I woke up with a gasp, chest heaving, my skin covered with sweat. The remnants of the dream—no, the memory—still clung to my mind. My heart was racing, Canary's scream still echoing in my ears as I stared at the ceiling. The same dream I been having for years now.
I sat up slowly and rubbed my hands over my face, and looked at the clock it read 5:47 AM. It was morning barely. A cold light filtered through the curtains. I took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
"Still haunted," I muttered, pushing the covers off.
I showered quickly, scrubbing off the sweat with some music playing in the background. After dressing in dark jeans, a red muscle shirt, and my campus windbreaker, I grabbed my backpack, checked my notes. I said goodbye to the picture of my parents on the shelf in my living room then headed out.
Despite everything, I was a college student now. One of the top ones, actually. I attended Gotham Metropolitan University, the crown jewel of the city's higher education system. Full scholarship, courtesy of my of graduating top of my class, League ties and maybe a nudge from Bruce Wayne.
I majored in Civil Engineering, specializing in Urban Structural Planning. It wasn't about capes or powers. It was about rebuilding. I wanted to carry that legacy my mom started. She said we should help the people help themselves and she always gave Bruce a hard time for not doing more with his influence and money. Saying he was so disconnected from his own city.
What hero just beats up its criminals without changing the infrastructure the made those criminals and future one. She would always say Bruce is a humanitarian at heart but also needs to live among his people in order to truly understand them and help them.
I agree with her knowing Batman's fatal flaw was that he hyper fixated on the wrong problems and his own trauma. Plus the writers never let Gotham improve or Bruce to grow emotionally long enough to mean anything. Then regressing his character arc to maintain the status quo.
In class, I was focused. Sharp. I sketched out plans for reinforced storm drainage systems, flexible concrete paneling, and multi-use structural layouts. My designs emphasized durability and beauty without jacking up prices.
My goal? Rebuild Gotham's worst neighborhoods to last—without displacing the people who already lived there. Mom had already bought most of the houses and Apartment buildings in those blocks before she vanished. They were in my name now. So I had the power to make real change.
After my classes, I grabbed a sandwich from a food truck and headed to my other job.
Walker & Sons Construction. A blue-collar gig where no one asked questions as long as the job got done. Perfect.
I suited up in my high-vis vest and boots, helmet snug on my head, and joined the crew as we started hauling beams and setting panels. Only I didn't need to strain like the others.
I used my tactile telekinesis—just a bit. Enough to lift more, move faster, but not so much that anyone noticed. It was like having an invisible exosuit. My muscles didn't burn, my hands didn't shake. I could work for hours without tiring. Still, I didn't show off. I paced myself. Just slightly faster efficiency.
By the end of my shift, my foreman clapped me on the shoulder. "Another good day, Dawn. You're like a machine, kid." I smiled and nodded. "Thanks, Mr. Walker." He handed me my pay envelope and I headed out.
Next stop was Wildcat Gym.
Ted had a few people in already—amateurs sparring, weightlifters grunting under plates. But when I walked in, he tossed me a pair of gloves without a word. We knew the routine.
Two hours of intense training. Boxing, footwork, control all with no powers. Ted taught me more than how to throw a punch and take one with the occasional knee and kick saying to be prepared for anything. Glad he was opening himself to more techniques.
He taught me how to read body language while being mindful of my environment. How to think under pressure. How to respect your own strength and never assumed anything about my opponent.
"Hit the bag like you're explaining your argument to God," he barked. And I did. Every blow was a was fast and strong but controlled I didnt want to ruin another bag. By the time the sun dipped below Gotham's skyline, I was flying home under the dimming light, wind rushing past my ears, cutting through the noise in my head.
As I approached my house, something caught my eye. A woman stood at my front door, arms full of groceries. She looked tall with a lean muscular build like a gymnast, wrapped in civilian clothes, her black hair flowing down her shoulders like ink. "Wonder Woman." Or as I knew her—Aunt Diana.
She looked up as I descended, landing lightly on the front steps. Her blue eyes locked on mine.
She gave me a Greek greeting and I responded in the same manner ," I replied out of instinct. It was how Amazons greeted one another even thou I wasn't one. Mom still taught me multiple languages like Latin, Greek.
She smiled faintly. "You've not forgotten your tongue." "I try not to forget what Mom taught me," I said, shouldering my bag. Her smile faded slightly. "May we speak inside?" I looked at her, my jaw tightening. "What do you want with me, Diana?"
Her eyes didn't waver. "Privacy. Please." I hesitated. My instinct told me to send her away. But my mother trusted her. So I stepped forward, unlocking the door, and gestured for her to enter.
"Alright," I said. "Come in."
The door closed behind us with a soft click.