Chapter Text
Gotham City, Diamond District, Rooftop of the Drescher Convention Center
“Huff! Huff!”
She ran as fast as she possibly could, her arms moving up and down like well oiled pistons while her face remained focused on what was ahead of her. She was running, just as she always was and always expected to be. But this time? It felt different.
Selina Kyle’s feet impacted against the concrete rooftop she was moving across, thundering out so loudly as to make her wince, knowing that they gave away exactly where she was. ‘Dammit. Dammit! Fucking shit!’
She curses herself for her stupidity, for her boldness and carelessness that had led her here that night. To this convention center in particular, but Gotham in general. She knew she never should’ve come back. Maybe not when she left all those years ago, but she knew over time that coming back to the city of her birth to ply her trade wasn’t a smart idea.
She turns, moving her body as quickly as possible while making a sudden beeline to the left, rushing forward and using a small box like structure that contained the uppermost portions of the stairwell which covered her at just the right moment.
As soon as she turned she heard the sounds, sounds that she was familiar with both their source and their meaning.
BLAM! BLAM!
CRRRRKKKKK!
A shower of concrete and brick comes cascading out right at her back, chips hitting her as she keeps on running, not even daring to look back at that moment lest her pursuer catch up with her, which was something she most definitely didn’t want to happen.
‘Ohh no…no..noooo!’
Her breaths come out ragged and quick, though it wasn’t all thanks to the physical exercise she was putting her body through. No. Fear was a healthy portion of the equation as well, her fear causing her to shake and quiver at just how close those shots had been.
For the moment she takes a breather, pressing her back tightly to the wall behind her, trying to take some degree of safety from it that she couldn’t get from continuing to run or turning to face him. It all goes quiet, and the woman who was garbed in strange clothing, takes a second to reflect on that.
‘Where is he?’ she asks herself, pleading in her own mind for an answer to such a question, wanting to know for certain what he was doing. Only then does she realize that hiding against this outbuilding atop one of Gotham’s most preeminent convention centers, where a massive auction was going to be held the next day, had only played into his hand.
She was trapped.
No matter what she did at this point, she’d be playing into his hands. If she remained where she was, she’d just allow the man to walk up and pick her off at his leisure. If she ran? She’d be gunned down without a moment of hesitation.
Normally some goon with a gun wouldn’t be that much of a problem for her. She’d been training after all, and when it came to fighting she was no slouch. Selina Kyle was uniquely suited to this life.
And rather alluringly dressed as well.
The woman wore a tight, skin tight, black one piece, which was secured and closed about her body via the usage of a zipper that ran from the length of her neck all the way down to her womanhood. It was zipped down a considerable way right at the moment, exposing the valley of her cleavage.
She wore thigh high boots, heeled, which did nothing at all to affect her cat like balance and speed. She was very good at working in heels. In fact she was better at it in heels than she was without them.
And speaking of cats, her whole motif was based around that, though it was mainly fixated on her head, which was covered by a covering that was tightly secured around her neck, black in color. She wore a stylish pair of sunglasses as well which covered her eyes even at night, and to top it all off? The fabric of said covering was pushed upwards in the form of ears.
Cat’s ears.
Cat’s ears for the so-called Catwoman, a jewel thief who had made a name for herself in such places as Metropolis and Star City. if you wanted something stolen you went to the Cat….though you might not actually receive it if she wound up liking it enough. That was why she was mostly hired for so-called ‘boring’ things.
Technology and the like. Things that weren’t shiny or pretty, that wouldn’t draw the stunningly beautiful woman’s attention too much.
“Heh..heh…heh…heh…dammit…”
She kept turning her head both ways, looking to the side of the outcropping which was, at that moment, the only thing keeping her from getting her head blown off. She doesn’t see anything, or rather anyone, which doesn’t put her at ease in the slightest. Her gloved hands cling to the cold brick, a cool breeze blowing over the rooftop which turned her warm sweat, which glistened over her skin and ran in rivulets down it, cold, causing her to shiver.
‘I never should’ve come here. I never should’ve…you’re here now Selina’ she reminds herself, taking a deep breath as she tries to calm herself. ‘You’re here now. And you’re going to find a way out of it. You always do’.
Business wasn’t what brought her back to her hometown. It was pleasure…a rather stupid one at that. She couldn’t help it. Sometimes she’d read the newspapers or magazines, and when she did? Tidbits of information would make their way to her.
Information that was bound to get the attention of a curious kitty.
So when she heard about the Heirlooms of Gotham Exposition going on in Gotham she just couldn’t help herself. Like a moth to the flame she was drawn to it, unable to keep away. Like a siren’s song.
The Pearls of Jamaica.
The one SINGULAR item that wasn’t up for auction at the event, and yet, for some reason, was there. Oddly enough? The pearls didn’t seem to be all that much on their own. Indeed they were exactly what they sounded like. A string of gleaming white pearls which had been created for some duchess or lady in high standing during the colonial period of Jamaica. A governor or some other rich snob intent on getting into some woman’s garters had them made as a gift.
They were nearly five hundred years old, which made them unique, and pricey, enough on their own. But there was more to the story, things that added to their mystique and the desire many had for them.
They’d been passed on for generations to the wife of each patriarch of one, singular, family. The Waynes. These pearls? The ones on display here in Gotham? Had been the same pearls that Martha Wayne had been wearing the night she and her husband were gunned down in cold blood.
These were the same pearls that ran red with the blue blood of the family that had built this city, and which had been stained in the murk and mud of Crime Alley. That had been painstakingly put back together with all the care in the world.
That Catwoman now held in her hands.
The jewel thief looks down at the string of pearls which she grasped in one of her hands, keeping a tight hold on them as she got her breathing under control. ‘Shit’. She’d read the papers and heard all about them, and when she did she’d made up her mind to have them.
It was supposed to be easy. She’d slip into the convention center, slip out and then be away. That would be the end of it. Maybe she’d find a buyer in Gotham, maybe she’d send them abroad. Maybe she’d keep them for herself.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she had to have them, even if only for a few moments. It wasn’t supposed to be any different than any other heist. No hitches, no problems.
