The sound of blaring sirens all heading in one direction could only mean one thing: the Batman had struck again. Selina knew of him, of course. How could she not? 'The Batman' was all the underground to which she belonged talked about. Ever since Carmine Falcone was strung up in the shape of a bat three weeks ago Gotham City's predators had walked quickly to the corners in which they whispered about Him. Over those twenty-one days the whispers had turned to ravings: 'Is it really a giant bat?' 'A flying man?' 'I heard he drinks blood'. The ravings had given way to the one moniker that evoked the fear that permeated the streets and alleyways of Gotham's criminal kingdoms: The Night Demon.

"What do you suppose that's all about?"

Selina turned to her smaller, blonder companion.

Jennifer Robinson had been rescued from the pimps and deviants nearly half a year ago. Almost six months of training, teaching, and learning had transformed the would-be urchin into an amateur thief with skills bordering on rookie. A girl who was once left to the aimless will of the gutter was now well on her way making an illegitimate something of herself in the world.

Selina Kyle, meanwhile, had been nipping at the heels of mastery for the better part of half a decade. Ever since she had first stepped into this world three weeks into September, fifteen years short of the millennium, Selina Kyle has been one to look after herself. Being born to a manic depressive mother married to an alcoholic father didn't leave one much choice. Selina was raised on an altering diet of endless affection from her mother, and torturous indifference from her father. Occasionally he would work up enough interest to lash out with bruised hands after retreating her mother into a corner. It was after mental anguish claimed Mrs. Kyle by way of the noose two weeks shy of Selina's tenth birthday that the lanky girl decided to spend most of her time dodging outdoor lighting.

Selina had always had an interest in the martial arts, and it was only elevated when she forced herself to fend for life on the streets. She had leapt from dingy dojo to so-called dojo, eager to learn from the self-styled sensei of Gotham's underbelly. The aspiring black belt never stayed for more for than a few months at any one 'shanty temple', or with one trainer, but her keen mind was quick to absorb the techniques and traditions of the world's fighting styles. By the time she was twenty Selina had developed into an adept hand-to-hand specialist with some proficiency in firearms for added benefit. Combining the various forms into her own brand of fighting allowed Selina an unpredictability that few opponents could overcome, let alone match. But it was the basic nature of her profession that truly molded her into a formidable weapon.

Running from cops, crooks, and crazies built up an athleticism that the accomplished bandit maintained to this day. Latching on to older, more experienced thieves honed skills of infiltration, stealth, and thieving dexterity. Along with a world-class knowledge of breaking into that which was meant to stay sealed, came an innate agility that Olympic gymnasts would consider impressive. The only difference being that while they practiced on vaults and balance beams, Selina practiced on high-rises and fire escapes; with the added bonus of occasionally being chased by a bullet or portly proprietor. But her most seductive skill-set came from natural beauty and amorous friends.

Standing at one-hundred-seventy centimeters, with a 34-26-34 frame, Selina's lengthy legs held a slender body that didn't always reveal the strength contained underneath her skin. The years of trapezing across Gotham's skylines had given Selina a musculature that formed to her every curve. Sensuous, pouty lips, a thick head of lustrous brunette locks, and a neckline that pushed the boundaries of her C-cup support-wear tempted the willpower of any man, and a few women, she came across. Selina's beauty required her to flash little more than a smile to entice targets to her whims, but the five years she spent amongst the city's high-heeled streetwalkers elevated Selina's seduction to that of a Greek siren.

Le Chabanais was modeled after the infamous Parisian brothel that operated near the Louvre for nearly seventy years; counting Hermann Göring among its clients. The luxuriously decorated building was a bright spot amid the slums of Gotham's Oldtown, and its Madame was a contrast in character given the brutal ways most pimps operated their business.

Selina first met Madam Bissette during the summer of year zero of the new millennium, a few months shy of her fifteenth birthday. 'Bissette' was surely a pseudonym given that the Madam was neither French nor made of fine linen, but Selina never felt the need to ask and was content with calling her 'Bissy'. The finely-aged redhead seemed to enjoy Selina's company and was particularly fond of bestowing a lifetime of knowledge into the attentive teenager. For her part, Selina relished having a stable motherly figure who wasn't beholden to the desecration of a drunk.

