OOOOOOOOOOOO

Millions of years ago, what is now Gotham County was a vast field of ice. The ice melted and re-froze for millennia, seeping down into the earth's crust and creating massive fissures that, eventually, formed the caverns and cisterns for which Gotham is now famous. The entire city was constructed over a fragile network of hollow stone caves: there are rumors that one powerful earthquake could level the entire metropolis. Selina Kyle, in her preparation to become a masked vigilante, had studied the geological history of the Eastern seaboard, paying particular interest to the network of caves beneath Gotham City. She had always known a home base was necessary to her cause, a starting from point from which she would wage her war on crime. She called this resource the Catacombs.

It was filled with trophies, equipment, vehicles and weapons, each piece either essential to her mission or a reminder as to why it was necessary. From the shadows on the north side of the immense cavern a robotic Saber-tooth tiger stalked in quiet wait. A giant silver dollar sat beside the Cray computer monitor, which hummed in fiber-optic silence. A complete gym and medical facility occupied the lower level of her sanctuary, as well as a well-appointed forensics lab and a garage filled with the vehicles of her trade: a speedboat, a motorcycle, a jet and the Catmobile, all sleek super-powered machines detailed in chrome and dark, vivid purple. In sum, the equipment collected within the depths of the Catacombs represented the most sophisticated methods of crime fighting techniques ever assembled. And all if it had been utterly useless.

Selina sank into the hard-backed chair before the giant Cray monitor, immediately calling up an oft-accessed file. The Joker. The file offered nothing new: pages of crime-scene reports, most of them grisly ritual murders or bizarre acts of violence. A blurry shot of a lithe, green-haired creature in flight down a winding staircase was the only true photographic evidence of what the press had quickly labeled the Clown Princess of Crime. She was a rare creature: a female serial killer. And Selina was determined to track her down.

"How did it go tonight?" a soft, feminine voice asked, echoing in the vast emptiness of the cave.

"It was a waste of time," Selina muttered, punching keys to close the Joker's file. "I would have accomplished more by staying here, but Gordon insisted."

"At least it got you out of the house," Leslie Thompkins pointed out, her plain, almost severe dress blending into the cave's darkness until only her white, shining face and silver hair were visible. She was carrying a tray laden with soup, sandwiches and a vitamin-enriched health shake. The meal, her tone of voice, even the level of lighting in the cave were all carefully preselected, the products of a lifetime spent in study of the healing arts. Years ago, Leslie Thompkins had been one of the most accomplished surgeons in the country and here, in the Catacombs, her skills were put to good use.

"What did Captain Gordon want?" Leslie asked, determined to draw Selina's attention from the monitor as long as possible. Any subject was better than the Joker.

Selina glanced at her friend, sighing in surrender. She stood and began to strip away the layers of Nomex and plastic armor that had been strapped close to her body for over eighteen hours. "There's a new player in town," Selina told Leslie, pulling off Catwoman's mask and massaging her scalp with her fingers. "Some kind of thief. His targets have been incredibly specific. He's hit Commissioner Loeb but left obvious marks like the First Gotham Bank alone."

"And that bothers you?" Leslie asked, accepting each layer of the costume and sorting it into three piles: wash, wear or mend. Most of the Nomex had small rips or even slash marks in it, but the thick Kevlar bodice had protected Selina's chest and back from the worst of the damage. Leslie thought back to the early designs of the Catsuit, bright purple spandex with only the slightest concessions to bullet-proofing, with an air of averted tragedy. They'd come a long way in two years, although Leslie would have happily lived her entire life not knowing the true value of Kevlar.

"It doesn't bother me," Selina replied, slipping into a long, soft bathrobe. "It just makes this new element unpredictable. Eyewitness reports are describing a giant bat. Can you believe that? What is it about this city?" Selina folded herself into the computer chair and began to munch on a tuna sandwich.

Leslie picked up the 'wash' pile, heading back towards the stairs. She turned before she was halfway up. "I've put the dress for tomorrow in your closet." At Selina's blank look, Leslie frowned. "You do remember what tomorrow is, don't you?"

Selina blinked, closed her eyes and shook her head. "I can't, Leslie. I've got a board meeting at 10am and after that I was going to-"

"Selina, you're the maid of honor. And the bride just happens to be one of your very few close friends."

"But Leslie," Selina grinned, rising to her knees and balancing on the chair, "I'm supposed to be wearing pastels. Pink pastels. It's an ethical decision, one any normal person would understand. I can't go."

"You're going," Leslie said firmly, secretly amused by Selina's efforts to charm her way out of her social obligations. Selina frowned, glancing at the open file on the gigantic computer monitor. The Joker beckoned; she could almost hear the clown's insane laughter.

"It's over by nine, right?"

Leslie nodded, satisfied. "I will pick you up at nine o'clock precisely, after which you will be quite free to seek your untimely demise. And now, since you are clearly too exhausted to sleep, I'll leave you to it."

"Leslie?" Selina asked softly, making the older woman pause again in her ascent up the stairs. "Think anyone interesting will be there?"

OOOOOOOOOOO