But it was different.
Very, very different.
Things had been going fine until she was about to leave through the skylight she entered through, her quarry in hand. Just fine…until she saw him. And then the chase began. She’d heard about him. Mostly rumors. Rumors were what there were about the man. All there was really. Rumors, a few grainy pictures and fear.
Above all there was fear.
While some creatures of the night could be dismissed as fantasy, no such thing could be done with him. Too many people had felt his power, his presence, to deny his existence. The bodies that had been piled up were more than enough of a clue for those who couldn’t be convinced by superstitious whisperings.
Criminals. Murderers. Rapists. Mobsters.
You name it.
So many had died, been killed, and yet the entirety of the GCPD seemed to be doing nothing about it. Appearing clueless even.
Clueless…or complicit.
Either way, rumors didn’t bring a city from the number three spot on the list of most dangerous cities in the country down to the number one safest. Rumors didn’t do that. Bullets did. Bullets and blood. Gotham’s streets still ran slick with them, but it wasn’t the blood of the innocent like it was in the time of the Waynes.
No.
It was the blood of the scumbags and predators, the human refuse that didn’t deserve anything more than a slug between the eyes and being left to lay in the gutter with the rest of the trash. Fear was palpable. Like a physical presence in the air. You could breathe it in, feel it and you’d keep it with you.
Selina had felt it upon her first arrival back in the city, a city which she couldn’t recognize as she’d stepped off the train and onto the platform. The walkways were clean. There was no graffiti or litter, no drug addicts loitering about looking to bum a dollar off of some passerby.
No.
Just people.
Quiet people who kept their heads down and moved about their business. They didn’t look over their shoulders, nor did they seem to be waiting for the knife to be slipped into their back any longer. They barely even said anything.
Selina had been shocked, but she didn’t dwell on it. After all, that was none of her business. She was here for one thing, and one thing only, and once she got it she’d be gone. She never wanted to stay here in this city, even if it was clean and relatively crime free now.
She’d dismissed all their fears and the evidence around her at the time, and now she was paying for it. Paying for it and cursing herself for being an idiot. ‘Gotta talk your way out of this Selina. Talk your way out. He’s a man…use that’.
She smiles to herself as she thinks that over, licking her lips and taking one final calming breath as she collects her thoughts. ‘He kills drug dealers and rapists. He’s not going to kill you for stealing some rich asshole’s bauble he wants to show off’ she muses, laughing to herself at such a silly idea.
She brushes off the shots that had been fired and the utterly frightening image of that creature of the night as nothing more than an intimidation tactic. He hadn’t been meaning to hit her. They were just warning shots. Nothing more.
“You still out there handsome?” she calls out, allowing her voice to carry across the empty and vast rooftop, hopefully to her pursuer. All the while she checks herself over, ensuring that she hadn’t lost her whip in the confusion.
“Yes”.
The voice that wormed its way back to her was cold, hard, and Selina couldn’t suppress the shiver that went right up her back as she heard it. ‘Just the chill. It’s freezing out here. Brrr’. She smiles despite the fear that was rising within her and the fact that the man who’d spoken couldn’t see her, turning her head a bit.
“You’re Batman, right? The guy everyone seems to be talking about. That everyone is afraid of”.
He was quiet that time, not answering the woman’s question right then. That was…disquieting.
Regardless, the jewel thief continues on, chuckling as if to try and convince the man that she was perfectly at ease. “Hehe. You got me. Honest. Dead to rights. Fair and square”.
“Step out where I can see you”.
“You’re not gonna shoot me, right?” she calls out, unable to prevent the tremor of nervousness and her self chiding inner voice from mocking her for asking such a stupid question. “I mean…I heard about you. You waste degenerates. Me? I’m not evil”.
“Step out where I can see you”.
“I’m just a thief, alright? I admit it. I stole the damn thing. But why do you care so much huh?” she asks, brushing past the fact that he’d repeated himself. “I mean…it’s just a piece of jewelry that some rich asshole had locked up. I’ve got it right here you know?”
“If you step out I won’t shoot you”.
“Promise?”
“I promise”.
“Alright” she says, exhaling a breathy sigh of relief, giving in, only slightly, to the hope that he would keep his word on that. “I’m trusting you with a lot you know? Mainly my life”.
“You won’t be shot”.
He was like a robot, repeating things once again, but that only made him more menacing. More in control of the situation than he already was, and there was no denying it. This? This was his battlefield and Selina couldn’t see any real way out of it. Sure she could run, maybe get twenty or so feet across the rooftop but after that?
There were twenty more feet to go, and in that time there was no doubt that the man would be able to put one or two rounds into her, maybe more. She had to play it his way…for now. Slowly she begins scooting to the side of the outcropping, keeping her back to the wall before reaching the edge.
“I’m coming out now”.
Silence again.
“Alright? I’m giving up. I’m surrendering”.
She hated this. Really, she did. But when a heist like this went wrong she didn’t see any other way out of this. ‘Dammit’.
She pushes her hand out into the open first, waving it back and forth, showcasing the pearls which were still clasped tightly within her digits. “See? Still got them. It’s cool, right?”
“Step ou-,”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it” she huffs, sighing as she braces herself, knowing that she didn’t have a choice. She pushes her body further and further to the side, breathing heavily as her nerves once again return to their previously high strung state. “I’m stepping out now, alright? Stepping out”.
She pushes her leg to the side and takes the first step, exposing half of her body. Quickly enough, she takes another step, moving fully into view as she turns to the side and raises her hand in a sign of supplication.
‘He isn’t going to waste you. He isn’t! He would’ve already fired’ she thinks, calming herself as her heat practically gets ready to beat right out of her chest. And she was, to a degree, correct. Gunfire hadn’t instantly erupted, cutting her down as soon as she stepped into the man’s view.
He hadn’t killed her.
He wasn’t just going to kill some thief. She was right to think that that punishment existed only for the worst of the worst. She was safe.
