Chapter 1: Prologue

Prologue

Night in Gotham. A light rainfall pattered against glass and brick and metal, casting a wet sheen over the street and sidewalk. The bright hues of the downtown nightlife glowed high above the heads of the bustling citizens, as well as down below their feet, reflected in the grey puddles of murky rainwater.

The pink neon silhouette of a full-figured woman gleamed brilliantly upon the sidewalk - and instantly turned into a mess of ripples as a pair of boots came down upon it. They were women's boots, knee-high, black, sporting wedge heels, and far, far too expensive to dare sully with muddy water. But their owner found herself unconcerned with the well-being of her clothing.

No, she had far bigger things to worry about. Hands gripping her umbrella tight, she continued forward at a brisk pace.

Because Batgirl doesn't send urgent messages on a whim, she thought as she brushed past a trio of youths, clad in letterman jackets. Gotham State University she deduced from the colors - as well as the GSU emblazoned on their backs.

"Nice legs, blondie!" One catcalled after her.

She half-heartedly flipped him the bird, not even bothering to give the jackass a second look as she continued down the sidewalk. For a moment she expected one of them to try and catch up to her, maybe start something, but the chorus of laughter that erupted behind her made her relax.

Too drunk to get angry, not drunk enough to do something stupid.

She found her destination quickly enough: An old building, built and owned by Wayne Enterprises way back in the thirties. The Gotham Clock Tower, a landmark of Bleake Island since it's construction. And unknown to but a handful of people in the world, the base of operations for the Birds of Prey - and even Batman, on rare occasions.

The elevator was unbearably slow - such as it always was. For all of Batgirl's obsession with the latest, cutting edge tech, she refused to touch the building's architecture when she didn't need to.

A high-pitched ding rang out as the lift reached the top floor. The door slid open to the low sound of grinding metal and Dinah Lance stepped forward into the War Room - a sparse, cube-shaped room illuminated by the array of computer screens that covered the far wall. A lone figure sat at the foot of the digital mountain, her back facing the new guest.

Dinah frowned, letting her umbrella drop down into the stand by the elevator doors. She ran a hand through her blonde hair - dyed from brunette ever since she got sick of wearing those damned wigs - and marched towards the woman in the chair, her boots thumping against the wooden floor.

"Congrats on getting me freaked out over the phone," She said, her words laced with equal parts annoyance and worry. "You mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

The woman turned in her chair, blue-green eyes fixing on Dinah's in a steely gaze. Barbara Gordon was a young woman but she could command respect like few others. Living with the example of her father, the police commissioner, and learning under the Dark Knight himself, it was inevitable she would pick up a few things.

"I received a message this morning." She told Dinah in a grave tone. "From Huntress."

Dinah already didn't like the sound of it. She crossed her arms, the brown leather of her jacket pulled taught across her back. "And? How's she doing?"

Barbara didn't answer immediately, turning her eyes back onto the screens in front of her. A feeling of dread dropped into Dinah's belly like a stone.

"Babs?" Dinah pushed, planting a hand on the desk beside Barbara, looming over her seated form. "Is she alright? Is she hurt? Tell me!"

"She's not hurt. Not that I've seen." Barbara answered, almost reluctantly so, rubbing her temple with her fingers.

"Well what have you seen?" Dinah urged, the dread slowly starting to turn into panic. Batgirl was never the type to skirt around the issue at hand. How bad could the situation be?

"Huntress isn't hurt. But she's not fine, either." Barbara made a face, nose and brow scrunched up as if the words waiting in her mouth were putrid in flavor. She shook her head, like she could barely believe it herself. "Helena sent me a video file. A sex tape. Her sex tape."

Dinah blinked. She took a half-step back, like Barbara's words had slapped her across the face. For a moment she was speechless, wide-eyed like they were in a comedy skit and they'd just delivered the punch-line.

"Oh." She finally said after a fashion. She looked from the computer screen to the ceiling to her boots before eventually setting her eyes on Barbara again. "That's… really weird. And wildly inappropriate. But a sex tape isn't an emergency. You made it sound like she was dying, Babs!"

