2002 - #3

About A Girl by Paul Hahn

"So, it was Harm all along," Nightwing finished his explanation. He was using a small monitor that they had Jerry-rigged together to communicate with the Batman.

"I see," Batman replied in his usual voice. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to help . . . but glad, also, that you were able to figure it out on your own."

"I'm glad, too," Nightwing smiled. "Hate to think I'm losing my touch. Well, anyways, I appreciate--"

"Hold on," Batman said. "There was a girl . . . a new addition to Young Justice that I saw around your current home after the whole Morlock deal. I think I later heard you mention her . . . "

"Jolt?" he asked. "Or Empress? Or, maybe Rebel?"

"Rebel," Batman nodded.

"What about her?"

"Well, something about her worried me."

"Worried you?"

"Her lack of speech, yet how she seems to be able to understand you all," Batman explained.

"She's probably just mute," Chuck replied. "Or . . . well, no, she has said a few things . . . but not much. Why does that worry you?"

"She's about, what? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

"I'd say so."

Batman let out a deep breath. "I know of an assassin . . . one I've fought a few times, named Cain. He had some interesting ideas about language . . . he thought that a person could be trained to read body language as its own form of expression. So that, theoretically, someone could be trained to read a person's movements and posture to know what that person was going to do before they did it."

"What're you getting at?"

"Cain trained children, Nightwing. He would somehow obtain children at an incredibly young age . . . lock them away from the world, and teach them in silence. Teach them his language, of body movements. Train them to be the ultimate assassins."

"You're saying . . . ?" Chuck started.

"Well, I was concerned," Batman frowned. "So I took the liberty of looking into it. I found something, the other day. A video that I think you should see. Let me pull it up."

The screen changed, becoming black and white. There was a lot of visual distortion. The video was of a very low quality. There was a man, bald, wearing a suit, sitting behind a desk. On either side of him were two large men in black suits. One was smoking.

"This was filmed in Macau, about ten years ago," Batman said. "See the little girl on the right? Watch her."

There was indeed a little girl in the right corner. She was wearing a small, summer dress. She had long black hair in pigtails.

"Wrong room, kid," the man on the right said, almost laughing. "Unless you're Marado's new Bag-Man."

"Ha!" the man sitting down said. "Tell me girl, what can I do--"

Without warning, the little girl leapt onto the man's desk and plunged her hand into his throat. The screen went blurry, but the sounds of guns being fired could be heard just as the video was cut off abruptly.

"Whoa," Chuck said. "That girl ripped the guy's throat out?"

"Looks that way," Batman said. "The girl. I believe it's Rebel."

"No way," Chuck frowned. "I mean, okay . . . there's a resemblance, but . . . it couldn't be. Rebel appeared outta nowhere, sure, but she's been a valuable member to the team, fighting the good fight, taking villains down but never killing . . . "

"I'm just telling you what I found," Batman replied. "I was concerned, after all. I believe your teammate was trained by Cain to be an assassin, to anticipate someone's moves before they were made, and to kill swiftly and brutally."

"I don't . . . it's just . . . "

"You can look for yourself, if you're unsure," Batman said. "But I suggest you find Cain. Batman out."

Chuck was hard at work, searching for anything about someone named Cain. He wasn't having much luck.

"Hey, Chuck!" Jolt said as she and Impulse walked into the room. "How's it goin'? Bart and I were wondering--"

"It's actually not going too well," Chuck frowned.

"What's wrong?" Bart asked.

"I've been searching for information on this old Batman villain by the name of Cain, and I can't find anything."

"I can help," Impulse said. "Hold on."

He was gone, and then back, in the space of about two seconds. He was holding a disc in his hand. "Try this!"

Chuck slid it into his computer, and he instantly found a whole database of villains, as well as other heroes, aliens and technology.

"Bart, this is phenomenal!" Chuck exclaimed. "Where did you get this and why have you been hiding it?"

"I haven't been hiding it," Bart shrugged. "I just kinda forgot. But I got it from the Avengers League."

"You mean Flash gave you this?"

"No, I took it," Bart shrugged. "When we were under house arrest after our big fight with them, and we were getting ready to leave, Hallie helped me download a bunch of their files onto that disc so that we could have it."

[[In YJ #26 - Paul]]

"What?!" Chuck exclaimed. "You stole this from the Avengers League?!"

"Stole's such a mean word . . . " Hallie said.

"And you helped?!" he asked, looking at Hallie. "Are you two out of your minds?"

"No," Bart said. "I really thought about it . . . and I figured, what good had the Avengers League been doing for us? Locking us up when all we were trying to do is help people! And, hey, I figured we could help people more easily if we had access to their files. They're all high and mighty, but we can look out for the little guy, 'cause we're little guys! And I just thought that those files would help . . . "

Chuck sighed and shook his head. "Your heart was in the right place, at least. But you're a hero . . . you've got to know stealing's wrong."