The added benefit of stepping out onto the rooftop was that she could see the man who had chased her down so effortlessly clearly for the first time. When she first saw him, standing on the rooftop as she pushed her body out of the skylight, she hadn’t been able to get a good look at him. He was just a shadow and not much else.
But now? She could see him clearly.
And that didn’t do a damn thing to make him any less frightening.
He stood fifteen feet away from her, standing there ramrod straight, unmoving. He, like her, was dressed in all black, though there was a major difference. While Selina was dressed for comfort and ease of movement, and to a lesser extent, sex appeal, he was dressed for war.
Combat boots were what covered his feet, and they gave war to some sort of armor, most likely a high grade kevlar of some sort, that covered his lower legs. A knee pad was there too, and above that? Even more armor that covered his thighs.
He wore a belt of some kind with numerous different ammo pouches clearly visible, magazines stuffed into them. There were many. So many, and that wasn’t even the end of the immense firepower available to this one man. Grenades were on his belt as well, along with a sidearm tucked into a holster at his right side, a 1911 if Selina was guessing.
More armor covered his stomach and chest, as well as his arms, which were clutching an M4 rifle all in black, the very same rifle that had sent two multiple rounds of 5.56 mm flying at her with the intention of herding her right where he wanted.
It worked too.
She moves her gaze upwards towards the man’s head, which she finds to be covered by a mask. No ordinary mask like a ski mask or balaclava or anything like that. No. It was open at the chin and mouth, allowing his pale flesh and stubble covered lower face to be visible. But beyond that? Nothing else.
It was blackness, the nose and eyes covered, white slits of the optics he undoubtedly had being the only thing that gave away the fact that he could even see. Like her he had ears built in at the side of his cowl, though these were shorter and straight, pointing directly up.
If there was any more doubt as to the man’s identity, it would be wiped away by the act of looking at his chest and specifically the symbol that was carved into the chestpiece that provided protection over his center mass.
It was a symbol of a bat, its wings splayed out to either side and in a silverish gray that contrasted nicely against the dark black of the rest of his uniform. This was the Batman. The man who had single handedly brought order to Gotham City.
And now he was staring Selina down, still clutching his rifle tightly in his gloved hands.
“See?” she asks, forcing a smile as she showcases the pearls. “I got them right here. This is what you wanted right? This is what you were looking for?” she asks, trying to get the man to engage in more conversation.
“Why’d you take them?”
“Because I could I guess” she says with a shrug, thinking that the worse had passed as he keeps a rather neutral tone of voice that doesn’t give much, if anything, away. “I saw it in the paper. Thought it was pretty. Wanted it. Basically the story of why every girl wants a flashy piece of jewelry”.
“It isn’t yours to take”.
“Ohh come on…relax will you?” she scoffs, already forgetting how precarious the situation she was in was. “Whose is it to take then? Who owns it huh?” she asks. “The Spanish who took it from some natives in Jamaica? The guys who took it from them? The Waynes?”
She smirks at this last one, not even realizing how the man tightens his grip upon his rifle, his trigger finger poised precariously against the mechanism that would send hot lead gushing forth once more.
“There’s only one of them left, and why the hell would he need pearls anyways? In fact, I’m kind of doing him a favor, aren’t I?” she asks, looking towards the pearls once again, admiring them and moving them about this way and that.
“Give them back”.
“I mean, his mother died wearing these. How morbid right? Would you want something that reminds you constantly of what happened?”.
Batman begins walking forward, slowly, methodically, and Selina ponders if she was making a mistake. ‘Get him close. And when you do? Hit him with all you’ve got’. It was her only chance of escape and she knew it. Getting the drop on him before he got her. ‘Nine lives, remember?’
She was smiling, continuing to speak as a means to distract the man, not realizing that all she was doing was goading him. “Then again, he seems to. I read the papers on him too. Honestly? I think he does all this for attention. He likes the pity party. Wants people to think that he’s still just that crying little boy in the alley when he’s really just a cockroach feasting on the city. Hell of a trick the wealthy get to play on the rest of us huh?”
Batman keeps getting closer, and very soon he is only three feet or so from Selina, who licks her lips as she senses the upcoming opportunity.
“It’s not fair you know? That it gets to sit in that cramped little display case when he decides to trot it out. It belongs around the neck of a woman, wouldn’t you say?” She cocks her hip out to the side, bringing one of her hands down to her waist, clamping it down upon it as she strikes a sexy, seductive pose.
‘Hehe…always works’.
“Tell you what. You let me go, keep the pretty pearls, and maybe? I’ll give you a kiss”.
Batman was right atop her now, so close that his rifle wouldn’t be able to be brought effectively to bear upon him. It seemed to be something that even he was aware of at that moment as he released his hold on the weapon entirely, revealing that it was secured to him via a sling that was wrapped around his back. The rifle was now resting over his front, the muzzle pointed to the ground.
“And you think that’s a fair deal?”
He was right in front of her now, only a few inches separating them, staring down at her from his position due to his height. Selina smirks up at him, biting her lip and nodding, standing on her tippy toes while reaching out with the hand holding the pearls for his chest.
She scrapes her claws against the symbol, trying to caress the man through the layers of armor he wore, while her other hand moves up to his face, teasingly touching the side of his face, allowing her claws to tickle at his flesh.
To his credit he doesn’t even move, and his left hand comes out to her waist, grasping it as the two get close.
“Hmmm…you’re actually pretty handsome. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Hmmm”.
He doesn’t overtly respond to that statement, and instead continues to look at her, further solidifying the idea in Selina’s mind that she had him. That once again, she’d used her feminine wiles to get her way. To extricate herself from a situation. She was walking out of here…and she was going to do it with the pearls.
‘All because the big bad Batman was distracted by a firm pair of tits’ she muses to herself, finding it funny.
“So…how about it?” she coos, getting in even closer so her breath can tickle at his lips. “Do we have a deal?”
“No” he says back firmly. “Give me the pearls”.
Her smile instantly turns to a frown, and her hand which had been tracking over his jawline suddenly stops in place. “Awwww…I’m sorry we couldn’t work out a deal” she mocks, her smile quickly returning, believing that she still had the advantage even if the man hadn’t succumbed to her as she wished. She extends her claws out further via the mechanism in the glove, using her fingertips to control their length.
