On the edge of Gotham East District, St.
Marys Convent.
This Victorian-era building resembled a dying old man; the ivy on the outer walls had long since withered, leaving only shriveled vines clinging desperately to the blackened brick crevices.
Selina Kyle’s combat boots stepped onto a loose red brick, making not a single sound.
Like a true wild cat, she used a trash can in the corner to leap up, grabbing the rusted edge of the perimeter wall with one hand and nimbly vaulting into the convent’s backyard.
The air was thick with the scent of cheap soap mixed with the stench of a backed-up sewer.
“Splash—”
By the sink in the center of the backyard, Maggie Kyle was vigorously scrubbing a pile of dusty bedsheets.
The icy well water had turned her hands—hands that should have been playing the piano—bright red, and her knuckles were even cracked with tiny bloody fissures.
Selina looked at her sister’s thin back, the rebellious glint in her eyes softening slightly.
She brushed the dust off her leather jacket and cleared her throat.
“Guess who’s back?”
Maggie’s movements paused.
She turned around, a flash of surprise in her deep brown eyes, which was quickly masked by deep concern.
She wiped her hands on a yellowed towel and walked quickly to Selina, her gaze sweeping over her sister.
After confirming there were no bloodstains or wounds, she let out a long breath of white vapor.
“You went to the Upper East Side again.” Maggie’s voice was very soft, carrying the kind of forbearance typical of Catholics.
“Selina, the sister said our relief funds for this month can last another week.
You don’t need to—”
“Last another week?
On that moldy oatmeal and black bread so hard it could kill a rat?” Selina sneered, unceremoniously interrupting her sister.
She reached out and pinched Maggie’s ice-cold cheek.
“Listen, little Maggie.
God doesn’t care about Gotham East District; He’s far too busy.
Here, only the meat in your belly and the US dollars in your pocket are real.”
Maggie lowered her head, her fingers anxiously twisting the edge of her coarse apron.
She knew full well that her sister only wore that cynical mask and took to the streets to keep her alive in this man-eating hell.
More than blame, her heart was filled with a rising tide of self-reproach that felt like sour bile.
If she hadn’t fallen ill, if she could find a decent job—
“Don’t give me that look.” Selina couldn’t stand that expression from her sister.
She raised an eyebrow, a smug grin curling on her lips.
“Today was a huge harvest.
You’ll never guess which fat sheep I ran into.
That stupid pig Benjamin!
He actually stuffed a whole stack of cash into his suit!
It’s enough to fix the convent’s broken boiler and pay for half a year’s heating!”
As Selina spoke, she reached into the inner pocket of her slim-fit leather jacket with high spirits.
Her fingers were prepared to touch the soft texture of the leather wallet.
One second.
Two seconds.
The smile on Selina’s face froze, like a low-quality videotape that had been paused.
Her fingers scraped against the fabric of the inner pocket.
It was empty.
She muttered under her breath, her brow furrowing instantly.
Her right hand snapped out, and her left hand roughly yanked open the jacket zipper as she frantically searched through the dozen or so pockets on her person.
Left outer pocket, nothing.
Right hidden pocket, nothing.
Pants pockets, shriveled and containing only two coins.
Selina even took off the leather jacket and shook it hard.
With a *clack*, a cheap stolen lighter fell onto the muddy ground.
No wallet.
That trophy filled with US dollars, thick as a brick, had vanished into thin air!
“Selina?
What’s wrong?” Maggie looked at her sister’s suddenly pale face and grabbed her wrist in a panic.
Selina didn’t answer.
She stared fixedly at her empty inner pocket, her chest heaving violently.
The queen of thieves on the streets of Gotham had been robbed.
And it was done without her noticing a thing, snatched right from the pocket closest to her body!
A powerful surge of humiliation and rage crawled up her spine to her brain like a venomous snake.
The corners of Selina’s eyes were instantly tinged with a dangerous flush, her pupils constricting under the extreme emotional fluctuation.
Who?
Who could have done this?
She forced herself to calm down.
Deep breath.
Cold air flooded her lungs, suppressing her frantic heartbeat.
Her brain, like a precision projector, began to frantically replay every movement of her day.
Starting from that intersection in the Upper East Side.
Benjamin was fuming in front of the pharmacy.
The onlookers were at least two meters away from her.
She lowered the brim of her hat, turned, and merged into the crowd.
