When Jay woke up that morning, he stared blankly at the ceiling for a while. The persistent throb in his side was a constant reminder: he was too squishy.
Damn it, trial-version system.
He decided to open a "blind box" on his character card. Who knows? Maybe he'd pull a 'Man of Steel' trait.
The success rate of gacha was always a gamble, but he spent a few minutes studying his newly acquired skill.
[Infinite Vitality: Your mastery of "chi" has reached the level of "Barely Scratching the Surface"]
[Upgrade Task: Deep Breathing 0/1000]
[Task Requirement: Focus / Tranquility]
*[Complete all tasks to increase skill level]
*[You feel the flow of Chi between each breath]
*[Your constitution has received a "slight" improvement]
*[Your injury recovery speed has increased "marginally"]
*[Keep breathing and don't stop; you'll live to be a hundred]
Marginally? He reached out and poked the bruise on his stomach, which had now turned a deep shade of blackish-purple.
"Aaaaaagh!! Aaaah!"
Not a bit better! And now he was late for work.
He scrambled downstairs, hopped in his car, and engaged in the local tradition of cutting people off and trading insults all the way to the station.
As he stepped into the lobby, he found a massive crowd gathered around. Even the Commissioner was there, looking like he had a massive headache.
Oh? Drama first thing in the morning?
Shamelessly ignoring his colleagues' complaints, he shoved his way to the front row.
Inside the conference room, someone was shouting furiously: "Attacking the question-giver because you can't solve the riddle? This is… the most wretched manifestation of anti-intellectualism!"
Jay craned his neck to see.
Suddenly, bang!
The door flew open and Nygma stormed out. His pale face was flushed red, his chest heaving, and his gold-rimmed glasses were crooked on his nose. A figure chased after him.
"Mr. Nygma! Please calm down, we are simply conducting an analysis!"
The speaker was a young woman, maybe twenty-four or twenty-five.
She had delicate features, bright blue eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses, and shimmering platinum-blonde hair tied in a tight bun. She wore a white doctor's coat over slacks and black mid-heel leather boots.
"I am not questioning your logic puzzles, Mr. Nygma. Quite the opposite—I believe your IQ is far beyond the norm!" The doctor raised her voice.
"But it is precisely this high intelligence that may be masking certain patterns in your social interactions! Your obsession with communicating through complex riddles is a defense mechanism—a classic symptom of Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder!"
Jay didn't catch the long string of theory, but the words "Personality Disorder" rang out loud and clear.
Shut up! Shut up right now!
He had finally managed to get Nygma stable. If this woman kept talking, Nygma would be wearing green spandex by dinner time.
He looked at Nygma; the forensics tech's face was so red it looked like it might bleed. His eyes were wide behind his lenses.
"Personality disorder?? You say I… you say I…"
"Hey! Hey! Ed? Ed!"
Jay grabbed Nygma's arm and pulled him back.
"Ed, relax. We all know there's nothing wrong with you." He turned his back to the woman and jerked his thumb toward her, whispering:
"You know how many quacks there are these days? A lady doctor, probably read two books and memorized a few terms. Don't let it get to you…"
"Captain, you do realize I can hear you even when you whisper with that voice of yours?"
The doctor interrupted him. Jay turned around with an awkward grin.
"You know I was just… lightning the mood. Look, if there's an academic dispute, we can discuss it calmly. No need for labels, right?" He put on his best smile and extended a hand. "East Precinct Captain Jay Lee. You can call me Jay."
The doctor tilted her head up, offering a professional, proud smile as she reached out.
"Harleen Quinzel. Gotham University Psychology…"
Holy shit!
The realization hit him like a freight train.
Before their hands touched, Jay performed a reflexive back-step worthy of an Olympic fencer, instinctively shoving Nygma in front of him like a human shield.
"Captain, you seem… afraid of me?"
"No, no… definitely not. Uh…"
Jay knew he'd overreacted, but he felt like a giant mallet was about to swing at his head any second. Or maybe a baseball bat…
"Uh… is it Friday already? I mean, let's not sweat the small stuff… Anna!"
"Here, sir!"
"Quick, accompany Dr. Quinzel to the lounge. We'll arrange for officers to go in for their consultations immediately."
He shoved through the crowd to Bob. "Chief, can you tell that broad to stop wandering around?"
"What is wrong with you?" Bob pulled him aside. "A beautiful, wealthy, educated girl—I thought you two might have a 'connection,' and you're hiding from her? Are all you Asians this dense, or is it just you? Wait…"
Bob looked at Jay with sudden suspicion. "Wait, Jay… you aren't gay, are you?"
"Of course not! I just…"
He sighed deeply. Honestly, Quinzel was top-tier in looks and brains, but her future was… legendary. If he got involved with her, he'd be worried she'd murder him one day to prove her "independence" or "devotion" to some clown.
If I had Superman's skin, would I be afraid? Hell no! I'd date them all!
"Just what?"
"Like I said, I only have a high school diploma. Intimidated."
"Bullshit, diplomas don't mean a thing in Gotham." Bob sighed. "Whatever. Even if you are gay, your colleagues won't discriminate. Just… don't miss an opportunity."
He walked toward his office, shaking his head. Jay rubbed his face. What a mess.
He practically dragged Nygma back to the Forensics Lab, telling him to bear with it—the "quack" only came once a week. Then he called Anna, telling her to keep a hawk's eye on Dr. Quinzel and under no circumstances let her near the new building.