“But I still can’t leave here empty handed”.
She yanks her hand back, whipping it through the air while scrunching up her face in anger as she prepares for a fight, though in her mind it wouldn’t be much more than a sneak attack, which she would escape in the aftermath of while he was groaning on the ground and clutching his wounded face.
She got her arm pulled back about halfway, ready to slam it forward when something she hadn’t accounted for happened.
BLAM!
A shot rings out yet again, and while Batman didn’t even flinch of move, Selina did. She jerks to a stop, her mind trying to make sense of what had just happened. He wasn’t aiming his gun at her, it was still spread across his chest, inert. And yet, a shot had been fired.
She was confused, and her confusion only grew when she felt a strange burning sensation overtake her, specifically at her thigh. She looks down, taking a step back as she does so, which proves to be a very unwise move.
As soon as she moves her leg the pain grows tenfold, and she hisses in agony while her hands instantly dart down to the spot where she knew the pain was coming from. She grasps her thigh, but in doing so, manages to lose her balance as well.
“Gaaah! Aahhh!”
She falls back, slamming onto the top of the roof on her side, bent at an odd angle as she clutches down at her leg, feeling a warm wetness cling to her hand. “Gaaaah! Ahhhh! Ahhhh!”. She realizes what happened now, having enough evidence to put it all together as to what exactly had happened.
She still has to look though, and though she was laying on her ground, she peers down, pulling her hands away for a moment and watching as splashes of bright red come forth. Blood. And lots of it. More and more was gushing out of the hole that was now made in her thigh, and the pain? It was almost unbearable.
BLAM!
Before she could do anything else or even respond to the first gunshot wound that had so easily been dealt out upon her, he shoots again, and this time she sees the muzzle flash right before another blast of pain overtakes her. Batman had been holding onto his pistol, and he’d fired it through the holster right at her.
She didn’t even see it happen.
The second bullet slams into her knee cap, instantly shattering her patella into dozens of pieces, and adding to the absolute anguish she was in. “AHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHH!”. She writhes in pain, her hands not sure where to go now as the pain spreads out, leaving her with absolutely no chance of escape now.
Her leg was utterly out of commission.
And as hot tears streaked down out of the bottom of her mask she realized how stupid she’d been. How stupid she’d been to disregard the warnings she’d gotten about Gotham. The news she’d heard. To think that her luck would hold up and miraculously, somehow, she’d escape notice.
The pain was constant now, all encompassing, and yet the Batman stood above her, releasing his grip upon his holstered pistol and letting it fall back into its normal position as he released it, no longer aimed at Selina.
He was gazing at the ground besides her where the pearls she’d dropped lay, having fallen to the ground in the midst of the vicious attack. Without any real thought he kneels down and reaches out, plucking the necklace up.
It’s brought closer to his face in a somewhat halting, nervous way, as if he was worried that it was damaged in some way, which was something that well and truly would’ve offended Selina had she been able to notice it. But pain and fear took her focus off of the man, and she rocks back and forth continuously.
“You son of a bitch!” she screams out tearfully. “You shot me! You shot me! Gaaaaaaaahhhh!”.
This seems to reach the vigilante, and he looks up, peering at the downed woman again while he pushes his hand with the pearls down to his waist, opening up an empty pouch, and allowing them to slip in. He closes it right after that, securing the prize so to speak.
“I did”.
“You said you wouldn’t!” she screams, shocked that he hadn’t kept his word.
“I lied”.
“Motherfucker! You’re an animal!” she seethes, baring her teeth as if she was a real cat and wanted to tear right into him at that moment. “I’m not hurting anybody! You fuck! Gaaaaahhh!”. Her face falls back against the rooftop, cheek pressed tightly to it as her body continues to quiver. “Ho-hospital. You go-gotta get me to a hospital”.
“Hmmm”.
“Ple-please” she begs, wide eyed and fearful, knowing that her life lay completely in his hands now. “I’m n-n-not a bad person. I j-j-j-just s-steal things”. She was going into shock. The signs were all that, but even still, Batman appeared to be unmoved. “I-I had to. Gr-growing up. Stea-steal. It was the o-only way”.
Her pained explanation could’ve been spoken to a stone wall for all the effect it seemed to have on the man who kneels before her, the very image of an individual who was best to be avoided. She hadn’t done so though, and she was paying the price for it now.
She didn’t expect him to say anything, which meant she was surprised the next moment when he finally communicated in something more than monosyllabic grunts. He peers down at her hand, the very same one that had been holding the pearls and was now clutching at the bleeding wound.
“If your right hand makes you stumble, cut it off and throw it from you; for it is better for you to lose a part of your body than the entire body to go to hell”.
“Wha-what?”
“Book of Matthew. Chapter five, verse thirty”.
He moves his hand once again, lowering it to the side of his body where Selina finally sees something else that he had on him, positioned right next to the holster of his pistol. He unclips the holding mechanism, and grasps the hilt, pulling it free.
SCHWING!
A metallic glint could be seen in the night air as well as the sound of metal brushing against metal, and Selina was now gazing at a massive knife with an edge so sharp that it seemed like it could cut through air itself. He held it with the practiced ease of someone who had a lot of experience in this field, and the shocked Selina could only go wide-eyed at the sight of it and the implications of what he’d just said.
“N-no…no. Pl-please…”
Only two people knew exactly what happened that night atop the rooftop of the Drescher Convention Center. There were a few others, many others, who had heard it at least. The horrific screams that split the night, screams that issued forth from a female mouth. Nobody intervened. Not here in Gotham.
A point was being made tonight. A very clear one that would leave absolutely no room for confusion as to what it meant. The screams went on for a little while and then stopped, replaced by loud, vigorous sobbing. It picked up again right after that as yet something else was done, and the faint smell of burning flesh could be smelt on the wind.
Nobody knew exactly what happened up there. But everybody would know about the aftereffects. The newspapers had a field day in printing these sorts of things. It helped the city out oddly enough. Maybe not so much in tourism, but definitely when it came to their zero tolerance policy when it came to crime.
