Hello again. There has been some time now since my last one. The year has offered changes to my life, and sadly it meant that I have not been able to write a couple of more of this stories. So, for the end of this year I give you my last offering. And something new it is: a two-parter, were I expect to publish the other half somewhere in the beginning of the next year.

Therefore, take care of yourselfs and I will try to write you some more stories of this fashion.

Bruce Wayne and other characters belongs to DC COMICS.

1.

Above him the black shape descended down from the void. A darkly levitating mass that gradually engulfed the space over his head. No longer could he see its borders, no longer was it clear that it could be anything but haunting. Absorbing the light, the shape turned wide as he stared. And out of it extended arms. But not arms. Wings. There were wings. And the black mass in-between controlled their movements. The shape that no longer appeared formless. There were horns turning out in the void. Horns belonging to what should be a head. It was dark but he could see it: it had a face. And it had fangs dangling from it…

His body convulsed. And opening his eyes, Bruce struggled to see. But there was no foreboding mass slowly descending from above. There was only a roof. And clamming his hands into the sheet beneath nothing seemed abnormal. Pushing the body upwards he looked around the room. The area had only one occupant: relaxing the grip on the sheet his heartbeat began its return to normal speed.

Sitting on the bed he placed one hand upon the face and rubbed it gently. Turning the hand up against the forehead made it to stop abruptly. There the palm was covered by the thin layer of tepid transpiration. Holding it out to inspect the tiny beads of sweat he closed his eyes to breath in before wiping the hand clean against the bedclothes. Breathing out, Bruce swung his legs over the edge of the bed and left for the bathroom.

Filling the palm with cold water from the tap he splashed the face two times. And allowing the liquid to drop down over the sink his eyes fixed themselves at the reflection in the mirror. There the face was pale, the eyes red and his ebony hair in tangles. A sight which made him shut his eyes before turning of the facet. Grabbing a towel to dry off, he would glance back at the reflection without much anticipation. His face clean, he picked up a comb and made himself more presentable before leaving the room.

Going for the kitchen he stopped at the refrigerator. Open it showed a well-stocked inside yet nothing was taken from it. Instead, Bruce shut the door and walked over to the big window at the very end of the kitchen.

Outside the landscape of Gotham stretched itself wide as a high sun burned its very surface. The great ball had covered the body of bricks, concrete and steel for a long fortnight by now and not a sign had been read that showed if it would release its grip any time soon. With no hope to cling on, the populace had taken cover from the heat by going underground. At a distance a lonely pool on a roof terrace gave proof of this assertion: by day left to its own devices, by night the centre of attention. Now it was nothing but a pot of boiling water, slowly evaporating into the red sky.

Turning away from the window he looked back at the refrigerator. Looking at it for while the tip of his tongue finally touched a corner of his lip. And sighing contemplative he left the window and walked back to the bedroom. Putting on an Italian linen shirt to go with the linen trousers he had on, his feet was dropped into a pair of brown derbies and now fully attired his steps directed him out of the bedroom and towards the private elevator.

2.

Pulling up to the curb and turning the ignition off, he sat there listening to the engine of the Mercedes SLK cooling down a minimum in the surrounding heat.

Across the street a couple of children spent their extended summer leave by kicking a ball over the pavement. For the moment the troupe had reached an intense phase in the game: fighting furiously over the control of the ball, the teams made their battle known for the street. And especially for the proprietor of the minimarket where outside of its wall the struggle went on. Yet the man had difficulties twice fold – first the children making a commotion next to his store; the second issue was a shadowy figure looming at the fruit stands next to the entrance.

A thinly dark shadow that despite the weather clamoured on the black leather jacket and jeans outfit. Standing a few paces away from the nearest stand under the pretext of seeking shade beneath the window marque, she did not seem particularly worthy of attention. But as the children played on, the store owner kept glancing over his shoulder to the figure beneath the marque. His attention span was however cut short when suddenly a missed penalty shot hit a stand containing faded newspapers. This unintentional attack on his property forced the owner to let go of everything else and issue a counteroffensive against the young army. Rushing against them, arms raise and with shouting voice he tried to make himself as threating as possible.

His back turned allowed another possibility: beneath the marque there was movement. Quick footsteps that brought her over to the fruit stand and there speedily expediting herself with a small collection fruit. Turning her back against the owner, she left by casually walking away in the opposite direction.

