never really talked to him beyond a quick hello and a nod, but it was nice to see familiar faces from the other parts of his life. Beyond the prep schools and galas. The military had been full of people from all backgrounds and walks of life. He was still getting reacclimated to how little variety existed in the upper echelons of Gotham City.
Overseas, they’d been too busy fulfilling commands and working their asses off to protect this country to bother with caring about where someone came from. What had mattered was whether the person next to you had your back when it counted. He’d only met a few people in this city of whom he could say the same.
He and his mom had been talking for months now about doing an outreach program for vets at the gym. She was already taking meetings with therapists, vets, and boxing pros about how to make it work. And taking meetings with investors and government officials for how to get funding. Of course, his family could fund it indefinitely, but his mom savored this: wrangling companies that made ungodly profits to do something in turn for the community. Getting people involved and caring.
Standing atop a three-story building at the edge of the dark, glittering band of the Gotham River, dawn still hours away, Luke rotated his shoulders, keeping loose, limber. He was about to turn away from the water, the glowing city around him, when motion caught his eye.
Not who he was looking for, but…Luke smiled.
* * *
—
“Dumping a body in the river. Real original.”
The three men whirled as Luke sauntered up behind them, the body landing with a splash off the rotting docks.
His suit had a video camera, and he made sure it was recording, marking their faces, the van that they had just driven up, even the body now bobbing in the river.
“Should have weighed that package down,” Luke supplied, stalking closer.
Two of the men pulled guns and fired.
The sound ripped at him, trying to haul him back into his memories, but Luke focused on his breathing, the shift of his body as he rolled to the side, the docks groaning beneath him.
Clumsy, panicked shots. They fired and fired, and Luke’s suit whirred and then pulsed. A wave of ear-ringing sound rippled out.
The sonic pulse stopped the bullets dead. The men fired again, though their bullets fell to the wood, pinging and thudding against the force of the sonic waves. They emptied their clips within seconds.
Then silence.
The third man—the one who hadn’t fired—leapt into the river. Trying to swim away.
Luke smirked as he got to his feet. Surveyed the two men now clicking away on the triggers of their Glocks. The bat-symbol on his suit flared, primed and ready to unleash more surprises.
“This really isn’t going to be your night” was all Luke told them.
* * *
—
Twenty minutes later, Luke lurked at the edge of the pedestrian overpass, watching as Gordon and his men hauled away the three low-level cronies, including the soaked one.
He’d had them tied up in five minutes.
Less than five minutes. He’d waited longer than that for GCPD to arrive, making sure the murderers didn’t escape their bonds.
As soon as Gordon shoved the last of them into the police van, slamming shut the door, Luke loosed a long sigh and turned.
And found the so-called Catwoman leaning against the opposite railing of the bridge.
Her figure cut a dark shadow against the railroad tracks illuminated below.
His helmet’s night vision told a different story. A cracked lens now marred the left side of her helmet. And blood. Even with her suit’s stealth keeping him from any further readouts, there was no mistaking the organic material splattered over her helmet, her chest and shoulders.
Yet she appeared steady. Unfazed.
“Are you responsible for the body they were dumping?” His words were low—rough. He sized up the weapons on her: two blades sheathed down her back, built right into her suit. That bullwhip at her left hip. Nothing else.
She let out a quiet laugh. “No. Whose men are those?”
None of her business. “Why are you here?”
“I thought you might be bored, so I came to say hello.”
Luke couldn’t help but make the analogy: a cat playing with its dinner.
“Why is there blood on your suit?”
“Want a DNA sample?”
Yes. He hadn’t gotten a call from GCPD that anything was amiss, that anyone was down. “You came to brag about it?”