Logerquist Square, Five Hours Later
“Ahhhhh shit”.
Those were the words that escaped the mouth of Detective Harvey Bullock as he pulled the police cruiser up onto the curb and put it in park, not wasting much time in opening the door and stepping out. Despite his corpulent form he moved relatively fast, and in no time at all was standing in the middle of the main road through the heart of Gotham City.
In the daytime it was the very image of a bustling metropolis. Trucks, cars, taxis and pedestrians all moving about their business. At night though? It was empty, giving the impression that the city was dead. All but those who absolutely had to be out at this time were at home.
They were too scared to go out otherwise.
Not that it wasn’t safe to do so. A woman could walk down the street with her purse clearly displayed in places like Park Row without fear, something that never would’ve been conceivable ten years ago.
But, even still, you didn’t want to be out at night.
Because if you were, that raised questions. Like why? Why were you out at night? And were you lying? The night was the home of criminals, the cruel and the violent, and you being out without a legit reason made people curious. Or rather one person. You didn’t want to have his curiosity.
But the two officers that were responding to the scene wouldn’t have that problem…they hoped, and Renee Montoya was relatively sure that they were fine as she too stepped out of the passenger side of the cruiser and looked up, quickly admiring the flashy billboards attacked to so many buildings that advertised so many different things.
Wicked, Scary Eight the movie, Oreo Cookies, Huggies Diapers and McDonalds.
There were hundreds of such buildings clinging to the sides of the massive skyscrapers that reached into the sky all around them, as if they were trying to touch heaven itself.
“Heheh. Wonda’ what she did ta piss him off huh?”
The larger male detective was wearing a trenchcoat, tie and slacks along with his coffee stained button up shirt, a fedora clinging tightly to his head which he pushes upwards while scratching his forehead, in awe at the sight before him.
His eyes were fixated on the Cobblepot Building, a rather diminutive yet storied structure in the midst of all this progress. It was still quite impressive, standing at fifteen stories and sporting an obviously aged facade that called back to its construction in the early twentieth century.
It was all brick and mortar, an anachronism with all the glitz and glamor of the ever growing and modernizing Gotham around it. Detective Montoya at his side joins him in staring up at the spot he was looking, her attention impossible to be drawn anywhere else.
“Mierda” the hispanic woman exclaims, crossing herself quickly.
She was younger than Bullock, and naturally a lot more beautiful. She wore a shirt without a tie beneath her leather jacket which hung loosely across her shoulders, jeans, sneakers and a belt which held her holstered pistol and visible badge. She was a shapely woman, with piercing brown eyes and mocha skin, jet black hair that was pulled into a tight ponytail at the back of her head.
Her lips were cherry red, which contrasted nicely against her skin tone.
“Heh. Ya said it sista. Damn. She musta’ really done somethin’ ta piss him off”.
“Pfft”.
The initial shock has worn off, and Renee laughs it off, shaking her head as her hands go to her hips. “Whatever it was, it wasn't so bad. He let the perra live”. Harvey shrugs. “True enough I guess”. He reaches into his pocket right after that and retrieves a pack of cigarettes, opening it up quickly before bringing a lighter up to ignite it. He places the tube between his lips while replacing the pack back into his pocket.
“Uggggh”.
“What?”
“I really don’t wanna go up there and cut her down”.
“Yeah well. We gotta. Afta’ that we book her fer whateva’ it was the Bat saw her doin’”.
“Gordon isn’t gonna like it” Renee warns, reminding the man of a recent addition to their lives in the form of a naive and rather ambitious lieutenant who was most definitely not welcome within the ranks of the GCPD. “Fuck Gordon. Asshole prick”. Harvey takes another deep drag on his cigarette as Renee nods, wordlessly agreeing with him.
“Wants ta fuck up the easiest job in the world and fer what? Some scumbags who are already dead?”
“Let's hope the cabron doesn’t stick around for too long”.
“Doubt it”.
Silence descends over the two cops and they both realize that they’d spent enough time stalling. They’d have to get into the Cobblepot building and then up to about the fifth floor windows where they’d be able to work on getting the poor unfortunate down.
“Let's get a move on Montoya. Soona’ we get up there and get it done? Soona’ we get back ta the precinct” he says, beginning to walk forward. Renee follows after him, scoffing as she puts her hands in her pockets, neither showing any sense of urgency. “So you can jerk off to revistas sucias you got too right?”
“Keep it up Montoya. Keep it up, and I won’t let ya borrow Naughty Nurses Six”.
She acts faux upset and puts her hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll be good!”
“Heheheh!”
“Hahaha!”
The two share a laugh, something that was utterly and completely out of place in the middle of a crime scene. They were used to this and in the end? Supportive of it even. But the woman that was secured to the building above them, hanging by the rope tied about her waist and attached to the roof, wasn’t laughing.
She was crying, sniveling, and tears continued to make their way down her face, dripping down off of it and then falling many feet to the street beneath, impacting against the asphalt and concrete. Selina Kyle was apprehended, and she swayed lightly back and forth in the wind.
“Eh…ehehe….heh…”
She sniffles, unable to keep it in, half out of it, dazed and injured beyond thought. When she was finally cut down and brought into the building, lowered down to the ambulance that made its way out to the two officers who’d called it in, many notable wounds would be found.
A shattered kneecap, out of which a bullet would be extracted. Her thigh as well. The doctors theorized that she would walk with a limp for the rest of her life, provided even the steel plate they’d have to put in would hold. The wound in her thigh, from which another bullet would be pulled? That would heal.
But her right hand…the one which held the pearls she’d stolen.
There was nothing they could do for that. It was gone, leaving behind nothing but a stump. Beyond bandaging it there was nothing else they could do. The wound had already been cauterized, sealed in, the bleeding stopped.
Selina Kyle’s days as a thief were over. The infamous Catwoman had been stopped right in her tracks. In her skin tight suit was a note addressed to the woman herself which would be handed over to her after she was released from the hospital into police custody to be charged for her crime.