Having reached success with the counterattack, the owner was able to return to his other source of interest. Seeing only that she already had left the area, he appeared disappointed as his steps took him to the fruit stand now lacking some of its inventory.

In the increasingly stuffy cabin of the Mercedes, Bruce kept his eyes locked at the scene. As the storeowner made attempts at ascertain what had disappeared from the stand, his eyes wandered down the street towards the ever-shrinking figure in the leather jacket.

Tapping fingers against the steering wheel he shut his eyes and breathed in deeply. Letting it go with a sigh, one hand went for the car door. Stepping out on the hot tarmac he looked down the road for another time before crossing the street.

Approaching the store owner, he stopped next to the stand and asked:

"Is there any trouble?"

Looking back at him with a crinkled brow and moist forehead the answer was:

"Goddam right there is trouble. Just look away for one second and they get you – holy hell!" His fists went down against the side of the stand hard. "I knew she would – I really did. Just one second and it's all over. Goddamit…"

"Yes… I think I saw it."

"You did?"

"I had just parked when I saw it. Did she take some apples or what?"

"Three apples and a pear. They're quick – too quick for an old boot like me. And they take advantage of it! Goddam… If I only get my hands on her—''

"Are you going to call the police?"

"Police? Goddam cops… They only make a move when their toes get stepped on. Or if you slip them a fifty. Call the police, holy hell!"

"How much did she take?"

"I told you – three apples and—''

"I mean, financially speaking."

"What? Oh… About two dollars."

Nodding shortly Bruce brought forward his wallet and slipped a twenty dollar note out of it. Holding it between two fingers he held it out towards the man and said: "Would this be enough for peace of mind?"

In front the store owner glanced at the note.

Then quickly looked around him.

"Is this Candid Camera?"

"No. Only what I said – for peace of mind."

"Peace of mind?"

"Yes. Things like this is too tiresome in weather like this. Would you not agree…?"

Giving it some thought, the man finally grabbed the note out of his fingertips.

"Thank you, mister. And bless your heart…"

Nodding once more at the man, Bruce turned to speedily cross the street back to the Mercedes.

3.

Passing the corner of the block he could see her figure at a distance. Despite the fact there had been ample time to disappear into alleyways, she kept herself to the pavement. Being alone also helped: not another soul could be seen at either side of the street. And with only a couple parked cars at the curbs, Bruce's Mercedes shared the concrete environment with her.

Driving causally, he started to move up beside her. Glancing through the window it was not expected that some kind of reaction would interject. As her steps brought her forward, the car did in time pass the common line both had and it begun to move further ahead. Giving it some gas, he went down a hundred yards in front of her before driving up the curb. Shutting of the engine to wait his eyes rested towards sideview mirror watching her gradually arrival.

There was no hurry; she kept a calm pace.

Breathing in the conditioned air, Bruce closed his eyes. And breathing out, he looked at the mirror again and saw nothing. Just empty street. Staring at it his body twitched. Closing the eyes once more showed no alteration: nothing was reflected in the mirror. Twitching some more in the seat he turned to look over the shoulder but was cut short when the passenger door was pulled open. Slipping in without a remark she parked herself on the seat. Shutting the door, her hand made an apple magical appear. And after biting a large chunk out of it, she offered the words: "What do you want?"

Keeping his hands steady against the steering wheel he gave no answer at first.

Then finally retorted: "Watching your handywork."

She smiled crookedly.

"That'll cost ya' ten."

He glanced away as she took another bite of the apple. The fingers still clamped around the wheel he asked without looking at her: "Is it not too hot to be that courageous?"

"What?"

"To steal right in front of shopkeepers."

She grunted back: "He can afford it."

"How would you know?"

"He's got a lot of apples."

"And that is your excuse?"

She looked at him.

"You've got a lot of dough – you lose some and it won't make any difference.

He grunted: "You can never take these things seriously."

"So, what's the fucking deal here then?"

"That you stole from a poor shopkeeper."

"And that has never stopped you before…"

Looking at her Bruce went: "Do you want to get into trouble?"

"Are you gonna bump me off at the cops?".

She laughed. Crisp and sharp it cut through the stagnating air of the Mercedes hitting his ear. The sound made him clasp harder around the steering wheel. The laughter then mercifully died out when her attention was turned against another bite of the apple. Leaning back in the seat she put up her feet on the dashboard and rested them there to his dismay. Glancing at them Bruce withheld a sigh. And justled to asked:

"Do you want to be dropped off somewhere?"

