All day it had been like this, fires and riots and police resignations. Poor Gordon had to be swamped with it all. But the GCPD wasn't her concern anymore. What was pretty concerning was how hard it was to breathe. Coughing, Renee roused with a mother of a headache, shifting a hand to her head. "Fuck," she muttered, voice only slightly muffled by the mask. Lifting a hand to her head, she shifted it down to her throat, under her jaw, peeling at the edges of her mask. Getting it over her mouth, she turned her head to the side and spat blood, nose scrunching.


More of the darkly viscous liquid leaked down the side of her face from under the mask, and Renee cursed to herself, touching her forehead. A spot just above her left eye was growing dark with blood, no doubt a gash from some flying debris.

It took that time for her eyes to focus: and when they had, she looked up at her rescuer. She expected Huntress, or maybe Squire, she'd hoped it was Kate, but this? This was definitely not someone from the Network. "Dent! What are you doing here?" Fuck. She was clearly an expert at this damn secret identity thing, wasn't she?