It was a simple, yet poignant message.
“Do it again and I’ll take the other one”.
There wasn’t a chance of that. Selina Kyle was sentenced to fifteen years imprisonment in Blackgate Penitentiary. When she got out she’d be a one handed, middle aged woman with no skills other than larceny. But, even with all of that, there was no chance she’d risk it again. No. Not when she knew he’d carry out his threat.
That was for the future now, a future that looked bleak for her as she cried to herself and faded in and out of consciousness, swinging back and forth in the wind.
She’d lost everything.
All because she couldn’t keep her hands to herself. Gotham was one of the safest cities in the world. You could drop your wallet in the middle of the city and it would remain there completely untouched on the ground for days.
It was a safe city.
Arkham Asylum, Receiving Wing
BRRZZZZZZT!
The alarm sounds as the metallic gate slides open, making a path forward for the three guards who stood besides the man who was strapped down to a gurney. He was tightly bound, leather straps placed over his wrists and ankles, keeping him secured tightly. He couldn’t escape, wouldn’t escape.
And he was afraid.
“Ehh…ehhh…AHH!”
He turns his head this way and that as he groans and cries to himself, his teeth chattering and his eyes wide in fear, checking out each and every shadow around him as if waiting for some hidden assailant to jump out at him. His skin was pallid, pale, and his brown eyes were full of fear. He had light brown hair and a rather skinny build, which was shown off by the strange attire he wore.
A green suit which had been dirtied in some sort of scuffle, torn in some places even.
It had alternating purple question marks in the fabric, his trousers being green as well with the same motif. He was missing one of his shoes, which revealed the horribly stained sock that clung to his feet.
“Where-where is he? He’s here! I know it! He’s here!”
The guards at his side paid him no mind, each one of them heavily armed and carrying shotguns, ready to be aimed at anyone and everyone who even thought about holding them up. They ignored the bound man on the gurney, apparently having already gotten used to his ravings. As the gate opens at the checkpoint and the guard at the station waves them on through the glass, one of the men begins to push the gurney forward, moving it through the gap that had been opened up. The wheels roll against the ancient linoleum floor, which sported cracks and missing pieces at odd intervals.
“He…he….he would’ve killed me. He would’ve killed me!”
“Yeah. That’s what he does, asshole. Though you fucking deserve it”.
“Heh..he…he isn’t here. He…if he was he’d have killed me by now! Hahah! Hah! Ha! I did it! I…I beat the Batman! I escaped! Hahaha! He won’t touch me here! He won’t! Hahahahahaha!”
The madman cackles to himself, laughing as he exclaims all of this out loud, now as certain as a madman that he was safe. As if what had happened was some sort of game and Arkham Asylum? It was home base. Safety.
‘I wouldn’t bet on it, asshole’.
All of this didn’t go unobserved of course. Waiting on the other side of the caged barrier stood a woman, a woman who couldn’t help the slight sliver of a smile that crossed itself over her lips at the thought of what the man had just said. She was rather…striking in her beauty. She was blonde haired, bleach blonde, and wore it up in a tight, professional bun that rested at the back of her head.
Her outfit was simple.
A white lab coat which rested over a red, button up blouse and a black pencil skirt that went to just below her thigh, allowing the remainder of her pantyhose clad legs and the black heels on her feet to be viewed. Her skin was unblemished, perfect, and she had full, pouty lips that couldn’t help but attract people to them. Her baby blue eyes gleamed with all sorts of things. An understated intelligence, an wry understanding of the world around her. A constantly wary gaze that prepared her for any attack that might come her way.
A hidden sadism that only came out when she was sure nobody else was looking. Well…no one besides one other person in the whole world.
Doctor Harleen Quinzel, head psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum.
She stood there with a clipboard as the man on the gurney was wheeled in, the guards stopping right besides her so as to allow the frightened, chuckling man to be studied by her. And study him she does, like one might look at a bug underneath a magnifying glass. She steps forward, her heels clicking on the floor as she reaches the man’s side.
“Hold on Doctor Quinzel” one of the guards says, reaching out to place a gloved hand up, wanting to stop the woman from getting too close. “He’s dangerous”.
“They all are,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Where ya think ya are? The circus. Nah. This is Arkham Asylum. But ya know what the funny thing is?” she asks, ostensibly to the guard but in reality to the man who was strapped down beside her, whom she now looks down on with a wide smile.
He notices her, and his mad chuckles cease for a moment, his entire body going still as he becomes confused, unsure of who this woman was or what to make of her. Regardless, something about her made him uncomfortable, and he squirms in the gurney.
But Harleen ignores that, opting to instead reach out and place her hand against his cheek, mockingly caressing him as she leans in a bit as if to kiss him.
“It ain’t the inmates who are the dangerous ones here”.
She whispers that, sending goosebumps right up and down the man’s spine and drawing smirks from the guards who nod at one another, one even chuckling. “He’s gonna learn that soon enough”. The prisoner wanted to shrink into himself at that moment. She could see it. Satisfied that he was sufficiently frightened she backs off, releasing his cheek with a shove that pushes his head away from her, turning his gaze to the opposite side.
“Alright, let’s see what this waste o’ space has gots on his chart huh?”
She brings the clipboard up to her face, reading off of it. Her eyes imperceptibly widen as she realizes who it was.
“Ahhhh, we gots a celebrity here fellas! Ain’t that sweet. Eddie Nygma, a.k.a the Riddla’. Was operatin’ outta’ Central City right? Constantly fightin’ that speedin’ red guy? What was he, the Streak?”
“The Flash, Doctor Quinzel”.
“Eh, same thing” she responds to the guard, waving her free hand as if it was of no consequence to her. “Lets see. Ahh, right. Apparently ya came ta Gotham a month ago to uh…what was it ya said in that stupid video ya sent out? Ohh yeah, rid Gotham of the Bat”.
“Ye-yes! I will! I will! I am his intellectual superior! I proved it by escaping! Who else escaped him huh? Who? Who? WHOOO?!!!”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“GAAH!”