"Are you going somewhere?"

"I was about too… But I got sidetracked."

"I'm not stopping you."

"True, true…"

He reached for the ignition. As the sound of the air conditioner filled the cabin, the passenger turned to Bruce and asked mouth full of apple: "Where you going?" To which he answered with a shrug: "Somewhere", before putting the car into gear.

4.

Parking neatly beside the curb Selina looked out of the window of her side to watch the large sign on the wall next to the pavement. HARTLEY&BURNS. Beneath it the top ends of arched windows extended from behind gated passageway leading down underground. Returning to the driver, Selina asked: "What's this?"

"It is a shop."

"A what?"

"You can buy fine liquor there. And other beverages…"

"Cost you much?"

Ignoring that he pulled the keys out of the ignition. Going for the door his hand reached it the same moment that the passenger tried another detour: "A gas station will cost you less. And he ignored that too. Instead, he stepped out of the car shutting the door in her face and directed his steps towards the establishment beneath the surface of the street.

Down there the walls were covered with shelfs of light wood holding up an assortment of liquors and beverages in glistering bottles. Two tables in front of the counter were equally filled of the same inventory, and Bruce walked calmy between them stopping next to the cash register.

There a blonde shop assistant in her early twenties perked up at his arrival. Not needing to ask the behaviour showed that he had been had; being recognized did not necessarily mean too much obtrusion, but could offer an obstacle. Smiling gently at her Bruce said:

"Good afternoon."

Appearing ever so pleasant towards the most eligible bachelor in town, the shop assistant gave off smile tilting her head.

"Good day, sir. How can I help you?"

"I would like a bottle Villehardouin, please."

Her answer was: "Just a moment", and turned to a flat computer screen beside the register. As she pressed some buttons, Bruce glance at the small stand of different seasoned bottles of pocket-sized vodka next on the counter. Looking up from the screen the girl went: "We have two left in stock, sir. How many would you like to have?"

"Oh, I can take both. As long it will not cause any issues…"

She shook her head.

"Not at all, sir. We will be happy to oblige."

Smiling ever so pleasantly Bruce returned it with more restrain. And yet it became strained as her eyes were projected at something behind his back. Glancing over the shoulder the source of the sudden change came to light: drifting around the shorter shelf beneath the high windows was Selina. Not taking much interest over what happened at the counter she looked at the bottles containing fine brandy with repressed bemusement.

Next to the cash register the shop assistant tried her best at not showing discontent over the strangers unwanted appearance; the worn clothing and unkempt head offered enough warning bells. And being aware which difficulties it could bring, Bruce attempted to steer off the shop assistant myopic attention path by saying: "In that case I will happy to have them."

For a moment the girl appeared unaware of what he meant.

Then his reason for being there made a hasty return.

"Oh. Yes. They are in our stockroom. It'll just take a minute to get them…"

Attempting to thank her for the consideration his grateful words went unsaid since two other customers walked in from the street. A pair of suntanned youth not older than twenty-five entered and made their way over to the counter. Stepping aside to let them speak with the girl, Bruce slipped over the nearest table to wait for his order. Leaning across the counter the tallest of the youths, a fair headed young man with a Lacoste-shirt and Levi's presented a collection of bleached white teeth to the girl and said: "Hiya, Karen. Long time no see…"

Behind the counter the shop assistant giggled.

"Come on, Todd. It was just the other day."

"All too long, baby", Todd answered. And showing of the set of perfect teeth again asked: "Need to bring back more fuel to the yacht. Can you help me with that?"

Karen nodded.

"Sure. What do you want?"

Turning to his friend Todd went: "What was it called, Ryan?"

The friend, a curly haired man wearing Ralph Lauren polo-shirt and baggy linen trousers eyeing the stand of vodka bottles, grunted back: "Harryson Gin."

"That's it. And let me see…"

At the table Bruce began to drift to its other end not wanting to overhear more of the youths prolonged order and approached the only other customer in the store. Following her eyeline it became obvious that her attention was locked at the different price labels fastened underneath each section of bottles on the shelf. And without looking at him she spoke out: "A hundred for a bottle of booze?"

Not being surprise over the sudden comment allowed him to counter with: "It is made in France. Hence the cost."

Looking over the shoulder at him the answer to it was:

"You gonna spend a fuckin' fortune here just to get drunk?"

