Title: The Spiraling WayContinuity: Catwoman v.2
Warnings: Contains gore and references to rape.
Disclaimer: All characters © DC Comics.

It takes several seconds for the first man to take stock, raise his pistol and aim. Selina slides her right foot forward, shifting her weight, flicking the handle of her whip along her hip. Distracted by the whip lash, the gun man falters.

She returns the whip, throwing out her arm and leg, the thong hissing past the eye's ability to see, crossing the sound barrier. Crack! against his wrist, the tip of the whip moving more than twice the speed of sound, releasing the conserved, concussive force of a point-blank bullet against the gun-man's wrist.

Small bones in his hand break on impact, a cut tendon leaves his hand limp, the gun clattering harmlessly to the ground, flesh sliced neatly open as blood sprays thinly from the artery. Mouth open, he stares, clutches at his injured wrist before the pain starts. He will need surgery.

She hears the heavy tread of the larger man and throws the whip into the rapport of a "C" arc, then side-winding. It gives her time to turn, to decide. The man probably weighs close to two hundred, a bit heavy to throw easily. She sends the whip forward into a wide, rolling loop.

He thinks it's slow because he can see it. He thinks he's fast enough. He puts out his arm to catch it and Selina waits until she sees the fall spiral into a vise, engaging Newton's Third Law of Motion. Unable to express outwards, the energy boomerangs back to her and she lifts her feet.

The big man doesn't finish smiling before she catapults towards him with exponential force beyond a jump, one leg tangling his defensive arm, the other ax-kicking him in the face. She pulleys the whip around her body as she falls. His tangled arm drags the rest of his body to the ground and she raises the handle of the whip.

Thunk!, a leather wrapped steel rod clubs to his skull.

A hiss of a blade.

Selina pivots in her crouch, raising the handle, deflecting a sword with the taut lash. It rebounds, like a rubber band and the third man stumbles. Freeing the whip, she side-winds. Sooner or later, the junior ninja will swing again.

He does. The blade meets the whip, which yields, offering no resistance then, the spiral grip. The sword is yanked so violently, the man skips upwards, pulled off his feet. It twirls through the air, released, a glint in the street lamp before snapping like a cheap toy on brick wall. Junior ninja staggers to a halt, stares at her, then turns to run.

She launches over the big man, flailing the whip handle over her head in a circle until it hums. Thrown, the plaited leather slides through her glove before thunk to his head and the boomerang return. It's back in her hand before the fourth man can scramble for the fallen gun.

She throws fast this time, not allowing the lash to slow enough for a grab. He never sees the vise snarl through the flesh of his forearm, never understands why the spiral continues crackle through his elbow, pop through his shoulder, pitching him through the air and thud into a wall. He's squealing, so she stomps on his head until he stops.

The woman they raped is curled against the brownstone. She hasn't moved except to ball up, hugging herself. Selina coils the whip at her waist, watching through the white puff of exhalation. There is blood on the woman's thighs.

The gun man makes the mistake of moaning and she silences him with a vicious heel to his groin. He gasps, stops breathing and she kicks him three more times, knowing what the police investigative report will say, not caring. Now he'll need even more surgery. She steps over him.

The woman hunches her shoulders, ducking her head. Her eyes are wide, dilated almost black, light refracting from tears. She doesn't make a sound beyond a ragged breath, but shakes her head.

Selina stops, drops her chin. In the darkness, traces of blood spray trickle along bricks, worthless lumps of human animals lost in the alley and something slippery, slimy under her feet. "You need to go to the hospital."

The woman shakes her head again, slow and numb.

"You're tore up. You'll get infected."

A whisper, now, "Can't pay."

"I will." She crouched down, keeping her hands in sight. "It's free."

The woman swallows, chews on her lip.

"You could be pregnant."

"No," she denies softly.

Selina looks over her shoulder at the men. They were a poorly organized team but none of them drunk, from what she could smell. The woman doesn't sound frantic about this point, which means she's probably on birth control. She's barely dressed, for the weather. "Enforcers, huh?"

The woman, a working girl, looked away. "Don't have any more."

"Yeah. I know." Selina helped her get up, considering an ambulance, but this was the End. No one would come, just like no one would arrest these men for being an occupational hazard. She hoped the woman's shock lasted long enough to get her to Leslie's clinic.