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Gotham was truly a monstrous place...and even that felt too soft of a word to describe the sickness that had condemned it, the infestation that lingered upon every shadow, that hatred that bloomed in the dark corners of humanity, as if it had no real chance of where to go as it drifted and churned like the roaring tides...just waiting for it's chance to release absolute mayhem.

Those who had made their home in Gotham had grown used to it, that abyss of darkness that splintered itself into it's very structure, into the building and pavements, hooking itself beneath the surface in some clawed grip. They had grown used to the monsters, the villains, the mocking of humanity...and that was because in the same breath, they had found their salvation in something that was the same. Heroes, aliens, so called Gods and something as simple as a man without fear, shielding themselves through the dark so innocence could see the light, becoming legends, becoming myths, becoming and becoming and becoming.

And when Ophelia Greene was younger, she had believed with every fibre of her being that the light would overpower the dark, that good would triumph over evil in some bloody victory...because that's how it was meant to be, that's what good was meant to do. She had believed in Batman, and she had believed in Robin, she had believed in them all...because what else was a child meant to believe?

Until one day when Ophelia had finally been shown just how monstrous Gotham could truly be, when she had lost everything she'd once held dear because of their devotion to the dark Knight and she was left with nothing but the ringing and haunting laughter of madness to echo around her like an embrace, like a mockery of hope...and then her trembling hands still stained with the blood of saints had no choice but to shake the Devils in the hopes of becoming something too.

That desire for revenge had been a powerful thing but the sweet agony was worse, as she wasted away for years, hoping to whatever God that was listening to give her the salvation she craved, the whole of the bastard world craved. Praying to stop the agonizing pain of being frayed open like a flower in bloom, but who's bleeding petals were ruined and cold and dead before it's time as she was pulled back together with phantom stitches, all because of that hollow need for vengeance, for suffering.

But in the end she'd long since stopped believing in any force higher than the immortality of madness, because, after all, what kind of God would allow the damnation that was Gotham to continue to rot? That miserable suffering, the horrors that would continue to stain her mind for years to come like a bloody shrine of false praise, a haunting ghost of terror and strife. And yes, perhaps God was real once, but when he looked at the sickening sight of the humanity he'd created with his own loving hands...he'd had no choice but to turn his back in vile horror at what he'd made.

And when she finally was given what she had wanted, what she had suffered and howled and grieved for? When something had wound it's way around her mortal throat and pulled taunt to reveal thick ichor blood that trailed around her flesh like a godless promise?

It wasn't she that arose from the festering corpse she had created, it wasn't what had once been Ophelia Greene but something else entirely, something that came back wrong and hungry for retribution, something disgusting and stripped raw from humanity, something very monstrous indeed that only desired one thing, and one thing only...she would not be righteous, she would not be good nor merciful...she was to be what Gotham finally needed it's heroes to be.

Rogue was back in Gotham for nothing more than vengeance...and she wanted the Dark Knights head.

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"YOU KNOW WHAT, ROOKIE? WHY DON'T YOU BLOW ME, HUH?"

"I'LL BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF."