The massive crane arms stretching along Dixon Dock cast distorted shadows under the dim overhead lights. The air was thick with the smell of rust, machine oil, and the briny tang of the river.
A lithe figure in a skin-tight suit flitted like a ghost across rusted steel beams and broken window frames, finally sliding into a third-floor office in the main factory—one of the few that still had intact glass—and landing lightly in the center of the room.
She glanced at the four gunmen standing in the shadows on either side of the room, then at the man standing by the window admiring the night view, and let out a lazy smile.
"Good evening, Roman."
"Good evening, Miss Selina Kyle." The man's voice was as grating as sandpaper on wood. He turned around, his face covered by a smooth, mirror-black ebony mask. "You know who I am?"
"A cat's eyes always see things in the dark." Her leather suit shimmered in the faint light, highlighting her striking curves. "You investigated me, so naturally, I checked your background, Mr. Sionis."
"Hmm. But what puzzles me is that even the police and that meddling Bat haven't tracked me down yet, and you…"
"Oh, Roman, it's because they aren't as light-footed as a cat. Besides, small talk doesn't replace a final payment." Her tone grew cold. "There's still a hundred thousand dollars unpaid. I hope you haven't forgotten."
"Of course not."
Black Mask gave a dismissive wave. One of his men stepped forward carrying a canvas bag, opening it on the floor between them. Inside were neat stacks of bundled cash.
"All used twenty-dollar bills. Easy to hide, easy to spend."
"Oh, sweetheart, you're so thoughtful."
Selina stared into his eyes, but the eyeholes in the mask were deep like abysses. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up; something felt instinctively wrong. She took a step forward and reached for the bag.
"Payment received. Then… goodbye."
"Wait a moment, Miss Kyle." Black Mask let out a sinister chuckle. "I've recently learned a valuable lesson. It's best to never again see a partner who knows too many secrets…"
Before the words fully left his mouth, several high-powered searchlights mounted around the warehouse suddenly flared to life, illuminating Selina's position like high noon.
The men on both sides simultaneously raised silenced submachine guns, their black muzzles spitting fire.
In that life-or-death split second, Selina's animal instincts saved her. The moment he said the words "never again," she had already leaped into the air. Her whip lashed out like a viper, coiling around an exposed steel beam above.
Bullets grazed her hair and leather suit, crisscrossing in the empty space she had occupied a moment before.
Selina swung toward the wall, her toes tapping lightly against it as she flipped onto the overhead piping system. Bullets chased her footsteps, clanging against the rusted metal pipes and kicking up clouds of dust.
"Roman, you're not just stingy, you're a terrible dance partner! You don't have a shred of integrity."
"Integrity?"
Black Mask's voice was filled with sadistic delight. "You're just a tool to be discarded after use. Especially now that you know my name! Your corpse will be my next gift to Falcone and the police!"
"You want to turn me into an exhibit?" Selina scoffed, suddenly snapping her whip at the nearest searchlight!
Crack!
The glass shattered, and a section of the room went dark. Then came the second, and the third. The warehouse plunged into a chaotic mess of shifting shadows.
One of Black Mask's men tried to climb the pipes to pursue her, but a sudden snap of the whip caught his ankle with pinpoint accuracy, sending him screaming to the floor below.
"Don't let her escape!" Black Mask roared.
"We'll settle this score later!"
Selina swung her whip, gliding through the gloom toward the higher rafters and the nearest window. Just as she was a few steps from escaping the battlefield, Black Mask drew a revolver from his waist and fired three rapid shots.
In a flash, Selina dove forward. Two searing air currents whistled past her ribs and waist, but the third shot struck true, tearing into the back of her thigh in a spray of blood.
She let out only a muffled grunt, accelerating without hesitation to smash through the dust-covered window.
Crash—!
The glass shattered, crystalline shards showering into the air like rain, reflecting the yellow interior lights and the frantic silhouettes of the pursuing gunmen. She landed on a shipping container below, stumbled, and ran into the shadows.
Behind her, Black Mask's furious roar echoed, but that was no longer the priority.
The bullet hadn't hit bone, but it seemed determined to bleed her dry. Warm blood pulsed uncontrollably, soaking through her suit; every step left a dark red print.
Though she managed to tie off the wound, by the time she left the dock area, the wet cobblestone streets began to heave like ocean waves before her eyes.
The Gothic spires above swayed as if they were drunk. The sound of her own heartbeat was heavy and frantic, drumming against her fading consciousness.
"Selina, you're not dying here!"
Drenched in cold sweat, she took a deep breath and threw her whip. The tip coiled accurately around a rusted drainpipe on the opposite roof.
She pulled hard, her body lifting into the air, attempting to swing herself to safety. But just as her fingertips were centimeters from the roof's edge, her body stalled in mid-air.
She flipped over and began to plummet toward the dark street below.
The sensation of weightlessness swallowed her. The wind screamed in her ears as the gargoyles on the building corners shrank rapidly away, appearing to mock her with frozen sneers.
"Is it all… ending?"
Light and sound faded rapidly. Fatigue wrapped around her like a heavy, suffocating blanket. She closed her heavy eyelids, letting her body sink into the endless fall.
However, a split second before her consciousness was completely engulfed by darkness, it felt as though a pair of massive wings descended from the sky, enveloping her.
Like a safe, warm embrace.
…
"Dammit, get that away from me."
Jay looked at Wilson with pure disgust, shoving him back. "Where the hell do you even buy snacks that gross in the middle of the night?"
"Ha! I knew you couldn't handle it! You were the only one who didn't puke during that prisoner transport raid; I haven't forgotten!" Wilson waved a brain-shaped jelly around before taking a huge bite. "I'm training my 'disgust resistance'."
"Get lost and go to sleep!"
He kicked Wilson out of the Forensics Lab and closed the door. He turned to Nygma. "I can't be sure if Cobblepot managed to sneak a hand in on this or not."
"Based on the footage, it definitely wasn't him. I saw him once when he came to see you; while the person in the video mimics his posture and limp quite well, if you look closely, the differences are apparent."
Nygma frowned slightly. "But even if it were him, he wouldn't do it himself. Having the camera catch 'him' in person would be pointless. So…"
"Either it's someone else… I'd guess one of Falcone's other capos has a better motive than Black Mask… framing him because he rose too fast and made plenty of enemies.
Or, it's a performance by the Penguin himself—leaving deliberate flaws so he can play the victim and divert your attention. How are his injuries?"
"The injuries are real. Those guys were careful enough not to rupture his liver or spleen. The doctor says a cracked rib, a broken nose, a minor concussion, and a missing tooth. The rest is just soft tissue damage."
Jay couldn't help but laugh. "Well, they are Falcone's veteran enforcers; they know how to hit with precision. Tsk tsk…"
He leaned his chin on his thermos, thinking of the number. His eyes practically glowed red. "Twelve million… damn, if it really was that Penguin…"
"We're getting at least half of that back!"
"Yeah," Nygma added, his own breathing quickening slightly at the thought. "With that kind of money, we wouldn't have to worry about anything."
Jay stood up abruptly, cracking his knuckles.
"You think… maybe… I should tie him up and give him a beating too?"
——————
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