to get involved...

A small snap of wires on the stage. A tumble. A passing foot’s sole. And if it weren't for a stranger's shaking, shadowy hand pulling her aside, she'd be just like her parents - stains on the ground.

Rachel woke up. Her old, smelly teddy bear lay next to her - the first time she'd seen it in a month. She almost thought she was home for a moment - before the enormity of Lady Bryce's mansion came back to her.

A blurry, black shape peered in the window - but was gone when she rubbed her eyes. The memories of those killers. She knew they were behind it.

They had to be punished.

***

Rachel barely spoke to Lady Bryce for the first days, except when strictly necessary. The woman appeared laughing with guests, showing off her new housemate and her new gothy black-and-grey dresses, mingling and teasing and dancing through rumours and darkness.

"Another win at the All Smiles Casino? My, they just keep giving them out, don't they?"

"Oh no, no, my little Rachel is very happy! See, happy face, Rachel!"

"Well, I can't deny that Kyle fellow is handsome, but, keep it between us, okaaaay~?"

But barely any light shone in her shadowy eyes. When they left, her lips stiffened, back to neutrality.

Thankfully, the house was large enough that the little girl could spend time alone. It had a massive library. Old tales of Zorro and The Shadow. Nonfiction about all sorts of chemicals. Historical documents on armour and blades. Frieda helped her get them down.

It also had a surprisingly extensive gym area. After a few visits, Rachel noticed more and more training equipment for tinies quietly shipped in, probably by the old servant. A little trapeze, some scaled-down mats and dumbells, even an obstacle course.

From time to time, Lady Bryce entered the room, barely addressing that Rachel was already inside. She’d work up a sweat, her massive feet running in place, pits leaking around her sports bra and leaving wet traces on the floor. Her long raven hair swung with every movement, like a cape. Rachel couldn't help but stare once or twice: beneath her fancy dresses and lean face, she had a surprisingly defined abdomen, and a number of scrapes and scars on her extremities.

The lady grunted. "Can I help you?"

Rachel gasped. "I'm, er... just taking notes on your posture...  So I can do the same exercises… Bryce."

"Rachel." She brushed her dripping, straight bangs. "You're in my care. Don't push yourself."

"I’m far from my limit!" Despite herself, the adrenaline from her hour of dashing around and boxing had made her smile. Spry, springy, she kept in a ready stance. "Can do this all day!"

In response, Lady Bryce lifted an eyebrow, and lowered a toe on her.

"HYYNNG... mhhhGH... Hguuurghk...!"

Slick, sweaty, yet cold to the touch and dank, Rachel flailed against the fleshy shape. She pounded with all her might, but the pressure from the digit on her stomach only became harder. The tiny girl couldn't even scream, just look up, pleading.

The woman kept still. "Focus your breathing. Get a firm grip on the ridges. Distribute the weight across both hands."

Partly fueled by survival instinct, partly by the sheer indignity of her position, Rachel kept pressing up... Eventually, lifting the toe just enough to slide out. She panted, sprawled on the floor, swearing under her breath between intakes of the deep-smelling air.

Lady Bryce stepped away. "You're stronger than I was at your age, girl. Don't ruin that." Her frame filled the doorway, as she waved dismissively - the servant giving her a towel, and peering in concern at the tiny acrobat.

"Yeah... Fuck you, too, Bryce..." Rachel bit the mat below, and returned to throwing punches at the minuscule boxing bag.

That dinner, over mulligatawny soup, Lady Bryce stood up early. "Leaving now. Another late shift."

Rachel crossed her arms at the thimble of food. "Again? What kind of work is it, anyway?"

"Meetings. Research. It'd bore you." Lady Bryce wiped her lips.

The girl kicked her legs up. "Hey, can't I come with you sometime? You know, like the way you bring me to parties?"

The towering woman paused. She gestured to the passing, silver-haired Frieda to leave them for a moment. "You hate those parties."

"Anything's better than... staying stuck in this place." Rachel shuddered in the still, cold air, but kept looking up.

Lady Bryce looked away, hand on the chair - pushing it in a little too hard. "I can purchase more toys. More equipment."

Now, Rachel was shouting: "Don't you get it?! Staying cramped in here, when all the other tinies are out on the streets, when those killers are still out there - you KNOW you can't keep me stuck here forever!"

With a few measured, delicate, earth-trembling steps, breathing through her teeth, the colossal woman pointed to the table. "This is my domain." She stuck a single, callused finger out the window, at the stormy skies. "That, too, is my domain. I will not have you die in my domain." The other hand slammed on the table. "This is for your own good."

