Lex found the vehicle in the Iceberg Lounge garage—a modified Hummer armored to military specs.
Reinforced plating. Bulletproof glass. Run-flat tires. The undercarriage had been fortified against explosives. Even the fuel tank was topped off.
He let out a low whistle.
"Cobblepot," he muttered, patting the hood. "You were a terrible human being… but you prepared well."
He climbed inside. The engine roared to life with a heavy, confident growl.
"Let's see what you can do."
He slammed the accelerator.
The Hummer tore through the garage door like it was cardboard, metal folding and splintering outward as Lex burst into the street.
The suspension absorbed the impact without complaint.
"Yeah," he grinned. "You'll do."
Once he hit the main road, he pulled up GPS and entered Wayne Manor.
If he was going to survive long-term in Gotham, he needed resources. Equipment. Intelligence.
And there was only one place in the city that had all three.
He didn't know the route, but technology did. The map lit up with a clean blue path cutting through the ruins.
He'd barely gone two blocks when—
Crack crack crack!
Gunfire echoed ahead.
Lex's eyes sharpened.
Zombies didn't shoot.
Survivors.
In this world, survivors were rare—and valuable. Strength in numbers meant longer life expectancy.
He turned the wheel toward the sound.
As he accelerated, the situation came into focus.
A black motorcycle tore down the street ahead of him, weaving between abandoned cars and staggering corpses. The rider leaned low over the tank, movements fluid and precise.
Black leather catsuit.
Black mask.
Black cat ears cutting through the wind.
Even in the apocalypse, the silhouette was unmistakable.
Catwoman.
Her long dark hair streamed behind her as she twisted around to fire a glance backward.
Behind her—
A convoy of SUVs barreled through the debris-strewn street.
One man stood through a sunroof, firing a pistol with controlled fury.
Even at this distance, the split profile was obvious.
One side handsome and intact.
The other burned and twisted into something infernal.
Two-Face.
Lex's grip tightened on the steering wheel.
The system had declared the last superhero dead.
Catwoman wasn't technically a superhero.
She walked the line. Thief. Antihero. Opportunist. Sometimes ally. Sometimes adversary.
The system wasn't wrong.
Still—she was alive.
And she was in trouble.
Gunfire erupted again.
Bullets sparked against pavement and car frames as she swerved. Zombies lunged from sidewalks, drawn by noise. She dodged them with impossible balance.
Then Lex saw it.
A dark bloom spreading across her abdomen.
Blood.
She clipped a zombie while avoiding a bullet. The motorcycle fishtailed. Lost traction.
It slammed into the asphalt.
She slid—ten, maybe fifteen yards—before crashing into a collapsed storefront.
The convoy screeched to a halt, forming a perimeter.
Two-Face raised a hand. Gunfire ceased.
The other men stayed in vehicles, scanning for undead. Two-Face stepped out calmly, adjusting his jacket like he'd just arrived at a dinner party.
Lex slowed the Hummer in the distance, watching.
He hadn't decided whether to interfere.
Two-Face glanced once at the armored Hummer parked farther down the street, then turned his attention back to Catwoman.
She struggled upright, clutching her abdomen.
Two-Face approached leisurely.
"If you tell me where the Batcave is," he called out, voice smooth and theatrical, "I'll let you live."
He smiled.
It made the ruined half of his face stretch grotesquely.
Understanding clicked into place.
In a world like this, Batman's arsenal would be priceless. Armor. Weapons. Vehicles. Surveillance tech.
Only a handful of people knew the Batcave's location.
Catwoman was one of them.
And judging by the bike she'd been riding—clearly customized Wayne engineering—she had access.
Even knowing the location wouldn't be enough. Entry required authorization.
She likely had that too.
Alive, she was leverage.
Dead, she was nothing.
Catwoman spat blood at his shoes.
"Dream on."
Two-Face's good eye hardened. He drew his pistol and aimed at her forehead.
Lex's jaw tightened.
There were tactical reasons to intervene.
Access to the Batcave.
Potential alliance.
Strategic advantage.
But if he was honest?
He simply couldn't watch her die.
He rolled down the window.
Extended his Glock.
Fired.
Crack crack crack!
Bullets snapped past Two-Face, forcing him to spin toward the new threat.
At the same time, Lex floored the accelerator.
The armored Hummer roared forward like a charging bull.
Two-Face's men reacted instantly, opening fire.
Rounds hammered against the Hummer's plating.
Pointless.
"Should've brought rockets," Lex muttered.
He smashed straight into two SUVs blocking the street.
Metal screamed.
The vehicles were shoved aside like toys.
Catwoman moved the instant Two-Face's focus shifted.
Even injured, she was fast.
She swept his legs out from under him and hit the ground with him, wrenching his pistol from his grip.
Individually, she outclassed him.
Always had.
The Hummer screeched to a halt beside her, forming a steel barrier between her and the convoy.
Bullets ricocheted harmlessly.
She didn't hesitate.
She grabbed the window frame and vaulted upward with catlike precision despite the blood soaking her suit.
"Drive!" she snapped. "Now!"
"Yes, ma'am."
Lex punched the gas.
The Hummer blasted down the street as gunfire faded behind them.
After pulling herself inside through the window, Catwoman collapsed across the back seat, breathing hard.
Blood seeped steadily from her abdomen.
She glanced at the wound and muttered a curse under her breath.
Lex checked her through the rearview mirror.
"You going to make it?"
Her arm shifted.
A pistol rose.
Not fully aimed—but angled enough.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
Her voice was tight. Controlled. Suspicious.
"Your memory's that bad?" Lex said lightly. "I'm the guy who just saved you."
Her eyes narrowed.
Pain made her temper shorter.
Trust didn't come easy—even before the world ended.
"You'd better answer carefully," she said. "I'm not feeling generous."
He dropped the humor.
"Name's Lex Williams. I'm… was… a Batman fan. I know you and him were close. That's why I stepped in."
She studied him.
Measuring.
Weighing truth against desperation.
"I haven't seen him in a long time," Lex continued carefully. "What happened to him?"
That question changed her expression.
It wasn't anger.
It was something deeper.
Grief.
Her gaze drifted toward the passing ruins outside the window.
For a moment, she didn't look like a thief or a fighter.
Just a woman who had lost something irreplaceable.
Her voice, when it came, was quieter.
"You really don't know?"
Lex's hands tightened on the wheel.
"No."
She closed her eyes briefly.
"When the outbreak started, he tried to contain it. Wouldn't abandon the city. Said Gotham was his responsibility."
A faint, bitter smile touched her lips.
"Typical."
She swallowed.
"There was an explosion. Downtown. He stayed behind to hold a perimeter so civilians could evacuate."
Silence filled the vehicle.
"He didn't come back."
The weight of that settled between them.
Dead.
Or worse.
The system's announcement echoed in Lex's memory.
Last superhero: deceased.
If Batman had fallen early in the outbreak…
No wonder Gotham collapsed so fast.
Catwoman shifted, wincing as fresh blood stained the seat.
Two-Face wasn't chasing her just for resources.
He was chasing the last living key to Gotham's greatest weapon cache.
And now that key was bleeding out in his back seat.
Lex looked ahead at the navigation route still glowing on his screen.
Wayne Manor.
Batcave.
He exhaled slowly.
"Looks like," he said, eyes forward, "we're going to need that cave more than ever."