When she reached her second decade, Selina had become adroit at luring men into her web. Selina's targets could only help but wonder how a seemingly innocent teenager had relieved them of so much, or how she had pilfered the information required to access their safes and accounts. How did she find out about their wives? Or their mistress? Or their mistress's mistress? How was this simple girl so skilled in blackmail? Extortion? And why did she always threaten her knowledge while wearing little more than lingerie, discarding it with each bluff?

The mysteries that clouded the eyes of her marks never eluded the dark-haired beauty. She knew that all men shared the same weaknesses; the same temptations; the same willingness to banish all their vows and promises when what was coveted lay before their feet. All she had to do was twinkle her eyes and push her breasts together and they would fall over themselves in demanding the nearest reservation. Perhaps the life of a high-class call girl with an affinity for kleptomania was something Selina could settle on. It was better than crawling back to the lump of meat that masqueraded as her father. Having complete independence at the price of what was between her legs was something Selina could contend with. Something that was easy to set in front of the longing for a different lot in life. Perhaps Madame Bissette could offer a life that would hold back the pining of a little girl whose illusion of happiness was hiding in a corner, wrapped within herself.

Until the Mafia came calling.

Selina knew all the familiar senses a burning building evoked. Living in the derelict dwellings of Oldtown one became accustomed to decaying structures propensity for self-immolation, but Le Chabanais was different. Sure, the lush tapestries that flowed from nearly every wall could present a hazard, but candles were always kept well away and cigars, pipes, and cigarettes were only allowed in the rooms or at the bars where there were plentiful opportunities to ash. The outside porticoes were also open to the pleasures of tobacco, but an entire civilization of concrete was available on which to dispose of smoldering embers. Le Chabanais wouldn't follow the natural arc of most of Oldtown's buildings, and Selina knew as much when she rounded the corner on New Year's Eve 2005.

Somewhere beneath the largest mass of fire she had ever seen was home, or what she had used as home for the past five years. Just outside its double-door entrance was the violated body of Bissy. Tending to what little time she had left were the shocked faces of Madame Bissette's erotic family. Girls that Selina had shared laughs, tears, and curses with. Girls that Selina had shared intimacies with in matters of business, and occasionally pleasure. The strange clan to which Selina belonged was standing helpless across the street while the flames of their tragedy licked at the remains of the matriarch.

Selina didn't allow herself to lament situations that could no longer be salvaged, but the girls that huddled together beneath the mocking rain didn't reside behind the walls she built, and so it was with all the delicacy she could afford that she became apprized of why she would have to walk into the cold embrace of the streets once again.

Carmine Falcone had decided that the girls of La Chabanais had worn out their welcome. Oldtown, along with the rest of Gotham, was his turf, and these harlots weren't paying him the respect, nor the money, he felt he deserved; and so his boys came knocking. It took a while for Selina to understand the relative futility of it all; why burn when you can build? Madame Bissette's bordello would have been worth a fortune to the Falcone Crime Family. In her naivety Selina learned that Carmine Falcone already had a fortune, but his authority was sacred.

Bissy, for her part, held a strong sense of honor. No see-through-sock-wearing thug was going to tell her what to do. Tell her how she would use her body, and with whom. Her girls were hers, they would never belong to the monsters of the Mafia. But her girls didn't use guns, knives, pipes, and fists to enforce their will. Their weapons were made of flesh, and flesh was easily bruised, which Carmine Falcone's soldiers knew all too well.

It was with a defiant sneer that Bissy met her end. She didn't cry when they yelled. She didn't cry when they struck; when they kicked; when they ripped, and when they raped. Only did she weep when her eyes were forced to look upon her defiled daughters. Only then did she allow herself to be used as the piece of trash the mobsters envisioned.