"Sometimes heroes need to bend the rules," Hallie frowned.

Chuck sighed. "As much as I'd like to believe or say otherwise, I know it's true. On the plus side, this thing has a file on Cain . . . including his last known whereabouts. Whatever you two had planned, go for it. I'm gonna be out for a little while . . . got a trip planned for Mexico."

"Huh," Superboy said, looking at the news. "You see this?"

"What?" Linda asked.

"Australian officials are reporting a large chunk of land that's just disappeared," he said, recapping the story. "Like, a chunk the size of a small city."

"That's weird."

"It gets weirder," Kon continued. "There've been some reports from Japan, Australia, some smaller pacific ocean islands, China, Russia . . . of buildings going missing."

"Buildings?"

"Yup . . . buildings just up an' vanish in the night. Gone."

"That is odd," Linda frowned. "You think they're connected?"

"I dunno. But two US navy pilots have been officially filed as missing. They were on routine scout duty over the pacific from a naval base in Japan. They just didn't come back. No sign of their planes or the pilots has been seen."

"I wonder . . . "

"Hey, has anyone seen Chuck?" Arrowette asked, walking in.

"Nope," Kon said.

"I think Bart said he was going to Mexico?" Linda replied.

"Mexico?" Cissie asked again. "Just like that?"

"I would've inquired further, but Hallie was dragging him out of the resort for a night out."

"Poor Bart," Cissie frowned.

Nightwing exited slowly, at the ready. He paused and listened. The area was a fairly un-populated portion of Mexico very near the equator. It was hot, moist . . . tropical. His eyes scanned a large house in the distance.

He approached with caution. He found it surprisingly easy to get inside. He snuck about, sticking to shadows. Despite it being late afternoon, the house was very dark. He found his way to what appeared to be, perhaps, a study. At one end of the dark room was an older man with white hair, sitting on a chair. Next to him was a small table, with a bottle of liquor and a single shot-glass, empty.

"Cain," Nightwing said from the shadows. "You're a hard man to find."

"One step closer and I'll have to go for my gun," Cain said, almost sarcastically.

"I'm here about the video."

"The video?" Cain asked. "I've made hundreds of videos in my life, boy. Who are you, anyway?"

"The name's Nightwing," Chuck frowned, stepping a bit closer.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"I'm here about the video," he repeated. "I was sent by Batman."

"Old Bats?" he laughed. "Been awhile since he an' I tussled. If he decided to send some punk kid, he must either really not want to see me or think I'm too far below him in my older age."

"He sent me because the video in question pertains to someone I know," Chuck frowned. "Someone who can only speak a handful of words . . . but who seems to be able to predict what someone's gonna do in a fight before they do it. And in the video, there's this little girl . . . and I think they're the same. And the little girl rips a man's throat out."

Cain almost seemed to grin. "Ah, Cassandra . . . "

"Cassandra?"

"The girl," he continued. "She was my ultimate success. I trained her . . . oh, how I trained her. She couldn't speak, no . . . but she could indeed read a person's body language. She was perfection."

"She's a hero," Chuck frowned.

Cain frowned right back. "She ran away from me that night . . . the one on the video. I suppose I could see her becoming a hero. Putting on a costume of some sort, risking her life for strangers. Probably in an attempt to redeem herself. Or, more likely, out of guilt. Guilt can drive someone like that. When she plunged her little fingers into his neck . . . the look on her face . . . first kill's . . . never easy, but . . . she just . . . fell apart. Too young. Too soon. My fault."

"You're twisted," Chuck said.

"Believe what you will," Cain said. "She was perfect. Not good, not better than expected . . . perfect. If I were to be involved in a hit, normally I would survey a room before charging into it. She wouldn't have to. Her training enables her to read opponents. Body language is a real language for her. Her only language. With one glance, she would already know what they'd just started to think about doing. A fight would be over before she set foot in the room. She was perfect . . . she would have made the ultimate assassin. But I rushed things."

"Too bad for you," Nightwing frowned. "You said her name was Cassandra?"

"Yes," Cain continued. "Cassandra Cain."

"She was your daughter?" Chuck asked, shocked.

"Don't be so surprised," he frowned. "I took other children and trained them . . . but when I finally had one of my own, I figured, who better? So training began younger than on any of the others . . . and it was more intense. I think, perhaps, that's where she succeeded while so many others failed."

"You're sick," Nightwing frowned. "And I'm leaving."

"That's it?" Cain asked. "You came here to confirm something about a friend, and now you're leaving? No vendettas? No bringing me to justice?"

"I've got no vendetta against you," Nightwing frowned. "And no hard evidence that you've been doing anything illegal here. But I'll tell you this . . . if you ever so much as try to communicate with Reb--with Cassandra, I will hurt you."

"There's no need for threats, my boy," Cain smiled. "Especially ones you couldn't back up."

"Okay," Chuck frowned. "Sorry for calling this meeting so late."

Everyone was gathered, except . . .

"Where's Rebel?" Anita asked.

"I didn't invite her," Chuck frowned. "This meeting is about her."

"About her?" Linda asked.

"I came across something this morning," Chuck began. "And then I followed up on it. Basically, I uncovered the history that Rebel is unable to tell us."

"I don't get it," Cissie frowned.

"Okay . . . here goes. Her real name is Cassandra Cain. She is the daughter of David Cain, a highly skilled assassin whom Batman has had several encounters with. She has been trained, almost since birth, in numerous types of fighting styles and disciplines. David Cain had a theory, that someone could learn to read body language as its own language. With Cassandra, he achieved that. She knows what moves a person will make before he makes them. She's probably one of the most highly skilled fighters alive. But . . . she was trained by an assassin. Trained to kill. I have a video . . . " he paused. "I have a video, or at least a copy, where, Cassandra, maybe six or seven years old, commits her first murder."

"What?" Kon asked.

"She ripped a man's throat out," Chuck frowned, continuing. "He was a low-life scum . . . no one missed him. But she killed the man, nonetheless. However, she left Cain that same night. She had killed once . . . and it was too much for her. From what I can tell, she fled and probably spent about the next ten years wandering, drifting about. She's never told us how long she was with the Morlocks . . . but it seems to have been at least a little while. I think, after having done what she's done . . . she's become a hero to atone for it. To make up for it, because she knows of her guilt."

"That's . . . that's crazy," Anita said.

"It's the truth," Chuck sighed.

"So . . . now what?" Cissie asked.

"That's another part of why I've gathered us together," he continued. "We've got to decide what to do with her. Heroes don't kill. We may bend some rules now and then . . . but murder is crossing a line that cannot be crossed."

"You want to kick her out?" Bart asked.

"No way," Kon said. "She was six when she killed the guy, right? She didn't know what she was doing! And after it was done, she was so disgusted that she fled!"

"But . . . murder . . . " Cissie frowned.

"She wasn't a hero when she committed the murder," Anita said. "I'm sure we've all made mistakes before donning our costumes . . . "

"We don't kill," Chuck frowned.

"So, what then?" Kon asked. "We kick her out, onto the street? We turn her into the cops?"

"I don't know . . . it's just . . . oh no."

Everyone turned to see Rebel standing in the doorway. She had an odd look on her face. It showed that she understood what they were talking about. And it also seemed to show how horribly saddened she was.

"Cassandra . . . " Chuck started.

But in a moment, she was gone.

"Rebel?" Linda asked.

"She sure bolted fast," Hallie said.

"Bart, find her," Chuck frowned.

Impulse sped away, and was back in a few seconds. "She's not anywhere on the grounds!"

"That's impossible," Cissie said.

"No . . . there's an entrance to the Morlock tunnels under here," Chuck frowned. "She used to live down there . . . she'd know those tunnels better than any of us."

"Way t'go, Chuck," Kon frowned.

"Hey, don't blame me," Chuck frowned. "I didn't expect her to overhear . . . "

"Don't argue," Phoenix said. "Let's find her. I'll go into the tunnels and search telepathically. The rest of you should head into Manhattan, where the tunnels lead to. Just . . . try to find her."

The young girl named Cassandra Cain sat on a rooftop. She was trying hard not to cry.

She was in costume. She always was. It was a fairly simple outfit. She wore small, black boots, slick black pants, a black, long-sleeved shirt and black gloves. She recently added a sort of tool-belt, that she wore more like a sash from her right shoulder down to her left hip and back up again. She had designed it herself, after Nightwing's, finding that some added weapons could always be useful.

She didn't understand the feelings that were washing through her. She didn't know the names for them, really, or what they were. But what she was feeling was a mixture of things that confused her. She was sad, upset, depressed . . . betrayed?

But there were no words going through her head. No thoughts. Her mind didn't work like anyone else's. It was an existence that must have been terribly lonely. With Young Justice, she had perhaps found something to end the loneliness at long last. But now?

Now, they knew. They knew the memory she had long since buried. Her kill.

The image flashed through her mind once more. It was one she thought was long gone.

She had wandered for years, from Macau to the United States, eventually seeking a home in the tunnels alongside some Morlocks. Unable to communicate, she was afraid that she would be perceived as an enemy . . . so she hid. But she helped them, now and then . . . scaring off explorers or possible threats. She watched the blue skinned Mutant, Maggot . . . and when he led the Marauders into the tunnels, it was she who got Young Justice.

