Chapter 18

Batgirl stood still, her batarang still in hand. Deadshot moved from the rocks toward her, his aim never wavering. Deathstroke stood still, wiping the last bit of Amanda's blood from his blade. She'd heard of Slade Wilson, AKA Deathstroke, from Dick Grayson. He was a mercenary for hire, deadly beyond belief, one with whom he'd fought many times, almost at the cost of his life. Deadshot, real name Floyd Lawton, was a professional assassin. He had met up with Batman before, when he'd been hired to try to assassinate Aquaman. He failed, thanks to Batman, and was picked up in prison by a secret government project. As part of a small task force, they had infiltrated the Justice League's satellite watchtower. She was in over her head.

"Lose the belt. And drop the toy" Deadshot ordered. She tossed her belt and batarang to the dirt. He continued toward her, confidently. "Stay cool lady, we're not supposed to kill you." He was almost at arms length now.

Deathstroke suddenly spoke, "Deadshot, watch out…"

It was too late. Deadshot had relaxed, just a bit, and suddenly found himself flying over Batgirl's shoulder. He landed hard on his back, and sat up just in time to see a yellow boot swing at his face. Deadshot's head snapped to the ground, and he lay still. Batgirl turned to leap to her equipment. Deathstroke met her there, as she anticipated, and she managed to catch him off guard, kicking the blade from his hand. She flipped back, as Deathstroke reached for his sidearm, only to see it missing. Looking up, he saw it in Batgirl's hand. In one motion, he reached to the ground, and let fly the discarded batarang, striking the gun from her hand.

They stood across from each other, motionless for a second. Then Deatstroke spoke:

"You're thinking of running for it. I can assure you that won't work. I'll track you down instantly. You've managed to disarm me, now is the only chance you'll have to take me out without my gun." He lowered himself into a fighting position.

"He's goading me to fight him," she thought. "Somehow, that's what he wants. I don't know if I can beat him…but it looks like it's my best shot."

Without speaking, she leapt with a spinning kick, hoping to catch an early knockout. Slade blocked it easily. She followed with a flurry of jabs and kicks. Her opponent dodged and blocked, almost causally. "He's letting you burn your energy," she told herself, "He knows you must be tired." She backed down slightly, and tried to be more deliberate, selective with her blows. She followed a jab with high kick, only to be thrown from her feet. She rolled and landed in fighting position.

"Interesting," Slade said, his voice sounding quite genuine. "Your style is almost identical to Robin's, yet…more aggressive, and more prone to risky maneuvers. You're a fearless fighter. This should be a great test for me."

Who was she kidding? Robin was never able to completely beat this guy hand to hand, did she expect better? She needed an edge back. Careful not to look, she feigned one direction, and then shot to her utility belt, still lying in the dirt. With a roll, she clutched it. But as she stood up with belt in hand, an object shot by, stripping it out of her grasp. She turned to see a dagger pinning her tools to a tree. So Deathstroke had a few weapons in reserve after all. He'd been testing her, why, for his own amusement?

She turned, with a look of disgust on her face. "I don't like being played with." Her words were ice. But she could almost detect a smile under his mask. She lunged at him, striking harder, more viciously. Deathstroke laughed, but suddenly cried out in pain, leaping back and grabbing his left shoulder, just below his neck. He slowly removed his hand, gripping a tiny empty syringe.

"I had a few things up my sleeve as well," Batgirl said, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she pulled her gloves tight.

Slade fell to one knee. "Got…under my armor…amazing." He lay on his shoulder, head drooping. "I imagine…you often win…when your opponent underestimates you."

Batgirl approached her fallen opponent, pretending to sound offended, "Can't give me credit can you? Well it's what you get for teasing a woman." She stood over him, looking triumphant. After two days of bad luck, she was ready to gloat over making her own break this time.

"Ironic…in two ways….one…I pride myself…on never underestimating…anyone."

"And two?"

Suddenly, he leg swept her, knocking her off her feet. In one motion, he struck her temple, and she fell into blackness.

"You underestimated me."

Not really fair, he thought. She couldn't have known he had been injected with sedatives so many times over the course of his career, he'd developed a degree of immunity to them. A larger dose might still have worked, or at least knocked him woozy. As it was, it had merely made his shoulder numb. He swung his arm in circles several times, trying to speed the flow of blood. He turned to retrieve her belt, unsure what he would do with it, having observed silently the tiger woman's frustration. But his employer would surely be interested.

But when he looked to the tree he had pinned it too, it was gone. He turned, unsurprised to see a dark figure under the shade of the trees.

"Ah, perfect timing. After the fine showing by your students, I'm eager to face the master."


The night fog coated Gotham city like a blanket. A menacing, dark mist of a blanket. But it hopefully provided some cover. Bounding from across a rooftop to finally, reach her destination, Selina stopped to catch her breath. She peered through the window glass as rain pelted her from behind. Her pale white skin peered at her from under her mask through the reflection, revealing the stress of the past day. She she'd crossed the line this time, and she was going to get the treatment normally reserved for the Penguin, or even the Joker. They were looking hard, she knew it was only a matter of time before they found her, either the Batman, or perhaps Gotham police this time. She didn't have much time left to make her point. Best be prepared to make the most of it. After carefully scanning the rooftops to see if she had been followed, she lifted the glass, and silently slid through. The warehouse stunk with the smells of cat urine, feces, coughed up blood and spit. Bounding down from the upper rafters, she landed deftly on the concrete floor. At her feet were cats, or what was left of them. Many simply lay there, close to dying, fur falling out, eyes bleeding with infection. She kneeled down and petted one gingerly.

