Vincent was like a reverse Batman.
The vigilante followed clues to reach the ultimate conclusion, but Vincent was forced to start with the known conclusion and work backward to pieces of evidence.
Dr.
Hugo Strange was far from an idiot.
Having successfully pulled off a risky heist, he wouldn’t simply wander around his laboratory waiting for the Gotham Police Department to knock on his door.
*The man has definitely packed up his research and vanished.
Finding his new hideout is going to be an absolute nightmare.* Returning to the Senate, Vincent collapsed onto his wooden frame bed, staring at the mold-infested ceiling tiles illuminated by a dim bedside lamp.
The patch of dark rot had spread into a jagged, chaotic mosaic.
*It looks exactly like the state of my own chaotic thoughts.* Aside from Oswald, Vincent barely knew the other resident, and truth be told, he had thoroughly despised most of them.
Take the neighbor across the hall, for instance.
Even past midnight, the bastard lacked the basic decency to turn down his radio.
The faint, grating bursts of white noise and static had cut through the silence of the night like a blunt knife, carving into Vincent’s raw nerves during his endless sleepless hours.
But things were different now.
The people he hated were all dead, leaving the entire Senate hollow and dead silent.
The steady, rhythmic dripping of a faucet at the far end of the corridor cut through the deep gloom…
drop after drop, echo after echo, drilling straight into his eardrums.
An oppressive layer of emptiness wrapped itself around Vincent.
*Calm down.
Think about what Batman would do.
I can survive this.* He muttered the words aloud to force some courage into his chest, but his racing heart wouldn’t calm down.
*Elite martial arts skills, an iron will, high-tech military gear, unlimited wealth, and a network of street and beggars serving as eyes across every corner of Gotham…
Bruce Wayne possesses an entire empire of resources.
I have absolutely nothing.
How the hell am I supposed to play the detective?* He had confidently promised Maroni that he would find the stolen millions within three days, but when stripped of his meta-knowledge, he was just a regular mortal trying to outrun a bullet.
Overwhelmed by fear and self-doubt, Vincent buried his head in the pillow.
*Tap…
tap-tap.* Through the muffled layers of fabric, a faint scratching sound vibrated against the window glass.
But his room was on the fifth floor.
Vincent assumed his mind was playing tricks on him and ignored the sound, but a second later, the pillow was violently yanked from his head.
“Hey, handsome.
Miss me already?” Selina stood over him with a teasing expression.
The dim light reflected in her bright blue eyes, making them shine like sapphires in the darkness.
“How the hell did you get in here?” “To get the answers you owe me, obviously,” Selina replied, tossing herself onto the foot of the bed.
She casually tucked a stray lock of silver hair behind her ear.
Since Vincent had already knew her identity, she hadn’t bothered to wear her mask.
The leather didn’t breathe well anyway, and wearing it for too long was absolute hell on her skin and hair.
*On any normal night, I would immediately start making up an excuse to get rid of this annoying stray cat.
But these are desperate times.
I need to enter a mad scientist’s hidden facility to retrieve millions of dollars, and who better to assist in a high-stakes burglary than Gotham’s premier cat burglar?* Vincent carefully searched his memory for everything he knew about the different versions of Catwoman’s story.
He recalled that in one particular timeline, Selina was actually the illegitimate daughter of Carmine Falcone.
The Roman had brutally abandoned her pregnant mother, Maria, leaving Selina to grow up in the streets with nothing but deep, venomous hatred for the Falcone empire.
That specific background perfectly explained why she would target a high-profile establishment tied to the mob, and it likely applied to the girl sitting at the edge of his bed right now.
“You’re trying to tear down Falcone’s criminal syndicate to avenge your mother,” Vincent stated, locking his eyes onto her features to catch her reaction.
In truth, he didn’t need to analyze her expression at all, because she surrendered the answer almost immediately.
“Jesus Christ…
I haven’t even told Holly about that!” Selina gripped her head, taking several deep, ragged breaths to steady the sudden turbulence in her chest.
She had climbed up his fire escape demanding clarity, but the fog surrounding this man had only grown denser.
“How could you possibly know that…
whatever.
Tell me what you want.” She was entirely done asking how or why.
She simply wanted to know what purpose this mysterious man was pursuing.
“We want the exact same thing.
To watch the Falcone empire burn to the ground.” To drag Selina into his dangerous ship, Vincent delivered a beautifully constructed lie.
Despite his internal panic, Vincent possessed the cold, steady pulse of a master deceiver.