Groaning inwards Bruce looked away. At the counter the taller of the youths fired off a high laugh which the girl responded with a pronounced chuckle. "Just give me a minute", she said and turned around to get the orders from the back of the shop. Having turned she was unable to see when the tall youth gave his friend a quick elbow, and with the signal given the curly headed one grabbed a bottle of the pocket-sized vodkas from the stand, putting it out of view inside the pocket of his baggy trousers. Returning within the minute the girl placed all orders on the counter with a wide smile projected against the boys across it. "There you go. Anything else I can help you with?"

Todd shook his head.

"It'll be enough, darling. What will it cost me?"

"Two-hundred and eighty-seven."

Without hesitation he pulled out a shiny credit card and dragged it over the display next to the register. "There you go, baby. Take care now. And I'll see you soon again."

Matching his smile with her own, the girl shimmered as the boys turned to leave the store. As they headed for the exit there appeared an obstacle in their route: at the very end of the table Selina offered them the stern exclamation: "Hey, shithead!"

Stopping them in their track both youths looked at her with a shared expression of confusion.

"E-excuse me…?", Todd finally managed to uttered.

"Put it back", she said. "Put it back now."

"Put what back?"

"The fuckin' bottle you took."

Glancing awkwardly at each other, Todd and Ryan searched the locale for support. And they found it behind the counter. There the shop assistant had already taken an offensive stance towards the unwanted visitor's verbal accusation, and as an employee have motivation to safe-guard the integrity of paying customers, begun her rebuttal with: "Miss. Be kind and do not disturb the customers."

Turning over her shoulder, Selina asked Bruce:

"Well?"

But he did not offer any affirmation.

Instead, Todd was quick to say: "Hey, mister. You better keep your bitch on leach."

And Ryan went: "Yeah. You better make sure she don't come around accusing people from stealing."

"Put it back – NOW!", was her red-faced answer.

Over at the counter, the shop assistant yelled: "Miss. Don't give me a reason to call the police!"

Selina stared down the aisle at her. The hot complexion of her face had turned a notch warmer. And the change of the attention allowed her previous source of interest to make an excursion against the exit. Being safely out of close proximity of their accuser, Todd turned his head towards the girl behind the counter and said out loudly: "Better do that, Karen. Otherwise, she'll crash the place!"

It was enough of a reason: Selina duly grabbed a bottle of one-hundred dollars' worth of fine brandy and brought it up in the air to be projected at the tall youth. But in the millisecond before the throw her wrist was caught in a tight grip. Turning to shake off Bruce's fingers, the attempt failed as it stayed firm giving the youths ample time to make their escape laughing. Their gracious retreat ringing in her ears made the bottle stay lifted. And as the muscles of the wrist tightened to the very end of what the human body could do, her jailer shook his head slowly to say: "Do not do it."

Her voice was nothing but a thin noise:

"Let go."

"You let it go", he retorted equally low.

She looked at him bluntly.

And said beneath her breath:

"Fucking hero you are…"

Almost breaking her arm, he grabbed the bottle with his free hand and jerked it out of her grip.

There was a pause. Then she turned and headed for the door. As it slammed shut Bruce found himself standing with the bottle of brandy alone. Until the creaking of the door went silent did he return it to its rightful shelf. Turning against the counter he walked down between the tables towards it. There the shop assistant stood nervously awaiting the reproach from the previous situation. Yet, Bruce only brought forward his wallet and asked calmy: "How much do I owe you?"

Behind the counter the girl went: "I am so sorry, mister Way— I mean, sir. I should've called the police. I should've—"

He shook his head.

"Does not matter now. Just water under the bridge…"

"But I'm so thankful that you stopped her. I mean, who knows what damage she would cause. Or steal for that matter…"

Glancing towards the stand of vodka bottles his eyes blinked.

"…She probably had something stuffed under her jacket. Goddam nuisance."

Lifting a hand Bruce returned to his previous question:

"How much do I owe you?"

"What? Oh…", and she looked down on the screen. "Two-hundred and fourteen dollars."

Bringing forth the credit card his eyes returned to stand next to the register. Paying what was owned, the girl proceeded pack his order inside a paper bag with the shop's name on it. And as she was about the hand it over to him Bruce said: "I will take two of those", and pointed at the collection of vodka bottles.

"What flavour do you want?"