Rachel sunk back in her seat. "Sometimes... I think I should've been left to rot."

Lady Bryce nodded as she left, her hair glistening in the candlelight. "So do I, sometimes."

The night was filled with wind, tortuous rattles. No matter how much Rachel tried, she couldn't get in a comfortable sleeping position. The howling of the pipes and screeching of beasts outside kept her in a feverish state, pushing her head into her oversized pillow. The old teddy bear lay tossed aside, staring at her.

"Help... Shit, someone! Hey, h-help--! For the love of–!"

Screams. A voice traversing the pipes, begging, in a hoarse, desperate voice.

"Scum. Human slime." That was her. Even with a slightly deeper, muffled voice, the quiet, controlled purr of Lady Bryce was unmistakably hers.

Against all her better judgement, against her beating heart, Rachel left her bed. The pyjamas felt cold and tight. The mansion was intimidating and labyrinthian even for a larger person - old boards that would've creaked if it weren't for her deftness and grace. As if she were on those wires again, doing tricks in midair, she felt pulled by the cool wind across the hall...

"No! Nonono, you bitch, you can't--!" The voice shrunk. Dry, choking.

"I've broken better men than you." The Lady sneered. "Snapped their limbs. One by one."

That room... No, this one. The library? From the path of the vibrating, horrifying sound waves, Rachel could tell the soundwaves were bouncing and echoing off something. She didn’t know what she was looking for - but she couldn’t sleep when this was happening, right in the walls of this house she was staying in.

Between the library's tomes, a small crevice. There was a hidden door - and from there, a staircase spiralling down. Down to basement levels the manor shouldn't have. Down into the base of the mountain it was built on.

Blue glowing, nearly organic in nature, lit Rachel's descent. Every step felt like a journey; but her legs, in their green pyjamas, got no less tired. The air stank as she grew deeper - like feces or mould. Wiring passed down stalactites nearby. And now, the voices were clear.

"Where are they?" Lady Bryce requested, followed by a loud crackling, and a sickeningly wet pop.

"I- I don't know! I swear to God--!"

"Swear to me."

The man was hysterical, his voice moving between muffled sobs and anguished pleas. "This can't be real! This can't be! You're a monster! Ahgh... A fucking monster!"

"Yes. You understand. Now tell me."

Rachel felt chills across her spinal cord. The view from above was perfectly clear - yet twisted, unbelievable, like a mirror at a funhouse. There sat Lady Bryce, in a cold room, on a throne-like pedestal, wearing black from head to toe. Beneath her, like seat cushions, were men. Women. All of them with blindfolds, struggling under the heaving weight of her generous rear. In her grasp, a dishevelled, shrunken man in a jacket with clear rips... No. Those were bite marks. Tears flew off his cheeks as he flopped like a ragdoll.

And Lady Bryce kept staring him down, distant, dead in the face.

"You are a stain. A blotch on my domain." The towering celebrity lifted her hand up. "The dirt beneath my nails is worth more than your life.You could survive on that filth for the rest of your life. Or you could give me what I need."

Rachel let out an involuntary yelp, before covering her mouth.

The weak man lifted his head. "Huh? Wh-what the hell was that? That damn - sound -"

Lady Bryce suddenly got up, thumb at his neck. She glared directly at the intruding girl - gaze piecing into her soul. Her steps quaked like slow, rumbling thunder.

Her voice quivered, seeing this now-familiar gargantuan getting closer. "Get away, you - y-YREEEARGH!"

Rachel dashed. She rushed up the stairs, not looking back at the flurry of confused banging behind her. She flipped from the dark window, into a puddle below - and kept running. "No, no, no more of this!"

Into the night. She felt like searchlights were glowing after her. Every car horn and motor made her jump and duck behind a rock. Her legs and arms ached. She kept on the move. Anything to get further away. Anything to get back where she started. Anything was better than living there - above a torture chamber!

She rushed, through decrepit passageways and rancid sewers, back to the old fairground, near the pier - where her parents had left the world. Left her. She halfway expected to see them again - between the lost gum, candy wrappers, and tossed-away playing cards.

Nothing.

She held her face over the water for a moment - letting the rain wash over her face. Her hair looked frazzled in the reflection, tired - dirt all over her crimson clothing. But no. Even before accessing the secret basement, she knew she couldn't stay there. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she let her parents die, and left - with no resolution.

So Rachel kept looking. And looking. Among piles of dirt. Among bits of a boardwalk that once brought people joy. Among footprints. Among shattered lights and glass.