"You! Let me go you witch!"

She looked up to see a blonde haired woman of just over thirty, though she could pass for her late twenties, even disheveled and stressed as she appeared. She wore an expensive blue fur robe, and her hands were tied over her head against a warehouse pillar. Diseased, dying cats crept in circles at her feet, rubbing against her bare ankles.

Selina glared furiously at her. "I'd hoped some time with the hard reality of your actions would have softened you up a bit. But you don't get it do you? These cats suffered under experiments at your company. On experiments you signed off on. All to find a way to make your overpriced crap products cheaper!"

The woman's eyes narrowed defiantly, "You're insane, you know that? If you think these cats look bad, you should see what you'll look like when I'm through with you! Or when my lawyers are through with you! You'll be sent to the worst prison you can imagine! For the rest of your life! You crazy-argh!!"

A one eyed, deformed, mostly hairless brown cat was intently rubbing against her in a pathetic display of affection. "Get off of me you rat!" She kicked the cat across the room. It smacked hard against an unmarked wooden crate and fell on its side, where it lay motionless.

Selina shot a sustained, pitchfork sharp glare at the woman, unable to do anything but seeth for several seconds. The woman smiled. "Oh please, I probably put it out of its misery, don't you think…wait, what are you…doing?" Selina was holding her gloved, open hand before her face. Each finger was tipped with a claw that gleamed under the moonlight that shown through the warehouse windows.

The color drained from her face, her blue eyes wide beneath her tangled blond locks. "Listen…maybe I could pay you, make a donation…"

The claws dug into her shoulder, tearing her robe and the flesh beneath it. She screamed. The shock of pain seemed to unhinge her. Fear replaced irrational rage. She cursed Selina.

"Now you're dead b! I'll have them hunt you down! You'll never forget me! You won't recognize your own face in the mirror after I-AAIIIIIIEEEE!!!!"

The searing pain of sharpened steel slicing into her skin ran across her face, cheek to cheek.

Catwoman picked up a loose, flat steel tile to show the dim reflection of her face to the woman. Her wide, trembling eyes beheld a face with four parallel, bleeding cuts across her face.

"Don't you like it? Your own set of whiskers!"

It was then she heard his voice.

No, not him. Not now

She turned to see his figure emerge from the doorway, having arrived just too late to stop her, but just soon enough to see what she had done.

Beneath his cowled face, his mouth set hard, holding back a barely contained rage. But his eyes said more. Those eyes…so long she had tried to keep this side of her from his eyes. Though a thief, she had led him to believe she wouldn't harm anyone. That at least there, they had something in common. But she had unleashed her rage, shown him how cruel she could really be. She had crossed the line.

She couldn't move for what seemed like hours. And all the time he just stood there, those eyes, those eyes with the passion, the determination of a lion, the eyes that had compelled her to seek him out the first night he interfered with one of her robberies, now spoke nothing but righteous anger to her.

Finally she moved to speak, but stopped when she realized she was unmasked. In fact her suit was gone. She was naked before him…no…she was covered in fur. She lifted a hand, still covered in blood, but the claw was no longer steel, but was an extension of her body.

Those eyes…

Suddenly a blind rage engulfed her. She leapt wildly at him, flailing her claws. She had to make those eyes go away. They tore, ripped, shredded the figure away as all else seemed to melt around her. But the eyes still stared at her, seeming to pierce further and further into her soul, boiling her, causing the rage to rise out of her like dross.

She shouted in between primal screams. She shouted about never being good enough, about not his not accepting her, about his self righteous attitude, believing herself less and less, her rage only rising.

Suddenly only the eyes remained. But they no longer were Batman's. They were amber, feline eyes. Large, they held the same spirit and passion of Batman's. But the rage seemed subsided. The hate drained out of her, she stopped her attack. She searched the eyes. Somehow, deep behind them, there was something else. It was pain, and loneliness. A deep, unbearable loneliness.

"Tygrus."

He was there, towering over her, his size overwhelming her. Her body went limp, she could not move. He moved closer, his mouth seemed to move in to kiss her. But suddenly she felt engulfed in darkness. Looking down, she saw that Tygrus was devouring her. She seemed to be hanging in space, and below her feet, past the closing jaws she saw Gotham Batman. She blinked, and in place of Batman was Bruce Wayne. He was reaching…but she was being pulled in. The jaws closed…

Catwoman opened her eyes. She heard a splash to her right, and she turned her head, her eyes focusing as she saw Dorothy bathing, right at the fork in the river. Through the trees, the eastern light leaked through, signaling the rising dawn.

She felt cold, and she realized she was wet with the morning dew. She moved to all fours, the moist, grass covered ground giving slightly under her weight. She shook the moisture from her fur.

Selina curled into a crouching position. The dream was slowly coming back to her. Old memories. She hadn't attacked him, she had run. She couldn't bear the shame. She looked at her padded, animalistic hands. She had worried about her losing her mind to some animal instinct, that she was becoming a feral beast. But it wasn't Dorian's serum that had made her attack the woman. That was her; at her worst, her rawest…her truest. She buried her face in her hands. Cure or no cure, she could never escape that side of her. Because it was her. Batman, even after that, he believed in her. He had reached out to her, even just before they left. But even with those eyes, he couldn't see deep enough to realize the truth about her. As she sat there, Dorothy continued to bath in the pool, and began to sing a song, sounding positively giddy, her voice resounding with the soft sounds of the forest morning, almost mocking her with their ring of innocence.