Who Says That ***'s Not an Art?

The men began to let out low chortles at her claim. A lanky man, who seemed to have taken the role as boss since the original was currently locked up, rose out of his seat before striding over to the woman, the sole of his shoes stomping against the grey concrete ground which was slightly tinted with sliver flecks.

As soon as he approached her body she snapped up before twisting a handful of his coffee coloured hair and yanking him straight down so she was seated again. She then grabbed the knife from her pocket and placed it across his mouth so that one hand was held tightly to the handle and the other gripped the tip. She began to slowly pull it back which was causing the edges of his mouth to unstitch while he struggled under her grip using his hands to try and prise the weapon off her.

“Like I was saying, I need your assistance in getting Batman’s awareness. Now who’s in?” She inquired causing the entire group of men to nod their heads furiously in fear.

She turned her attention to the man who had been letting out muffled screams of pain during her little speech, causing the flow of blood that was running down the sides of his face and across his neck to increase.

“Hmm, seems like they don’t need you anymore. Bye bye,” The woman taunted in a childish voice before punching the blade further in then grabbing the two sides again and pulling back slowly until the guy fell to the ground with his head decapitated.

One of the men scurried over to her before he started bandaging where her hand had suffered impact from the blade and bled. Once her knuckles where tightly wrapped she wriggled her fingers to see if she still had movement.

“Now, you will refer to me as boss and only boss, that is, unless you want to end up like our little friend.” She ordered while waving her hand in the direction of the lifeless body.

“So, any ideas on how we can catch this oversized human bat?” She urged while pacing around the table.

“I’ve got one boss.” Squeaked a skinny lad who looked no older than 16, his hair sticking up in odd directions after being gelled and his face was adorned with typical teenage acne.

“Well? Care to share with us?” She insisted; her head tilted in curiosity like a tiny puppy.

“Um, well, how about we destroy the bridge leading out of Gotham; that way people feel trapped and Batman will surely come to try and stop it happening,” He stammered.

“Hm, I like that, I like that a lot,” She replied before standing up and heading towards the door.

“Oh, and boys?” She questioned, turning on her heel. “I suggest you get me some explosives – and fast. Understand?”

“Wait! How do we find you?” The teenager questioned nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as she began hysterically laughing which stopped abruptly.

“I’ll find you,” She snarled before giving the men one last look, pulling her trench coat close and leaving the room.