"Tch. Real shame what happened..." A voice on the wind. "...So you see, this is exactly the state your park will be in. Unless you pay what you owe, of course."

Rachel leaned closer. A protection racket. The same kind she'd seen before her parents died. She took cover behind a bag of chips, watching the tall, trenchcoated figures’ movements. Some of them were people who wandered in the police office right after the murder. She waited for them to spill something about their identity, some incriminating evidence - right up until a sudden wind blew her bag’s cover away.

The massive men began surrounding her, old pier seeming to tremble in their presence.

"Hey, that's-"

"What's a tiny doin' here?"

"Aaaw, it’s their kid. Been meaning to get my hands on you, slippery little bitch-!"

Shadows came over her. Every side, there was a gangster reaching for her. But she wouldn't run. Rachel knew what these fairgrounds meant, and she wouldn’t let them use it as an example - something to fuel more violence. Somehow, she'd teach them. For killing her parents, they would suffer - if not in this life, then the next.

A foot pressed on her. The sole of a dirty shoe. But she controlled her breathing. Found a good hold. And slipped out from under it, just in time...

Just in time to see something amazing.

In a ray of light, they all disappeared… At least it seemed that way, until she looked at her quaking feet. They were down there, by her toes - where she wanted them. Shrunken to a size where even she towered above them. The men who were once making threats scrambled in the mud, yelling over each other - pulling the triggers on small guns that no longer worked with their miniaturised firing mechanisms.

Rachel panted. It was happening too quickly. Some kind of justice had come from above. She hovered her messy, bare foot over them. They practically sunk into the wormholes - struggling to even move at their new height. Pathetic, they didn’t have any of the instincts or even the sense of balance she’d developed. And they’d never have the chance. "Payback... I'm gonna give you the payment… you’ve been asking for…!"

All of them stared up.

"N-no!"

"Miss, please!"

"You can't--!"

Memories flashed through Rachel's head. Trauma. Pain. Vengeance. And, slowly, she lowered her foot.

Right beside them, harmlessly.

"I'm nothing like you." She breathed in the cold, rain-cleansed night wind.  Her shadow stretched above them.

And above, a larger shadow coated her.

A full-sized person. A hand in leather, reaching down slowly. Another hand, above, held a glowing shrink ray. The face was hidden in the veil of the night. But Rachel recognized it.

The same hand that saved her before, when her parents died.

The same hand that had carried her for weeks.

She took a step on it, and let Bryce hold her - along with the criminals.

Over the car ride, looping and twisting, they remained silent. This time, Bryce drove. In the coolness, fog emerged from her straight lips. Rachel, on the dashboard, kept looking ahead. This wasn't the direction to the manor. The criminals were blinded, squirming in a boot below - as Rachel gazed down from the dash.

"So." She started. "How did you know I'd be there?"

"I didn’t. I was looking for clues." Bryce gestured to the diminished men. "Their associates. None of them would speak. No matter how much I pressed them."

Rachel shook. "I... I really... You know how crazy this looks, right?"

Driving closer, the woman sighed. "Yes. If it's any condolence, shrink ray effects wear off quickly. They’re uninjured."

"And you were faking those… snapping noises" Her passenger whispered, slowly understanding.

"I’m not proud. People should respond to reason… but some only answer to fear."

As the car parked, the criminals were handed to Frieda at the door, the maid giving a concerned look to them. Meanwhile Bryce took Rachel to the living room, to dry her off. Her hand spread up and down the torso carefully.

Rachel raised her arms. "Then that business you went on, the night shifts... They were all about trying to find who killed my parents."

Bryce waited for a second, showing hesitation for the first time the two had known each other; audibly swallowing. "Yes. I still haven’t found their head." She slammed her raven bangs in her soaking palm. "It was low profile. Nobody knew… Only Frieda…" She pointed to the maid, still standing pleasantly quiet and vigilant. "And Clara, that reporter… she knows what it’s like, these secrets…”

Rachel grinned. "This is a relief. I'll be honest, I thought you were a vampire or something."

The lady of the house smirked. “Hah.” She put her friend down, starting to giggle. Then, she laughed out loud. Finally, she broke into ugly, flowing tears, breaking her nails as she slammed her fists into the vintage carpet.

"Hey... Hey, it's okay... Mom... Bryce...!"