Barbara stood from her seat, the office chair slowly rolling backwards on tiny wheels. "She may not be dying but this is serious, Dinah. Just watch." She hit a few keys and the circular loading animation for a video file came up on the big screen.

Barbara Gordon had the best computer equipment money could buy and the video file was playing perfectly in an instant - too quick for Dinah to even have the thought of averting her eyes. Before she could even comprehend what was happening, the largest screen in the room - the one right in front of Dinah's face - was playing Helena Bertinelli's homemade sex tape.

Barbara hadn't been lying - it was most definitely Huntress. Dinah could see that now, up close and in high definition. With crystal-clear audio.

"That's it. Yeah, that's it. Right fucking there. Deeper. Deeper!"

The sounds of sultry moans, masculine grunts, and flesh slapping against flesh reverberated in the War Room. It was only a step or two below deafening as the sounds of sex pounded their ear drums - much like Helena herself was being pounded on the computer screen. And she was getting pounded - Dinah could fault Huntress for many things but not for her pick of lovers. Dick Grayson, the pretty boy with the absolutely fantastic ass, Roy Harper, certainly a sore spot for Dinah but even she could understand the appeal, and now this nameless stud who was utterly merciless in his rutting - much to Helena's vocal pleasure.

He was a good-looking fellow, certainly. Strong jaw, brown hair, blue eyes, and well-built to boot. Not quite on the level of Nightwing, let alone Batman, but his body was lean and firm in that delicious boytoy way. And it was clear the lucky bastard had more than enough stamina to keep up with the likes of the Huntress.

It was a few minutes before Dinah rediscovered the good sense to tear her eyes away.

"I don't need to see this, Barbara!" She hollered over Helena's wild howls. The stud now had the poor woman on her hands and knees, thrusting into her pussy with one hand gripping her wild mane of black hair.

"Fuck. That's it, Miss B. Fucking take it. Take that cock. Take it deep."

He was on the younger side judging from his smooth, unweathered voice. Not really feminine, but untempered. Probably a college boy, like the punks Dinah dealt with on the sidewalk.

Frighteningly enough, the feelings of disgust and worry were dissipating, giving way to a primal appreciation for what the young man was doing… and even a little envy. Dinah shook her head, banishing those thoughts from her mind.

"At least put it on mute, for fuck's sake!" Dinah cried out again. This time Barbara answered her friend's request, turning the volume down from the booming level the video had started at… but not quite muted. The voices of Helena and her lover were faint, but very much still present.

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It was now quiet enough for the blonde to think again and the first thing she did was shoot the redhead a heated glare. Dinah took a finger and pointed it accusingly at the screen - which was still playing Helena's video - taking a deep breath through her nose.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Barbara." Her voice was calm but hard as steel, her anger focused and restrained. "I didn't need to see that."

Barbara, for her part, held her ground. "Yes, you did. You needed to see it to understand just what this situation is."

"I won't understand until you tell me. It's weird, sure, but Helena's a grown woman. If she wants to get kinky with a gentleman caller, then let her. We'll just tell her to keep her videos for herself."

"Helena is absolutely a grown woman. And that's exactly the problem."

Dinah frowned. "What do you mean?"

Barbara took a deep breath and exhaled before returning to her seat and pressing a few buttons on her keyboard. On the screen beside the superheroine sex show, an image came up. It was Helena's boytoy. More specifically, it was his driver's license.

"I scanned the footage with facial recognition and voice identification. Cross-referenced the results with any and all Gotham archives. Social media profiles. Video sharing websites." Barbara clenched her teeth. "...School enrollment databases."

She let the words hang in the air. There was a silence between the two women for a short moment, the only sound in the room being Helena's high-pitched squeal as her lover finally brought her to orgasm.

"...And?" Dinah asked tentatively.

Barbara sighed, her shoulders falling. "Her little boytoy? Matthew Reston. He's barely eighteen. And currently enrolled at Kingston Academy. Dinah, he's her student."

The dread came back, now a boulder that punched a hole in Dinah's stomach and made her weak in the knees. Reston. The name was familiar to her. She knew someone with that name, but she couldn't focus enough to remember. There was but one thought blaring in her mind over and over, washing over everything else. Oh, God. Helena's fucking some kid!