Selina still saw a beacon of hope even as its form was being swallowed by the orange glow. She wished that she wished she had been there. They wouldn't have crossed her. A few kicks from her sculpted legs and they would have run back to their master. The halls of La Chabanais would have remained clean, and its inhabitants safe. If only she had been there.

Selina knew that fate didn't think that much of her. Sure, she could have bested three or four of the mob brutes, but eventually she would have shared the destiny of Bissy and those that the inferno refused to release. Still, the daydreams that Selina kept in her head were always more comforting than the reality she faced, and the final hours of Selina the prostitute would be added to the library.

A promise would be made that night. Never again would Selina rely on anyone who didn't share her isolation. The finite generosity of others wouldn't direct her days. From now on Selina Kyle would control Selina Kyle.

"Hello? Earth to Selina?"

The hypnotic lull of Gotham's finest had been intruded upon by the big, blue, uplifted eyes of Jennifer Robinson and her windswept hair.

"What?" Selina asked, still trying to return from the recesses of her mind.

"The fuck you think is going on down there?" Receiving a neutral stare, Jen continued, "Holy shit, have you completely checked out?"

"Sorry, hun, got lost in the moment," Selina responded, with a playful smile.

"Ya don't say... Anyway, you have any opinion on the growth in fuzz?"

"Do you," came a response colored by raised eyebrows.

Despite Selina's best efforts these past few months, Jen's ingrained clueless nature didn't disappoint, "Well, um... It could be... uh... I don' think... Maybe it's... ah... Well what do you think happened?"

Selina stifled a groan, "Come on, kid, don't tell me I've been that lousy of a teacher."

"..."

"Take a shot in the dark."

"Aliens?"

"I fucking hate you... fucking aliens..."

Jen did her best to salvage some dignity, "Well la-di-da, your Highness. Some of us didn't grow up with Gotham's crime bosses as playmates."

That brought a genuine chuckle. "Mm-hm."

"Well, Selina Kyle, if you're so knowledgeable, feel free to end the suspense anytime," came the request, complete with exasperated hands.

"It's Him," Selina gave, with darkened eyes that looked toward her eyebrows.

Jen quirked her head sideways, obviously scanning her brain for help. "...'Him', who?"

"Jesus tap-dancing Christ, Jen."

"What?"

"The Batman. It's the goddamn Batman."

Wide-eyes of realization hit Selina squarely in the face. "Oh... Oh shit, you think we should be up here? What are we going to do if he catches us on the roof of a fucking jewelry store? I mean, I know you can kick some ass and I'm coming along, but by the sounds of it Batman could kill us with both his arms sawn-off."

"Then I guess we should be on our way. Want to follow the police?"

Jen's creased brow was accentuated by several light taps on Selina's forehead, "Everything okay up there?"

"Was until you started hitting it."

"Right."

"Think about it, all the cops will be down there focused on whatever caper Batman busted up, and if he is out tonight then scrambling over jewelry cases isn't the best of ideas. And ya never know, we might spot the freak himself."

Jen remained unconvinced, "Whatever. You're the boss."

"And don't you forget it."

With one last pair of smiles and scowls passed between them, the thieves made their way in the direction of the bouncing blue and red. Granted, Jen decided to take a route that deviated slightly from Selina's. Apparently this was her way of saying that she didn't approve.

"See him?"

"Nope. You?"

"All I see are a bunch of overweight cops who are pissed that they didn't get invited to the party."

"We could always go down there and give them one."

"Eh, I'm not too fond of getting my tits out for belts with notches that run the entire length these days."

"You mean... you were?"

"Bills don't pay themselves, sweety."

The scene below the roof of the wharf warehouse was one of mixed movement. On land, in front of the gaping cavern that was Falcone's shipping front the activity could best be described as subdued. Scattered about the premises were roughly two dozen mob hoods in various states of confinement. Some were tied to street posts; some were tied to themselves; others were tied to the unconsciousness that the Batman had delivered them to. The police busied themselves with identifying their quarry, careful to avoid the splayed limbs of the defeated criminals. Standing out from their brothers-in-blue were the plainclothes detectives who alternated between asking questions and dancing a pen across their notepads.