Still uneasy, he ran back and had Wilson get some yellow caution tape. He cordoned off a direct path from the front door to the lounge, then found a large sandwich board from the storage room and scribbled on it:
"Dr. Harleen Quinzel of Gotham University is providing FREE psychological consultations at the East Precinct today. All citizens welcome! Leave a positive review for Dr. Quinzel after your session and receive one (1) bag of dried macaroni!"
"Perfect!"
Jay clapped his hands in satisfaction and propped the sign up on the sidewalk outside. "That should keep you busy today!"
As he turned to head back inside, a car horn honked. Gordon was sitting in a cruiser, waving him over. Bullock parked the car, and Gordon jumped out, grabbing Jay's arm.
"Jay, there's a case… I need your help with it."
Huh?
Jay blinked. Wait a minute, Jim. I'm the one who's supposed to find you when I need a fall guy. Why are you dumping a case on me first?
Gordon said: "It's like this: as you know, Headquarters is putting all its energy into the Black Mask case. They've put me in charge of the whole task force, and I simply don't have time for the smaller stuff."
…I take it back. You didn't just accept the fall guy role; you promoted yourself to it.
For a moment, Gordon's silhouette seemed to grow heroic in Jay's eyes. He gave him a big thumbs-up.
"Good. Magnificent, Detective Gordon. I truly believe no one understands Gotham better than you. What's the case? Let me see if I can help."
…
Light, like molten gold, filtered through the high Gothic window frames, cutting through the gloom of the dark cavern. Selina Kyle regained consciousness to a deep, bone-aching throb in her thigh.
Gunfire, a searing heat, the fall, and finally—that solid, nightmarish black figure that had plucked her from the horizon.
She found herself lying on a functional metal bed, covered by a thin blanket. her wounded leg was professionally bandaged. The air smelled of antiseptic and a distinct, cold, masculine scent.
Selina shifted slightly, the quiet cave echoing with the faint friction of leather.
"If I were you, I wouldn't move."
A voice, processed through a modulator, came from the shadows. A tall back turned away from a monitor bank. He blended almost perfectly with the darkness, save for the deep, predatory gaze behind his white lenses.
"Oh? Is that doctor's orders… or a warden's warning?"
Selina curled her pale lips into a wild smile, her voice raspy. "You're the one who stitched me up?"
He walked a few steps closer, stopping at a distance that was neither intimate nor distant. "The bullet passed through the vastus lateralis. It missed the bone. You're lucky."
"Lucky? I thought you were just skilled." Selina let out a soft laugh, her fingers tracing circles on the edge of the blanket. "How much did you see?"
Batman remained silent.
"This place…" Selina looked around—the dim lighting, the glowing monitors, and a black, beast-like tank undergoing modifications on a lift. "It's more… human than I expected. At least this bed is more comfortable than a precinct interrogation chair."
She paused, her amber eyes refocusing on him, her gaze raking over his hard armor like a cat's tongue.
"Do you always bring wounded strays back to your nest?"
"Only the ones who cause too much trouble." He finally spoke again, his voice devoid of emotion. "Black Mask pulled the trigger."
"So, were you worried?" Selina tilted her head, her smile widening, her voice dropping to a whisper. She looked directly where his eyes would be. "Worried your playmate would turn into a cold corpse before you could settle your debts?"
In the darkness, he seemed to take a very slight breath—or perhaps it was just her imagination.
"Gotham doesn't need another body."
"Smooth talker." Selina tried to push herself up, wincing as pain flared, but she hid it well. "Fine. Thank you for the… medical service. And the bed." She moved her feet toward the cold floor. "I think it's time I left. But first, give me the money."
He placed a bag with a bat-symbol on the edge of the bed. "Four hundred thousand, used and non-sequential. But your leg won't make it to Midtown."
"I've survived worse." Selina was already standing, balancing on one foot, one hand on the bed frame.
The blanket slid down, revealing part of her damaged Catwoman suit. She looked fragile yet resilient, like a flower blooming in a ruin. "Don't tell me you're planning on asking me to stay, Batman."
He stood his ground, neither stopping her nor moving closer. He simply watched her maintain her balance with the pride of a wounded cat.
"You'll get caught," he said.
"Maybe. Maybe not." Selina smiled, grabbed the bag, and began to limp toward the faint light of the exit. Every step was a mixture of pain and grace. She knew his gaze was pinned to her back like a physical weight.
Just as she was about to vanish into the shadows of the exit tunnel, she stopped, though she didn't turn around. She merely tilted her head.
"Black Mask's name is Roman Sionis. If you want to find him, you'd better keep an eye on me. I'm going to get my revenge."
With a flash of movement, she disappeared into the dark passage, gone as quickly as she had appeared. Only a faint, lingering trace of her perfume remained in the air.
Batman stood still, a black statue in the gloom. The only sounds in the cave were the hum of the computers and the ethereal drip of water. After a long time, he walked to the bed and picked up a small object from the floor.
It was a small, sharp, metallic cat-claw. He looked toward the exit, his expression unreadable behind the mask.
Under the Gotham sky, a lithe figure leaped between buildings despite the pain, merging like a drop of water into the sea of neon and shadow.
She looked toward the docks from a high rooftop, her eyes burning with a cold fire.
Roman… don't you know? Cats always hold the longest grudges.
——————
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