Dinah's mind was a whirlwind. The world itself was beginning to spin around her. She planted a hand on Barbara's desk to keep herself steady. None of this was real. It couldn't be real. It was just some sick nightmare. She would close her eyes and wake up back in her bed with a cold sweat. She blinked once. Twice. She was still standing in the Clock Tower. And she could still hear the video playing behind her. She could still hear the sound of Helena and him… Of their bodies coming together, flesh on flesh.

"No." She said firmly, shaking her head. She turned towards Barbara, glaring. "It's fake. It's one of those deep fakes. Someone's just playing some sick fucking joke on us. They… they just edited her face onto another girl's-"

"I analyzed the footage for hours." Barbara confessed, her voice sober, defeated. "It's real, Dinah."

The blonde gave her friend a pained look, her eyes pleading for her to come out and say it was all a twisted prank. But the relief never came. "I don't believe it." Dinah pushed off from the desk, taking as many steps away from the computer screens as the room allowed. Simply being close to what was happening on the screen made her feel filthy. She hugged her arms close to her body, pulling her leather coat shut. "Helena wouldn't do this. She might be man-hungry like no other woman on earth, but that doesn't mean she would go off and fuck a teenager. Let alone one of her own students!"

Dinah felt a hand rest on her shoulder. Barbara was beside her now, her eyes apologetic. "I'm sorry I showed that to you. But you needed to see it. You are right about Helena. She wouldn't do something like this. Not of her own free will."

"You think she's being blackmailed?" Dinah asked. She shot a brief glance towards the computer screen before averting her eyes in shame, a faint blush painting her cheeks. "Doesn't look or sound like it." She muttered.

"Could be blackmail. Could be something worse. Pheromones. A love potion."

"A love potion?" Dinah repeated, unimpressed.

"They exist." Barbara insisted. "It could also be mind control. God knows we already have enough of those sick freaks running around. What's one more? And get this: Matthew Reston? He's Derek Reston's nephew. You've already had a run-in with him."

"Derek Reston…" She knew that name sounded familiar. "That stuffed suit? The goddamn MegaCorp stooge?"

"The very same. This Matthew Reston guy comes from a bushel of bad apples, sister. This Kingston Academy place, it's prestigious absolutely. But it's a dumping ground for supervillain spawn. Not just this Reston goon, but people like Senator Culler Strand, who dumps waste into the swamps down in Florida. Roland Desmond, who you might know as Blockbuster. And Paul Westfield, who's a project director at fucking Cadmus. They all send their kids to this school. It's Supervillain High!"

Dinah paced in a small circle, breathing through her nose, fingers drumming against her crossed arms. "You think… You think this sick bastard got his claws in Huntress… To get to me?"

"I'm not thinking anything. But it's a possibility. Something is clearly very wrong here. You and I are going to fix it. Birds of Prey style."

The grit in Barbara's voice was almost enough to draw a smile out of Dinah. But the weight of what had become of their dear friend still loomed over them both. Barbara had to settle for the ghost of a smirk tugging at Dinah's lips.

"I take it you have a plan?" Dinah brought her hands together, cracking her knuckles. "We gonna bust some heads or what?"

Barbara gave a sly grin. "Whatever bullshit is happening down at Kingston Academy, you and I are gonna shut it down. We'll be going undercover as new faculty. I already created some aliases for us."

"Charlies' Angels stuff. Not bad, but I'm still not hearing anything about head-busting."

"I'm getting to that. We go in, play the role of new teachers. We sniff around, find out just what the hell is going on and exactly who is responsible. We grab Huntress and get her the fuck out of there. And then we start busting heads."

Dinah nodded. She liked the sound of that. No, she loved the sound of that. Some silver spoon, rich boy punk was about to find out why messing with Black Canary's friends was the worst mistake his privileged little ass could ever make.

"Good." The Black Canary smirked. She drove her fist into her open palm. "I can't wait to pound that little runt."

"All in good time, Canary." Batgirl assured her. "All in good time."

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