Up on the cargo ship were the tactical SWAT teams of Gotham PD. Selina doubted that those that remained on the moored vessel were ignorant of the situation on the dock, and wouldn't put up so much as a protest, but the SWAT teams sure did like to break out their toys.

A circle of SWAT members stood in the relative middle of the ship, surrounding a portion of the contraband contained below decks: a few stacks of cocaine kilos, a small cache of weapons, and a trio of young, foreign-looking girls.

"That seems a little excessive," spoke Jen, her eyes turned towards the cops charging up the gangplank. "I highly doubt any of the creeps inside are going to throw down against SWAT. Probably still balls deep in their cargo. Pricks."

Selina allowed herself a small smile. Jen was slowly showing her burgeoning smarts. "We could always go down and take a look."

"Ha, ya." Jen turned to sparkle her teeth at her companion, but was met with a questioning gaze. "Oh. You're serious."

"Why not?"

"Sorry, sexy, but I don't think even you have enough cleavage to distract half the force. Especially when they have their hands wrapped around their metaphorical dicks."

"Maybe-"

"...Maybe?" Jen turned to fully face her friend, only to find that her chin had tilted towards the towering buildings ahead of them. There was nothing up there that she could see. Selina must've walked behind the scary door in her head again, as she was prone to do. "Selina. Hellooo... Well when you're done strolling down memory lane, I'll be over here, amusing myself."

Selina had heard some grumblings coming from Jen's direction, but nothing short of fire and brimstone could tear her attention away from the looming darkness beyond.

There he was. Standing tall against the wind, his cape billowing, encompassing him in a terrifyingly surreal form. The concealment was such that he would pop in and out of view when the lightning at his back offered illumination. It was as if he was a part of the the night itself. An agent sent to punish those who had abused the dark blanket of the twilight hours. He was at least a thousand feet away, but Selina still felt a paralyzing fear shiver up her spine. She couldn't help but think that she would turn to run and there he'd stand, ready to castigate the twenty-one-year-old beauty for the ills of her life.

Selina felt her feet will themselves away from the roof's edge, a motion that did not go unnoticed by her perky partner.

"Finally. Welcome back to the land of the living." Jen's quip garnered no response. "Hey, you alright?"

A friendly hand on her shoulder snapped Selina from of her dread, "Huh? Oh. Ya. Never better." Selina hung a pitiful smile, fake from corner to corner, between her colorless cheeks.

"Uh, alright... Let me know if any of those demons follow us back tonight. The place's a mess."

"Demons don't exist, Jen. At least not the ones you're thinking of."

Jen shrugged her shoulders and moved to leave. Selina gave one last look over her shoulder, distressed to find that the Batman had abandoned his perch. Her eyes scanned every crevice that harbored no light as she quickened her pace, eager to return to the comforting presence of little Jen Robinson.

This new anxiety disturbed the confidant cat burglar. Selina had always treated her solo sojourns into the night as a source of pride. A woman playing in the dungeon of dungeons? That was something only she did. Something only she could lay claim to. Only Selina Kyle could say that she laughed into the face of evil and came out with all her fingers and all her toes. But Batman had changed things. Batman had made the feared fearful. Batman had made Selina Kyle think twice about running across Gotham's rooftops.

Now that a malevolent force shared the lease.

A/N: Well alright then. This story is set in the Nolanverse and I envision the timelines as such:

BB: summer 2007 – winter/spring 2008 (I realize there wasn't any snow on the ground during the end of BB, but in my mind Bruce's birthday takes place in February and thus the final battle takes place during the winter with the salvaging scene of Wayne manor taking place in the beginning of Spring)

TDK: fall 2008 – winter 2008

TDKR: summer/fall 2016 – winter 2016/2017

If someone has verified dates for the movie's universe please let me know. Also, if anyone is feeling ambitious I'd appreciate someone designing a picture for my story as I'm entirely too lazy to do it at present.

And if you see any mistakes, or have any suggestions, let me know.