Helena was beginning to get depressed. She'd tried--several times--to get home, all without success. She was already missing her teammates--not to mention hoping to God that they weren't going out of their mind with worry about her. And frankly, this Gotham was too different, too strange, too far ahead of her own for her to ever be comfortable here.
"I just want to go home," she muttered. "Or to do something useful... Why the heck am I even here?"
"I just want to go home," she muttered. "Or to do something useful... Why the heck am I even here?"