He shrugged: "Any of them…"

To which the girl smiled and took two at random from the stand.

5.

Reaching the pavement outside he stopped to overlook the street. Life around had begun to take on a different shape: more souls could be seen than what had been possible before he entered the shop. The setting sun meant a change of air, and therefore a better chance to live as usual in the more hospitable environment the evening would bring. Breathing in deeply he looked back to the Mercedes.

She sat there.

More than enough time had passed since his time spent at the counter. And yet she had made her way back into the car. Common sense declared however that asking for reasons would be to no avail; he could only groan silently in response.

Walking over to the car, he opened the door and placed himself in the driver's seat. Turning the bag over in-between the seat a quick hand suddenly sprung out. With an equal fast glance Selinas eyes surveyed the content of the bag before letting it go with the exclamation: "My fuckin' hero." And proceeded to clapped her hands in an ironic fashion.

6.

Nothing much was said during the ride back to the Wayne-building or inside the elevator during the journey upward to the penthouse. Inside the lift they occupied a corner each as it reached its destination with a soft bump. Stepping out their silence continued when heading for the kitchen. While Bruce went for the refrigerator, Selina walked over to the basin and twisted her head beneath the tap. Turning the handle her face covered by cold water for a moment before she put her mouth close to the beam to drink.

Having placed the other bottle of Villehardouin in cold storage Bruce eyed her and the splashes of water hitting the floor. Grabbing a bottle opener, he removed the bottlecap before venturing to say: "You should not waste water like that."

Removing her head from the tap she glanced at him.

"Are you gonna call me out for stealing water now?"

He did not respond. Only put away the opener and turned to walk out of the kitchen. Passing the large one and half story high sitting room, he directed himself towards the stretch of French windows across the opposite wall. Pulling it to the side Bruce stood still to accustom his senses to stagnant air outside in comparison to the air-conditioned atmosphere of the penthouse. And with one quick breath he stepped out onto the roof deck.

Sipping the Villehardouin he passed the swimming pool, looking over its heavy plastic cover not seeing any traces of birdlike intrusions, until walking forward to rest his arms against the balustrade at the end of the deck.

There at the horizon the sun had begun to set. Nothing more than a thin arch stretched itself over it, giving no more light except for a narrow red line between land and sky. Over the water some ships moved slowly to port, breaking the light that waned. Something similar to a breeze could be sensed without it giving to much relief. Across the neighbouring rooftops signs of life had started to show: pulling their heads out of the ground people were about enjoy the more agreeable evening air. Barbicoues and waterholes was being prepared for the night's relaxation; somewhere a distant media player provided an appropriate soundtrack. Everything was coming back to life and Bruce sipped a little more of the drink.

"How can you drink this stuff…"

Not being surprised he turned over the shoulder to answer:

"Because it tastes good."

She shrugged. And held up the other bottle of Villehardouin to her lips. Taking a large hit of the content she said sourly: "Even if it tastes like shit?"

He gave no reply. Only withheld a sigh watching her take another hit of the other of the two bottles left in the city bearing the same make. And sipping some more of the disgusting beverage walked over to the part of the balustrade he was standing. Leaning forward against it she turned the attention outward to the approaching night. Standing there together no words was exchanged between them, together they sipped of the bottles and being silent everything passed before them as the darkness crept closer over them.

Finally, Selina asked: "Where's Alfred?"

"Up north. In the mountains."

"Huh?"

"It is much cooler there."

"So, he went there?"

"He did."

"Couldn't he stay here? You got a fuckin' AC indoors."

"Fair point", he said. "But he is in need of a holiday."

"What for? He just takes care of you – that can't be too hard."

"You know why…", Bruce retorted. "Besides, he is not a young man anymore. The older you get summer heat like this will affect you much more."

"He's gettin' old, isn't he?"

Bruce looked down at the bottle in front.

And she ventured on with: "How old is he?"

"It would be unkind to say."

"That old? I get it… He won't be along forever."

Clasping his fingers against the concrete he turned to look at her bluntly.

"That is… unkind to say."

She shrugged.

"I'll beat him to grave long before that."

"What do you mean?

"The truth. I know it. I'll kick it sooner or later. When Alfred does it, he'll have a nice stone at churchyard, with flowers and shit. And you'll get there every other day to mope. I'll rot away in some dumpster out of reach from the fuckin' dogs."

He gulped: "T-the dogs?"