She shook her head, strands of hair flowing left and right. "No. I don't deserve to be called 'mom'. I could never be the woman my momma was. When you called me that, I…" Between quiet sobs, she grit her teeth. "She was too sweet. When I saw her die, a voice kept saying, it was my fault. I wish that I'd been left to rot... Since then, I... It's all been an act. I've never really laughed, I never smiled for real, until... until then... I'm going to throw up..."

Rachel was taken aback. This was the first time that woman had hung like that - said that much, all at once. She slowly patted her cold, giant hand, drying rain water off it with a smaller towel. "Easy does it. Easy does it, Bryce." The mansion around felt a lot warmer, after that time outside. "You've done a lot for me."

The massive woman continued, her dark makeup staining her face. "When I saw you there... You reminded me so much of myself. A happy little girl who loved the world around her. So strong, springing back after everything. I couldn't bear to see... Another child, like that, going through what I did... I promised to make you smile again..."

Rachel stroked her cheek in understanding. "You wanted… to give me a normal, safe life… didn't you?"

Bryce breathed out. "I've failed you. I brought back your old teddy, I gave you rooms to yourself, I did everything to protect you from myself, and I just got you stuck in my own… my own obsession. I almost lost you. I almost lost myself."

"Yeah. Things were rough. You didn't count on me being such a meddling little brat, huh?"

Bryce bit her lip. "I... like that. I-I… uhm…" She caught her breath. "I like how you keep moving, keep jumping up with… that bravery. I don't know if I... if I would've spared those gangsters… in your place."

Rachel sat beside her, wiping the tears - which were starting to slow in intensity. "Please, don't be so scared. Yeah, I miss my family, but... Squashing those idiots won’t help." She leaned over, hugging the cheek. "But let’s stop keeping secrets from each other, okay?"

The woman breathed in. Even her low whisper had a booming quality. "I can still tell the press the adoption didn't work. Make up a story. You can go to a normal home. I trust you’d keep this… night business of mine… a secret."

"Nah." The girl held a hand to her hip. "I don't wanna see anyone suffer, either... And really, I think you need some help with your business."

"Don’t… be so smug, Rachel. You have things to learn, yourself."

When Frieda entered, she found the two family members worn out on the long couch. Rachel was smiling, cuddling into the huge bosom; Bryce hugged her like a little teddy bear. The maid clasped her hands in contentment, and left a blanket on them.

The next weeks were rigorous, but rewarding. Every day, Rachel hiked up and down the tremendous celebrity’s body in multiple laps - faster every moment, facing rougher resistance. She got better and better at dodging swinging hands and stomping feet - laughing and tickling whenever Bryce eventually landed a hit on her. She was able to lift more weights every moment, right up to effortlessly sliding out of any bosom or butt pressing on her.

But they also spent time reading. Schoolbooks and scientific formulae behind shrinking. And of course, the parties had to go on, for appearances - but now, they remained together through them.

"Oh yes, looking much healthier, isn’t she, Clara? Ahah, that’s my secret technique to bulk little girls up~"

"Me? Yes, golly, I’m fine hanging with Bryce. She lets me do whatever when she goes drinking and sleeping around!"

"Awww, what a mouthy little thing you are, Rachel! Don’t go spreading rumours about mommy that way~"

By night, they revisited the scene of the crimes. One evening, Rachel pointed out one of the cards stuck in the ground. "There it is. This card, the joker, has a marking on the back."

Scanning it, held in her black gloves, before her mask, Bryce rubbed her chin. "Hm. I've heard about these marks. From the parties. One specific dealer..." She breathed in. "This'll lead you to the people behind your parents' death. And after that..."

The tiny girl put on her own mask. "After that, we keep fighting together to keep the city safe. Just like you’ve always done."

Bryce smiled. "You know you have to give it your all... And more."

Rachel brushed it off. "Sure thing, Bryce."

That night, in the sickly toxic-neon glow of the All Smiles Casino, a dealer in a loud purple suit applied bloody red makeup. She giggled over the phone. "So what if our gang's having trouble? Look, it's not about the money - it's the principle of the thing! Dirty flea circus tinies, stealing my clientele... When all I want to do is put a smile on this city's grim face, with some REAL entertainment! Well, I'll --"

The power flickered. Something small jumped between the wires, coating it in darkness. She took out a gun. Behind her, an ominous shadow loomed - grabbing her by the shoulders.

She froze. "Who are you?"

Lady Bryce Wayne gave a signal to Rachel Grayson, and growled from behind her dark cowl:

"I am vengeance. I am the night. I am Batman."

BATMAN

Sorta Created by Bob Kane

Actually Created by Bill Finger

But Seriously I Think We Need To Give Dick Sprang More Credit