The butt of a shotgun is instantly slammed into the Riddler’s ribs, most likely cracking but not breaking one as the man soundlessly opens his mouth and tries to let out a scream. But all that came was a gasp of air as he fell back onto the pillow attached to the gurney. Harley, for her part, was completely unbothered, seemingly not even noticing as she flipped the page on his file.
She wears a consistent little smile now.
‘Hehe…can’t believe ya actually think ya gots away’.
“Paranoid Personality Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive and a Narcissistic Personality Disorder too. Gee willika’s Eddy boy. Ya tryin’ ta collect ‘em all or somethin’?”
“Heheheh”.
Nygma doesn’t answer, remaining silent instead as he cries lightly to himself, trying to recover from the damage meted out onto him. “Anyways, ya came here and tried ta draw the Bat inta’ one o’ yer death traps or somethin’. Took a few hostages, threatened ta skin ‘em if the Bats didn’t play yer game…yadda, yadda, yadda, boring…ohh! Here. Yeah…ohh, expectedly ya got yet ass kicked”.
She chuckles again, laughing as she continues.
“And ran while he was rescuin’ yer hostages. Ran inta a sewa’ which-,”
She pauses to sniff the air, finally getting to the source of the scent that had been overwhelming her from the beginning, scrunching up her nose as she realizes it was the Riddler. “Smell like shit. Ya hid out fer a while, somehow managin’ ta gets away from him ventilatin’ ya, or maybe he just decided ya wasn’t worth the hassle and let ya go, hopin’ ya’d die like a rat regardless. Ya failed in Gotham Eddy Boy. That’s fer shit sure”.
Her gaze turns violent, feral even, and she glares down at the man with hate and rage in her eyes.
“But ya didn’t in Central City, did ya? Ya did some real dirty shit out there. Fourteen dead. Ya made five women watch their kids die when they couldn’t answa’ yer stupid fuckin’ riddles”.
Riddler said nothing as he looked up at the woman, in fear of what she was saying or rather how she was saying it.
“I…I’m sick!”
“Yeah. Ya are”.
Harleen sighs and backs away, holding the clipboard up still, completely disinterested. “Bring him inta’ cell block one, cell four. We got a…vacancy now. Wouldn’t ya know it, poor Lazlo Valentin took a nasty fall down all those stairs ta the mess hall. Hope he didn’t owe any ya boys any money. He’s in the morgue if yer lookin’ ta collect”.
“Hehe, Pyg’s gone? Nice”.
“Yeah. Poor thing” Harley sighs, bringing her hand up to her chest and sighing melodramatically. “Saw it myself. Couldn’t do nothin’ ta stop it”. She smiles, the real memory coming back to her at that moment.
“Reeeee! Reeeee! Pyg…fix…Pyg…make…better”.
“Uh huh. I’ve heard it before sweetie. But…here’s the thing” Harleen says, her fake smile falling away as the two of them reach the stairwell that would lead into one of the lower levels of Arkham. To the secure mess hall where prisoners were allowed, if they behaved, to eat.
There were about thirty of them, all steel and at a steep incline, and Harleen and Pyg were standing right at the top with his hands bound and her own on his back. They were alone, which went against standard operating procedure of course, but none of the guards said a word.
Harleen Quinzel was more than capable of handling herself.
She glares at the large, overweight man in an orange jumpsuit with an ugly, pig-like face that fits with his villainous name.
“Peelin’ someone’s face off? It ain’t makin’ ‘em betta”.
“Pyg…reeeee…fix”.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. But now Harley wants a chance ta fix ya”.
“Pyg no…reeeeee…need, squirrrrrk…fix”.
He was confused, and as was normal around the woman who ran the asylum, scared. He looks at her with those small, beady eyes, lifeless eyes that now filled with the same fear so many of his victims had undoubtedly looked at him in their last moments.
“Yeah…maybe yer right. Maybe there ain’t no fixin’ ya. Bye Lazlo.”
She smiles one final time and then, with all her strength, shoves the man via her grasp upon his back, sending him careening off of that first step. He falls forward, not having prepared for such a thing, and finds it impossible to find his footing.
“REEEEEEEE!”
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
He slams, face first, into the few steps below him, a sickening crunch heard as his nose and face are shattered, leaving crimson to stain the steps he’d fallen upon first. He keeps going, his corpulent body slamming into the steel, causing injury after injury. He falls, and Harley watches, bringing her hands up to her mouth and stamping her feet.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
She laughs like a maniac, like a little girl seeing something particularly hilarious as the serial killer’s body rolls down the stairs, his head crunching down as he turns and makes impact with the wall, cutting off the squeals of pain right at the source. All of this was caught on camera of course.
‘Reminds me. Gotta see Joe about gettin’ a copy o’ that. Too damn funny’ she thinks, reminding herself to go see the security guard who had access to such video footage and who had already congratulated her on a job well done.
This week, like many other weeks prior, she was in the top running for what the guards at Arkham teasingly called ‘Employee of the Week’, though with a much more sinister meaning. Who had taught the best lesson, or done the best job. The award for such a victory was usually some sort of dinner gift card or something like that.
‘Hope it’s Outback this week’.
The guards were rolling Nygma into the hallway now, the one that led to where many, if not most, never returned from, though he was unaware at that moment. News of Arkham rarely left the island. Most refused to even talk about it. Bad luck.
“Ohh guys?”
The guards stop at Harley’s prompting, turning to look back at the woman who should not have had the level of control over them that they did. “Season him up a bit more fer me will ya? I still gots ta decide on which therapy treatment we’re gonna go fer”.
They all smiled back, knowing exactly what that meant.
“He needs his eyes and tongue, well..one eye, I’ll be generous. But anything else? Fair game fer ya ta ‘season’.
She raises her fingers at that, making air quotes.
“You got it doc”.
“Thanks boys. Yer real dolls”.
She turns away, finally seemingly done with the conversation as the guards begin to continue their path forward. “I’ll get out! I’ll get out and when I do, you’ll all pay! All of you! I swear it! I am Edward Nygma! The Riddler! Nobody can beat me! Nobody!”