Her eyes suddenly went wide. She saw a woman, walking slowly down a street below. The woman wore a two-toned purple suit, Asian in design, with a jacket that had a long, flowing back. Cassandra Cain recognized the woman.

Shiva.

Lady Shiva Woosan was a highly skilled assassin. Her hobby was hunting down the best fighters in the world and then beating them to death with her bare hands. She's also the closest thing Cassandra had to a mother.

Cain was her father. He taught her much of what she knew about fighting and killing. The rest, she learned from Shiva. If she was actually related, she didn't know. Yet Cassandra, by appearance, seemed at least half Asian. Cain is not Asian. And Shiva played a role in her upbringing . . .

Either way, the fact that Lady Shiva was in town was not a good sign. She had to have had a target in mind. Cassandra . . . Rebel . . . couldn't allow her to murder someone.

Rebel hopped from the rooftop she was on to another lower one. She sprinted quickly to the fire escape along the far wall, and scrambled down with ease. She peeked around the corner and saw Shiva continuing on her way. She waited until Shiva turned a corner. Rebel then made a bolt across the street, again into an alley and into darkness. She ran the length of the alley and hopped over a small fence between that block and the next. She cut right, heading towards the street Shiva turned on.

The alleyway was still covered in darkness. She was lucky. She let her back against the far wall and looked to see if Shiva was still approaching.

No . . . she must have already passed.

Rebel turned in a one-eighty, and looked the other way.

No Shiva there, either. Had she moved on that quickly?

No . . . she was waiting for her.

Rebel looked up just in time to see the Lady Shiva Woosan leaping down from the rooftop above her, her foot extended and ready for a kick. Rebel barely managed to dodge out of the way before Shiva landed.

Rebel took up an offensive stance. She read Shiva's intentions with ease. She was able to dodge the first kick, block the first punch, as well as the second kick.

However, Shiva easily ducked away from Rebel's two punches. Shiva caught the third punch and, while holding on to Rebel's hand, slammed her foot upside Rebel's head, knocking her back.

"Cassandra," Shiva grinned. "When I learned you were in New York . . . I made it a goal to find you. It has been long. I assumed you would make a worthy challenge."

Rebel didn't pay attention to the words. But she understood what was being said through body language.

"I think, if we were the same age, it would be a fairly even fight, between you and me," she continued. "We both have the ability to read our opponents moves. I think the only reason I'll win is experience."

Rebel threw a kick to her chest that was easily blocked. However, she pulled off a punch to Shiva's head that connected, catching her off guard. Shiva had managed to move away, however, making the blow not too effective. Shiva countered with a round-a-bout double kick, which Rebel blocked, but was knocked down from. She quickly did a back flip to get back on her feet.

Rebel leapt at Shiva, attempting a fast jump-kick. Shiva caught the kick, though it did connect to her chest. However, with Rebel's leg firmly in her grasp, she had no trouble throwing the young girl into a brick wall, knocking most of the fight out of her.

"Stand down," Nightwing's voice suddenly burst onto the scene. He stood on a rooftop, then jumped down to the fight scene below.

"What is it to you, boy?" Shiva asked.

"She's part of my team," Chuck frowned. "Part of Young Justice. And we look after our own."

"Young Justice?" Shiva asked. "Really?" She turned back to look at Cassandra. "I didn't know she was the heroic type . . . "

Without even really looking back, Shiva cracked a high kick up against Nightwing's head, knocking him down.

"No," Rebel said. She stood up, charging, and tackled Shiva away from Nightwing. With the momentum gained, Rebel was able to slam Shiva, head first, into a brick wall herself. The added force of Rebel's body against her back was a bonus, but to be sure, Rebel quickly cracked a hard punch to the back of her head. Shiva fell unconscious.

"Oomph," Nightwing said as he sat up, holding his head. "You saved my life."

"You . . . said . . . teammate," she replied.

"I did," Nightwing nodded. "Because that's what you are. We all have shady pasts. But you've helped us many times. And it's not like you were hiding anything from us . . . you couldn't tell us, and we never asked. You're a part of Young Justice . . . if you still want to be."

Rebel nodded quickly, despite the pain her various injuries were causing her.

"Good," Nightwing smiled. "Now . . . what do we do with her?"

Rebel shrugged.

"Leave her?" Nightwing asked. "Aren't you worried she'll come after you?"

Rebel shrugged again.

Nightwing shrugged back. "Fine by me. No paperwork to deal with. Come on . . . let's get you back home."

Rebel grinned, and the two began to head back home.