No one had touched her.
Wait!
Selina snapped her eyes shut.
The film of her memory froze at a specific moment.
A gust of wind.
The scent of cheap perfume.
And—
A man passing by.
A deep black trench coat.
A low-pulled baseball cap.
Beneath the brim were black pupils that were indifferent to the extreme, and dark circles so heavy he looked like a ghost.
At the moment they crossed paths, she had intentionally leaned half an inch toward him to create the illusion of a crowd.
Her fingers had even probed into the man’s trench coat pocket, ready to pick his pocket.
But the man had simply tilted his body slightly, avoiding her touch at an incredibly strange angle.
It was that very second!
Selina snapped her eyes open, gasping.
In the moment the man turned, an extremely faint airflow had brushed past her chest.
That wasn’t wind; it was the sound of fabric being rapidly lifted and dropped.
That Asian man with the dark circles hadn’t just avoided her attempt; in less than half a second, using a technique she hadn’t even seen clearly, he had unzipped her jacket, snatched the wallet from her inner pocket, and made a perfect getaway!
“Good…
very good.”
Selina squeezed the words through her teeth, her knuckles cracking.
Like a leopard whose prey had been stolen, her eyes burned with a raging fighting spirit and undisguised killing intent.
“You actually dared to rob a robber…” She gritted her teeth, snatched up her leather jacket, and put it back on.
“No matter who you are, since you took my things, I will definitely get them back with interest!”
“Selina?
Where are you going?” Maggie shouted anxiously, watching her sister suddenly turn and stride toward the yard wall.
“To get our heating money back!” Without looking back, Selina’s figure flashed as she vaulted over the high wall again, melting into Gotham’s gloomy twilight.
On the other side.
Lake Street, Gotham East District.
“Achoo!”
William let out a thunderous sneeze without warning.
He rubbed his sore nose and looked up at the leaden clouds that seemed ready to collapse at any moment.
“This hellish weather, damn it.”
He was carrying two large black plastic bags filled with high-purity medical alcohol, sterile gauze, several sets of surgical instruments, and dozens of boxes of potent antibiotics he had just procured from the black market at a high price.
These two large bags weighed at least forty pounds, making his fingers turn white.
Although he had just received a million US dollars, William’s innate stinginess hadn’t changed.
If he could walk to the Upper East Side to get supplies, he would never spend twenty dollars on a Gotham taxi where the seats might be stained with blood.
His leather shoes stepped on the asphalt road filled with puddles and grease, making a squelching sound.
Along the street, several homeless people in rags huddled in cardboard boxes, staring at the bags in his hands with greedy yet wary eyes.
But when they saw that face with dark circles and sickly fatigue, they all shifted their gazes away like they’d been shocked, shrinking deeper into their boxes.
Everyone in this neighborhood knew not to mess with the Underground Doctor at 22 Lake Street.
The last junkie who tried to rob him was still fighting rats for territory in the sewers; supposedly, he even had a kidney harvested to pay off his medical bills.
William ignored those gazes and turned into the alley of Number 22.
The recruitment notice on the red brick wall was still there, one corner curled up by the wind.
“It seems a million isn’t enough to spend.” William switched the heavy plastic bags to his left hand and fished his keys out of his pocket.
“I need to get an assistant hired soon.
If a few more patients with the build of Master Wayne come along, these old bones of mine will give out on the operating table sooner or later.”
The key slid into the rusted lock, and with a *click*, the heavy iron door was pushed open.
The underground clinic was still permeated with the strong scent of disinfectant.
William tossed the supplies onto the iron table and went to the sink to wash his face.
Cold water droplets dripped from his chin.
He looked up, seeing a handsome yet slightly weathered face in the mirror.
He didn’t know that a few blocks away, a Catwoman who had been robbed of her loot was scouring the streets for any sign of him;
And further away in the Upper East Side, a blonde female college student with a morbid obsession with criminal psychology had already sketched the outline of his trench coat in a pink notebook.
A dark web woven by three of Gotham’s most dangerous future figures was quietly closing in on this small underground clinic because of Benjamin’s wallet.
Meanwhile, William simply pulled a cup of instant noodles from a drawer, tore open the packaging, and poured in hot water.
“I hope some poor soul who’s quick with their hands and keeps their mouth shut comes to apply tomorrow,” he muttered to himself, using a fork to press down the lid of the noodles.