His voice gets further and further away and Harleen just stands there, sighing to herself and tossing her clipboard onto a desk which a waiting guard would usually sit at right on the other side of the barrier. She stretches, pushing her arms above her and closing her eyes.
“Mmmm…yeah, yeah. Sure pal. Maybe in yer freakin’ dreams”.
She was tired and wanted to go home, done with a long day that hadn’t allowed her too many opportunities for entertainment. Most of the inmates left in Arkham, with the exception of Riddler, were Class B, which meant they were classified as docile, i.e broken in. Their punishment had already been meted out and now they were nothing more than husks who were so fearful they nearly pissed themselves whenever they heard Harleen’s heels clicking on the floor.
The blonde had ruled out any further mistreatment for them. They were no longer to be touched…unless they got out of line.
Class C ‘inmates’ weren’t technically inmates, and Harleen allowed absolutely nothing to happen to them. They were her patients to the exact meaning of the word. She was there to help them. The broken and forgotten of Gotham, the victims of neglect.
Harleen loved them, mothered over them even, and any guard who dared vent their anger or power over them faced the consequences. None tried anymore either way. They’d learned their lesson after the first time one who’d tried was found with his eyes gouged out.
An incident that was blamed on a certain serial rapist and murderer Jervis Tetch, otherwise known as the Mad Hatter. He was no longer a problem any longer either. Two birds. One stone.
Class A villains such as Riddler?
Well…they didn’t need to be even thought of. Not for long. They didn’t exist for too long within the walls of Arkham. They had a habit of…disappearing or meeting with unforeseen accidents. It was tragic really but…then again?
Not really.
‘They have it comin’.
“Somebody once told me the woorrrrld is gonna roll me. I ain’t the sharpest tool in the sheeeeed. She was lookin’ kinda dumb with her finger and her thumb in the shape of an L on her forehe-,”
“Ohh, crap”.
Harleen hears the lyrics and tune of All Star by Smash Mouth ring out, letting her know that her cell phone was ringing. She reaches into the pocket of her lab coat, fishing out the cellphone and looking at the screen. She was excited. Just like she always was, unable to help it. The drying of her throat, the unconscious licking of her lips.
The tremor in her thighs and the growing heat in her nethers.
The screen simply read unknown, which meant she knew exactly who it was. Without thought she slides her thumb across the screen, opening up the phone and accepting the call, bringing it to her ear as she walks to the side, away from the security checkpoint where the guard had already lazily returned to reading his newspaper, and towards a wall with exposed brick.
“Hey”.
“Good evening”.
She smiles as she hears his gruff voice on the other end, her suspicions confirmed. She keeps the phone close to her ear and her head down, her free arm placing itself across her midsection. She bites her lip, waiting for more. “I heard Arkham has accepted a new inmate”.
“It has yeah” she confirms. “One o’ yers. Riddla’. Got aways from ya a while back” she teases.
“Hmmm”.
“Ohh don’t be a sour puss. I knows ya were doin’ the right thing. Ya always do. Ya saved those people. Asshole didn’t get far anyways. Got picked up by cops tonight tryin’ ta crawl outta the sewer. Smelled and looked like shit”.
“He’s about to be even worse off”.
“Ya can count on me” she coos out adoringly, unable to keep that tone from her voice whenever she spoke to the man. “Ya always can”. She says that part much quieter, and both man and woman know that she means it. “I know. Thank you. Riddler. I want him dealt with”.
“I will but not yet. Not fully. I gots some tests I want ta run first. See if maybe we can use that genius mind o’ his”.
“Harley”.
“What? He is a genius” she reminds the man. “A psycho asshole that deserves a slug between the eyes, sure. But let’s see if we can use him first. And if not? No harm no foul we toss him away like trash”.
“Hmmm”.
“Trust me”.
“I do”.
“Good. Don’t worry though. He ain’t hurtin’ nobody no more regardless. Ta see if we can use that brain o’ his I first gotta turn it ta mush, and ya know I’m damn good at that”.
“You are”.
She could detect a slight, very slight smile, through the words the man spoke, and that made her giddy, joyful. She loved these conversations. Lived for them. Lived for him. Her entire life was effectively centered around him and she knew that was unhealthy.
But that’s how it had been from the very start. From the first day she met him…years ago now, but as fresh as yesterday in her mind.
“Ya ain’t just callin’ ta make sure I’m keepin’ the scum in line is ya?”
“No. Come to the manor. Tonight. Bring Helena”.
“Ya didn’t call her too?”
“Call her for me. I have to shower. Be ready”.
“I always am”.
She continues to smile, meaning every word she speaks. She knew what was coming, and she didn’t mind one, single bit. She actually preferred it this way. She knew she wasn’t the only woman in his life, but she also knew that she was the most important. Out of all the others, most of whom save for the woman whose name had just been spoken, had come and gone, letting him down in one way or another. Failing him.
But her?
Never. She’d ALWAYS been there. And she always would be. She didn’t mind that she was the only one. She knew she was the favorite and that was perfectly fine with her. ‘One day it’ll be more’ she thinks, planning for that day, the culmination of everything she wanted.
“Good. Bring the nightie. The one I like”.
“Any requests fer Hel?” she asks teasingly, playing into it as a way to stoke the man’s ego a bit, something she did effortlessly and without reluctance. “Tell her to wear her purple panties. Thong. You? No panties at all. I hope neither of you shaved”.
“I trimmed” she says lewdly and crassly, holding nothing back. “And Hel? She’s eye-talian. Ya know what that means”.
“Good. Be there. Soon”.
He abruptly hangs up, not even wasting time with a goodbye, and Harleen was fine with that too. It was part of their routine, who they were and what they did. She slips the phone back into her pocket and turns around, taking a deep breath to try and calm herself.
‘Damn…I need ta get home’.
She was already walking towards the gate, flashing her i.d card for the security guard beyond the glass who wasn’t paying attention and instantly doing as she asked. Harley scowls and slams her fist against the glass, causing him to jump up in surprise. “Ey! Asshole! Open up! I gots places ta be”.