From the back seat, Thea noticed Catwoman’s ears twitch twice — subtle, but enough to tell she’d heard Felicity ntion “Gordon.”
And yet, Selina stayed silent.
Thea sighed. Still pretending you don’t know anything, huh? We both know exactly who you are.
She leaned forward, giving Catwoman a knowing look.
“Give us the access code for Wayne Enterprises’ satellite network.”
Selina hesitated for half a second, then recited a string of letters, numbers, and symbols that sounded like a computer’s fever dream.
Felicity’s eyes lit up. “Got it! Locking in… target acquired!”
She zood in on a live satellite feed.
“Facial match: 97%. That’s him — Commissioner Gordon. He’s pinned down with three cops, engaged in a firefight with about seven hostiles. Looks like… uh, I’m not great with Gotham’s layout — sothing like Fourth and Grundy?”
Thea exchanged a glance with Catwoman. “You’re the local. Floor it!”
Selina pushed the helicopter as hard as it would go, blades slicing the smoky air.
“Faster!” Felicity urged, her voice crackling through the headset. “One officer’s already down!”
Selina gritted her teeth. She’d known Gordon since childhood — he was one of the few good n left in Gotham, and the father of Batgirl. She wasn’t about to let him die.
But the chopper was a civilian model, not a combat one. At best, she was managing 150 km/h — any faster and they’d lose control.
“Another officer’s hit,” Felicity narrated calmly, as if this were a live-stream comntary instead of a rescue mission.
Thea frowned. This is too slow. If I leave it to them, he’s dead.
Commissioner Gordon wasn’t just a man — he was Gotham’s conscience. Brave, incorruptible, unbending — the kind of person who, if he played an RPG, would automatically spawn as a paladin.
If he died tonight, Gotham’s fragile hope might die with him.
Usually, fate or Batman himself would swoop in to save him, but this ti… Bruce wasn’t coming.
Thea sighed. “Guess it’s up to the side characters again.”
Then, without warning — she started taking off her clothes.
Selina almost lost control of the stick. “What the hell are you doing!?”
Thea shot her a glare. “Changing. Eyes on the road — or sky, whatever.”
She swapped into her combat gear, strapped on her quiver, and activated the hoverboard. It floated up from the cargo bay, humming softly as she stepped on.
“Keep close,” she called over her shoulder, pulling her hood up. “Try not to lose .”
Then she leapt.
The board roared to life, streaking forward like a red cot through the night sky.
“Damn,” Selina whispered, watching her vanish into the distance. “That’s… actually impressive.”
Even with the situation dire, she couldn’t help admiring the sleek piece of tech.
If she had sothing like that, who could ever catch her? Maybe when Bruce got back… she’d ask him to build one.
Felicity grinned, pride glowing in her eyes. “Yeah. That’s my girl. Took us weeks to fine-tune that board!”
Selina glanced at her. “You built that?”
“From scratch,” Felicity said smugly, then launched into an enthusiastic explanation of neural feedback control, gyro-stabilized propulsion, and adaptive AI sync algorithms.
Selina stared blankly. “…Sounds nice.”
Felicity didn’t notice — she was in full geek mode.
Until she looked at the live feed again — and her heart jumped.
“Thea! You overshot it! Turn around!”
Up ahead, Thea had no idea her friends were too busy bragging to keep track of her.
She’d been flying full speed, assuming she’d just missed her mark, and banked sharply in a wide arc.
This ti, she slowed down and scanned carefully.
Within minutes, she spotted flashes of muzzle fire — two groups trading bullets across a narrow street. Seven on one side, four on the other.
That’s them.
Earlier, when she’d first passed overhead, she’d been going so fast that both sides had seen nothing but a red blur.
For a full three seconds, both gangs actually stopped shooting, staring at the sky like confused pigeons before resuming their fight.
Now, hovering above, Thea assessed the situation.
Gunfire echoed, but no one seed to be landing solid hits. Gothamites, she realized, had experience.
Even civilians here probably knew how to dodge bullets.
One officer was down — shoulder wound, not fatal. So far, it was four cops versus seven thugs. Dangerous, but salvageable.
She could just let them play it out — Gordon usually survived these things sohow.
But she was already here. Might as well make it quick.
Just then, a 300-pound thug spotted her silhouette against the sky.
Years of living under Batman’s shadow had desensitized Gotham’s criminals — so instead of fear, his first instinct was to shoot.
He leveled his rifle and fired.
Thea, already tracking him, didn’t even flinch. She quickly calculated the bullet’s path — ten ters off on the X-axis, twenty-five on Y.
Unless those bullets can turn corners, you’re not hitting .
She switched her goggles to infrared.
The man glowed deep red — body temperature through the roof. Either a fire ta-human or just morbidly obese.
Given the size of his gut, she went with option two.
“Too many calories, not enough cardio,” she muttered.
She considered using an ice arrow but hesitated. “Ugh, no. I’m not wasting nitrogen on that ss.”
Instead, she notched a blue-tipped arrow and drew the bowstring.
“Magnet arrow — go.”
The arrow streaked down and struck the ground ten ters ahead of the thugs — pulsing with a deep, electric hum.
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