The two thieves' hideout was actually a nice change from the usual ransacked apartment. They had a television, no bugs, no rodents, no Joker, and best of all, a heater. Mr. Freeze had taken the early snow as an opportunity to give Gotham a great big crime infested blizzard. They stole what Gotham's homeless often dreamed about.

Salina put her head right above Sylvester's, her long hair tickled his nose but the man did not stir. "Wolfie wake up." she whispered, nudging him slightly.

"Mmph, go away." he said pushing her away. Salina did some quick thinking. He was in love with wolves as she was with cats. She devised a way to wake any wolf lover up.

"Sly, guess what I saw while watching the news?" For the sake of mush, Sly groggily played along. "What?" he asked still facedown in his pillow. "Somebody assassinated Sahara Palin!"

Sly shot up with a look of pure joy on his face. He bounded out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where the small travel TV sat on the counter. Instead of a shocked crowd of redneck Alaskans, he saw Jack Ryder's talk show. It showed Jack speaking with Gotham's finest on just how many escape routes there were in Arkham Asylum.

Salina was leaning in the doorway when Sly turned around. She had a smirk that would make you think she just stole some great treasure, and she had a newspaper in her hand. There were two things that made Sly angry. One was being called Wolf Boy, Little Wolf, and any thing that makes him and wolves sound weak, the second thing is having someone lie about the single greatest thing to happen to the ecosystem since .

"Alright Kitten, what do we want now?" Sly said running his hand down his face. Salina opened the newspaper to a picture of two statuettes.

"The Mars and Venus Statues are coming to Gotham's Art Museum," she said "The statues are going to have maximum security, and if we took these we'd go down in history as two of the greatest thieves ever to live."

"And just what makes these two so priceless?" he asked noticing they were only made of gold. They had stolen plenty of gold before. The skyscrapers of golden dollars had now grown to a large city. It's hard to be picky when you steal just about anything that shines.

"Because," she said holding up her hand, "one, I want them, and two they're said to have some great ability and I want to know what that is." she counted each number with a finger.

Kitten could be very serious when she saw something she really wanted. Take the time she was in the feminist phase. Now, normally a feminist would get mad when you called them anything that was not woman. However, no, Cat had held up a bank and stole two million dollars. In Susan B. Anthony Coins. That was not a good time to be a boyfriend. But hey, live and let live, right?

Sly knew not to say anything, but the thought of a big, black, Kevlar covered fist coming to his face a hundred miles per hour courtesy of Batman didn't seem too fun either. Still, he kept his mouth shut. He knew from almost a year of Catwoman that once she had her eyes on something she wouldn't take them off without a fight.


Sly sighed through the sights of his binoculars. Why did he always get the reconnaissance work. The so called wolf man of Gotham could picture Salina, safe at home, watching her soap operas, and eating a big quart of his chocolate chip ice cream.

He shivered. Even through the thick layers of synthetic fur and polymers, this costume had no wind resistance. "Note to self, kill the tailors." Wolvesbane thought to himself as he clicked more pictures of the exhibits, museum windows, and air ducts that lead outside.

On the large, freshly powdered hill that Wolfsbane sat on, he had a birds eye view to everything in the south side of Gotham, the bank, the art museum, the jewelry stores. That's when he noticed them.

To his left, about half a mile away, on the Farris Wheel in Gotham Theme Park sat Deadshot. His red Zeus Hat and long cape stuck out like a sore thumb in the harsh snow. Wolf watched as he assembled his Draganov and aimed. Across Gotham the Mayor was holding a ball. Mayor Briggs was recently accused of embezzling money, and was holding this ball to brown-nose the high life.

Between him and the assassin sat the tramway that Bruce Wayne's father built, Bruce had the thing running at least two-hundred mile per hour now and it should be running now. It sped past, Deadshot was going to have to wait. Then, without warning, the gun rang out.

The bullet left the barrel, went through a gap in the train cars, through an accountant office, through the hole in a cop's doughnut, into the glass of the ballroom, through the stem of a martini glass, and finally into the mayor's forehead.

He had just shot a man, thirty miles away, on a moving Farris Wheel, free handed.

Wolvesbane was now scared of two people in Gotham.


Read and Review.

Thanks to my readers. For the one hundred and fifty hits.

Thanks to Night Monkey. For letting me be me.

Any fan art would be greatly appreciated guys!