Whether facing down a ruthless warlord like Maroni or negotiating with Catwoman, his breathing remained perfectly steady, his eyes projected absolute sincerity, and his tone never shook.
As expected, the cat didn’t spot the trap.
“So…
you’re proposing a partnership?!” Shock and hesitation warred across Selina’s face.
In her eyes, Vincent seemed like someone who knew everything.
Not only had he predicted a closed-door mob execution, but he also knew her family’s deepest secrets.
Setting aside his actual combat capabilities, a man with access to that much information was a priceless ally.
But her initial rule still stood.
She refused to operate blindly beside a partner whose true motives remained hidden.
Even if he carried dark secrets, a proper associate needed to show their cards.
Selina arched her back in a slow, stretching, placing her palms flat against the mattress as she leaned forward, gliding toward Vincent like a predator cornering its prey.
“What are you doing?” Vincent asked, his muscles tensing as she suddenly pinned him flat against the sheets.
The girl was leaning over him, so close that he could see the tiny freckles on her nose.
He held his breath and gripped the iron bed frame tightly.
“I’m looking forward to working with you,” she whispered, her voice a low purr.
“But before we shake on it, I need to know exactly who the hell I’m dealing with.” She raised a single gloved hand, the razor-sharp claw of her index finger tracing a slow, agonizing path from his forehead down across the bridge of his nose, stopping directly against his jugular.
“Honesty or a slit throat.
Make your choice.” Her features were masked in absolute suspicion.
Vincent’s willingness to surrender too much information too quickly had shattered her trust.
Fortunately, Vincent thought incredibly fast.
Even before Selina arrived, while she was still shocked by what he knew about the casino, he had already invented a perfect and tragic backstory specifically for her.
In this narrative, Vincent was the lone survivor of a wealthy family destroyed by the mob.
He had spent years deep undercover within Maroni’s organization while secretly cooperating with rival gangs and clean police officers within the Gotham Police Department.
More importantly, his private investigation into Falcone’s inner circle had naturally led him straight to her face.
“No wonder you recognized me the second I dropped from the ceiling,” Selina said, her defensive posture relaxing as she believed the fabricated tale.
“So, what’s your answer to the partnership?” “My answer is…” A quick kiss against his forehead was her response before she spun away, jumping back onto the windowsill in a single smooth movement.
She pushed the window wide, her silver hair dancing wildly against the cold Gotham wind.
“See you around, mystery man.
If you ever find yourself in trouble, I’ll be watching.” “Wait, don’t leave yet!
I actually have a job for you right now!” The poor girl had just gotten ready to jump into the darkness when Vincent shouted, pulling her attention back.
Her boot slipped on the wet windowsill, and she almost fell from the fifth floor.
“Are you trying to fucking kill me!” Selina barked, her teeth clenched in pure irritation.
…
Vincent took two bottles of cheap domestic beer from Oswald’s miniature refrigerator, stepping onto the iron fire escape to climb toward the roof.
Selina was already waiting for him in the chill of the night.
“You brought an opener for those?” she asked, gesturing toward the glass bottles in his hands.
“Don’t need one.” Vincent used a simple but effective trick he had learned while drinking at shady roadside barbecue stalls.
He placed the metal cap against his molars and jerked his head upward to pop it off.
*Pop!* The cap flew into the night air, spinning rapidly before vanishing into the shadows of the alley below.
He handed the bubbling beverage to Selina.
She tilted her head, observing Vincent through the corner of her eye.
The sharp bridge of his nose, the deep set of his dark eyes, and his sharp features aligned flawlessly with her incredibly selective standards.
For him to bring alcohol up to the roof meant he wasn’t entirely oblivious to romance.
Selina took a small sip of the beer, waiting for him to make his move.
“Maroni gave me a three-day deadline to track down his missing millions,” Vincent said flatly, shattering the silence.
“I need your hands for the sweep.” “Just for a heist?” A flash of disappointment crossed her face, but her focus sharpened the moment she heared the amount of the bounty.
“Five million dollars?
You have a plan?” “I’m planning to start from the sewers.” Vincent had finally figured out his plan.
If Strange’s monsters attacked the casino through the sewers, they were probably hiding there from the start.
Strange wouldn’t keep his laboratory far away from his creatures, so his new facility had to be near the main sewer tunnels.
Naturally, Vincent didn’t hide the extreme danger involved, laying out the high risks for the cat burglar.
He expected her to show some hesitation, but Selina merely tilted her head back and finished her bottle in a single, aggressive swig.
“No use wasting time,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her leather glove.
“Let’s move.” The iron grate of the main sewer loomed in the dark.