"Where I come from, they'll start eating you before the last breath."

She poured the last of the Villehardouin down the throat and pushed the bottle away with a jerk. "Fucking animals…"

"I-I do not think it will happen to you."

"Come on – cut the bullshit. You know it. I'll get no headstone somebody can cry over. There'll be nothing. And a day later there'll be just like I never was. I got that long ago…"

"Do you not think I will remember you?"

She shook her head.

"Forget it. A week and you'll found some new gutter trash to fuck."

He braced himself. Looking back at the bottle in front his search for words went stagnant; struggling with it, his face was hit by the tepid breeze from the sea. Next to him, Selina pushed herself up on the balustrade and with the legs dangling on the inside turned to Bruce to say:

"Don't cry about it. That's how it is. Nobody gives a shit about me…"

"I care about you."

"Maybe. But not enough. You showed that."

"That has nothing to do with this."

"It does, shithead. You say you care about me, and still you'll let those assholes make a fool outta me. Yeah, that's very caring of you…"

"Selina, that is not fair—"

Holding out his arm to grab hers, she rejected his advance with a violent jerk of the body. And it was good enough to allow her to fall backwards against the distant street twenty stories down.

Everything went fast: Bruce launched forward to grab her leg and the end of the leather jacket. For a brief yet eternal moment she hung angled against the abyss. A moment which was cut when he jerked her body over the wall, making her land standing up in front of him.

There they stood silent: Selina showing no effect of the experience, while Bruce's breathing struggled to return to normal. His hand still gripped her arm, and it was firm. Beneath the leather her thin arm started to convulse its muscles. In time the arm begun to pull. And as she fought to regain ownership of her arm its captor did not respond; only when a punch with the free arm was offered did his sense reappear. Quickly grabbing her other arm, he held the limbs tightly as she exclaimed: "Let me go you fuck!"

"Selina…"

"Let me go!"

"Selina, please…"

She stopped. Upon her face the complexion had turned reddish. Beneath it the breathing was strained. But she did her best at trying to control herself. Letting him still hold the other arm she asked the question: "Why did you…"

"Selina…"

"Why did you do it?"

"I-I saved you."

"Whatta fuck for?!"

"Selina, I had to—"

"I don't need to be saved."

"I had to do it!"

She tilted her head.

"Save me like you did in the liquor store…?"

His grip on the armed turned tighter.

"That… That is… It has nothing to do with this."

"Yeah? My life is worth shit and you think it worth saving. But letting some rich fuckheads to screw me over you don't find worth saving." And making another attempt to yank the arm away she continued: "I don't need a hero like you – fucking coward!"

The two last words was screamed at him with such gale that her twitching of the body made him let go of the arm. A sudden action which made her go backwards in full speed, making her reach the edge of the swimming pool and over it. Falling over the protective tarp she splashed violently as is it engulfed her body. Briefly it had enough buoyance to hold her close to the surface until her desperate movements made it all to begin to sink.

There was silence.

Then he stepped over to the edge of the pool. Enlighted underneath the surface by hidden spotlights a shape had formed around it. A broad, wing-shaped creatures, which arms extended far from its body. Moving through, the water it first appeared to claw its way towards him. And standing there by the edge he was frozen.

Then he blinked and jumped in.

Making his way down he had to push forward against flaps of the protective covering, diving deeper and deeper down. Reaching the slowly moving mass on the bottom of the pool he grabbed it with both arms and returned to the surface. Breaking it, Bruce breathed in heavily going for the edge of the pool. There he pushed the load onto the deck and struggled up after her. Laying there he pressed one arm down to hoist the body up to look.

Coughing out loudly the water that had passed into her lungs, Selina jerked back-and-forth. As the last water went out, her body stopped moving. And for a while nothing was said. Letting more of the pools content to drip off, Bruce stretched an arm out to touch her. Landing on her arm it was immediately flung back at him. With her body shaking Selina sat up and look at him. Her body still dripping wet and the eyes bloodshot; Bruce could only look back at her with anxiety. And she read the expression all to clearly, saying: "Hero my ass…"

Standing up on shaky legs Bruce tried to grab her leg but she kicked it away.

"Selina, I—"

But there was no time.

She left the pool and headed indoors. Seeing her disappear Bruce struggled to get up and go after her. Yet it was all too late: inside the corridor he was only met by the changing dial of the private elevator going down.