Sherry stirred awake on the couch, smudges of bright orange Cheeto dust streaked across her face. Half-empty chip bags slumped against her shoulders like some greasy scarf, the crumbs littering her lap and the cushions beneath her. Her eyes blinked open sluggishly, then widened when she finally noticed Pamela and Barbara standing over her.
Pamela's voice cut through the silence, sharp and cold. "You're Sherry Lewis. A worker in the administrative department of Gotham University, right?"
Sherry blinked again, confusion fading into hostility as her lip curled. "Who the hell are you? Are you students from the university? How the hell did you find out where I live? What are you doing here?"
Barbara didn't answer. Her expression hardened as she stepped closer, the disgust plain in her eyes. "You disgust me."
She raised her hand, and a faint crackle of static snapped between her fingers. A thin arc of energy leapt forward, striking Sherry across the face. The bags of chips stuck to her skin with a ridiculous cling, dust and grease plastered against her cheeks and hair.
Sherry shrieked, clawing at the bags. "Wha—what the hell?! Get these off me!"
Another jolt surged into her when her hands touched her face, forcing her to recoil in pain. She thrashed, her movements clumsy as the shocks rattled through her.
Pamela stepped forward, her eyes narrowed with cold fury. She raised her leg and brought it down.
CRACK.
Her boot slammed against Sherry's right kneecap, shattering bone with a sound that made the air quiver.
Sherry screamed, high-pitched and raw. "AAAHH!!"
Barbara's tone was grim, unrelenting. "You're the one who's been selling access cards to perverted professors at Gotham University so they can sneak into the women's dorms, aren't you? Admit it."
Sherry spat, blood flecking her lip as she forced her words through the pain. "So what if I am, you little bitches? What can you do about it? You may break my knee, but my contacts will make sure you suffer horrendously. I know Dr. Woodrue."
Pamela's expression darkened further. "Oh… so you're aware of Professor Woodrue's peculiar experiments?"
Sherry sneered, her voice thick with malice. "So what if I am? The man paid me good money to help lure in all those homeless."
Barbara's gaze snapped to Pamela, her jaw tight. "It's worse than I thought."
Pamela's voice was sharp, her anger carefully restrained. "So it would seem. We found an accomplice. And while I can't deal with the professor directly—not yet—plans are already in motion. But we can certainly deal with you, Sherry."
Sherry's eyes blazed with defiance despite the sweat rolling down her face. "What can you little bitches do to me? You may have broken my knee, but once I get better, don't think I won't seek my vengeance on you two. I recognize you—Barbara Gordon and Pamela Isley. I've seen you hanging around the professor. I know what he's been doing to you, Pamela. Don't think he'll let you get away with this."
Pamela's lip curled, her teeth bared. "The professor's already a walking death sentence. But as for you…" She lifted her leg again, voice dripping venom. "…you can shut your goddamn mouth."
Her heel slammed down onto Sherry's other knee.
CRACK.
The scream tore from Sherry's throat, louder than before, jagged with agony. "OH, YOU SONS OF BITCHES!"
Barbara's eyes flared with rage. She surged forward, her fist alive with a harsh glow as sparks ran down her knuckles. She wound back and slammed her punch across Sherry's face.
CRUNCH.
Cartilage gave way with a grotesque snap, blood spurting as Sherry's nose shattered. Her head whipped sideways, and she slumped back against the cushions, dazed and gasping through the fresh stream of blood.
Pamela's voice carried a note of grim approval. "You've got the taser fist going on."
Barbara shook out her hand, her breathing steady despite the heat of fury still sparking through her veins. "Wait until I get the laser fist going."
Pamela's eyes narrowed with something like intrigue, her tone flat. "That's going to be brutal… and deadly."
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