I sent a punk flying with a vicious uppercut and he slammed into a brick wall before sliding to the ground with the rest of the scum.
Once sure that they were all out cold, I looked around for the girl that they had attempted to jump. She had been gorgeous, small and slender, curved in all the right places, flame blue eyes framed by long black lashes and thick silver-blond hair, her skin as pale as moonlight and her lips ruby red. But she was gone.
I was about to leave, when something white caught my eye. It was a binder; the girl must have dropped it. I walked over and picked it up. The cover had a plastic slip on it that held a piece of paper on which the title was written. My words are my soul.
Intrigued, I tucked the binder under my arm as I got into the Batmobile, setting it on the empty passenger seat beside me as I strapped in. As I looked at the empty seat I felt a pang of sadness and loneliness, with Barbra at collage and Dick god only knows where, I had been spending all of my nights alone. I would never admit it, but I would have liked some company.