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Jack. Attempted a Barbossa to go with this one but it didn’t go very well.
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Here’s Jack, Kate and Sawyer from LOST. All three of these proved hard to get right, though hopefully it’s still obvious who they are…
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Two stages of Spike. I’ve included both because I think I prefer the unfinished one.
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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN –
Harry, Ron and Hermione stepped out of the Headmaster’s study and down the spiral staircase. Past the stone gargoyle which still hadn’t righted itself, down a long corridor where the occupants of the portraits were at last returning to their own frames and back down the cracked marble staircase and into the Entrance Hall.
Students and teachers alike were leaving the Great Hall and returning to their dormitories. It seemed that, at last, the celebrations were over and despite the sun having fully risen now, everyone was returning to bed. Many faces still glanced in Harry’s direction and once again there were distinct mutterings amongst the masses but he paid little attention. He saw Slughorn leading the few remaining Slytherins back towards the dungeons; Flitwick and the Ravenclaws heading upstairs and Harry thought longingly of his own bed in Gryffindor tower.
There was, however, one last thing he had to do.
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There’s no saying if you’ll ever read this, but you always taught me to be prepared. I’m writing this because you deserve to know the truth should something ever happen to me. And if you are reading this than you have already seen the files that I have stored on here, and it’s only fair that I give you some answers.
I have no idea where to start, or what to say that could possibly rectify having to lie to you for all these years. Dad, please don’t get angry. Not with me, not with him. I love you, and it’s because I love you that I had to keep all this from you, and I ask you now to at least try and understand that.
You’ve guessed by now that I work for Batman, and have done for quite some time. You see Dad, I was Batgirl once. You have to believe me on that one.
My name was Batgirl, now it is Oracle. But it has always been Barbara Gordon.
You’ll remember when I first arrived in Gotham; I was 13 years old and had barely stepped off the train when I was kidnapped by Jervis Tetch, the man who calls himself the Mad Hatter. You and Batman rescued me, and I guess that’s when it all started. The first time I saw that masked face step out of the shadows and look me in the eye. I wasn’t scared Dad, I was in awe.
You can’t blame me for wanting to help people, for wanting to do what is right. Call it a moral code, if you want. I get that from you.
I was Batgirl for five years, and in that time I learnt Gotham like the back of my hand. But you’ll remember the day I was shot, well that was the day when it ended.
My legs were taken from me, but I couldn’t stop, Dad, I couldn’t give up that easily. I had learnt too much to just let it all go, and that’s why I became Oracle.
And have been ever since.
I’m not on the streets anymore, I’m not wearing a mask, but I can still help people and you couldn’t begin to imagine how good it feels.
But I’m not the one who can really explain this all too you, because at the end of the day these are nothing more than just words on a screen. The time has come Dad, and brace yourself, because there’s one piece of information I have been careful not to include anywhere on this system.
Dad, Batman is Bruce Wayne. Seriously.
In telling you this I am breaking all the rules, but I can’t write this and not tell you everything. You see, his parents were killed when he was just 8 years old. And on that day he swore to rid the city of the evil that took their lives.
I can’t imagine what it was like for him; to have the ones you love taken from you right in front of your eyes. But there’s one thing that has always struck me about the two of you, that despite so many differences you’re both so similar.
Dad, I want you to know, he never forced any of this on me. I learnt the risks, the danger of what was involved, and becoming Batgirl was completely my own decision.
Just as it was Dick’s.
Yeah, Dick’s a part of this life too. You already know his parents were killed, and that he was brought up by Bruce. He became Robin, the first Boy Wonder, though these days he goes by the name of Nightwing.
I want you to sit down with Dick and talk about this, and for the love of God, don’t get angry with him. This is not his fault any more than it is Bruce’s; in fact he’s part of what has kept me going all these years.
I hope you’ll never have to read this. I’m imagining the hurt in your eyes and I don’t want to have to put you through that. But I have to Dad, I just have to.
Perhaps one day you’ll understand, but for now let me say simply that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you all these years, I’m sorry for not being the daughter that you thought I was. But I want you to know that there is no one in the world I look up to more than you. You’re the greatest hero that Gotham has ever known, and the best father a girl could ask for.
You are the source of all my strength and determination, Dad. You always have been, and I guess I just wanted to say thank you.
A letter from Oracle. Taken from Batman: The End. The full story can be read here: http://issuu.com/alexanderbeedie/docs/batman_end
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Dick Grayson. Loeb Gardens, Robinson Park. 12:09.
It shouldn’t have been her.
Before now those words have never had any meaning to me, and I’ve never appreciated before just how easy they are to say. It seemed to me that people always said it after someone close to them had died, so much so that it could almost be called a cliché, but now the words form in my head and I understand for the first time why people say this. Good people don’t deserve to die, and Barbara? She was the best.
Coming here today, seeing her body lowered into the ground, was harder than I ever thought possible. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, in fact I almost stayed at home, but seeing the casket lying there, with her picture framed on top, it’s made it seem so … final. Thinking back it seems selfish to even contemplate not being here. I guess it was hard for everyone, she was a friend to all who knew her, I only wish … I wish I could have saved her.
And I should have.
What good is being a costumed hero when I can’t even save the people I love, and truth be told I wasn’t even there to try. I let her down, I failed her, on the one night she needed me most and I wasn’t even in the same city. Alfred says I’m not to blame for my actions, that there was nothing I could have done, but he says it to comfort me and the words bare little meaning.
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Gotham City. Thirteen Years Ago.
I hear the sounds of the waves lapping against the side of the docks before I’ve even passed Grant Park, telling me that I’m nearing Port Adams and my destination. I like this time of night, when the city is at it’s quietest. Usually, with the Commerce Street Highway running parallel to the park, I wouldn’t be able to hear the sounds of the docks until I have it in my eyesight, but right now everything is mercifully quiet, allowing me to swing through the city with much more ease and freedom than I would normally have. Not that it really matters, of course. As part of my training Bruce made me memorise the easiest routes to get to places - both in the air and on road - from any given place in the city. If I had to, I could find my way to Port Adams blindfolded.
When I reach the docks I spot Barbara crouched behind a large shipping container, peering around it at regular intervals to catch what’s going on in the warehouse in front of her. I don’t see it myself until I get closer, gracefully dropping down beside her having resisted the urge to sneak up, but the warehouse is packed full of low-level goons and stacked wooden crates, confirming Bruce’s suspicion that Port Adams was playing host to a smuggling operation tonight.
‘What are you doing here?’ Barbara asks when she sees me. ‘Bruce said you were in New York with the Titans, figured I wouldn’t see you back here for at least another two days.’
I’m slightly hurt. ‘That what you think of me?’ I ask. ‘My whole life is here.’
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Gotham City. Sixteen Years Ago.
We stand atop the Wayne Tower in Gotham Central, looking down. Just the two of us: me and the girl.
Far below us the city is going to sleep; the lights are all turned out in the surrounding apartment buildings, and there are very few cars on the road. Bruce said this would be the perfect time to do it: when there are no distractions, nothing but us and our own faith.
And two high power grappling guns with over five hundred feet of wire cord.
The girl looks at me. ‘I’ll race you,’ she says, the traces of a grin appearing on her face.
I shake my head. ‘No.’
‘Why not? ‘Fraid you might lose?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘This isn’t a game, and we shouldn’t treat it as one.’
‘That you speaking, or the Batman?’
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