The night wind cut like blades, lashing at the bits of skin Thea hadn't covered. But she barely felt it. Her mind was consumed with questions — who had released that gas? Were there antidotes? Were the rest of Batman's team even still alive? Where was Commissioner Gordon?
Too many thoughts tangled together, tightening behind her brow until she could feel the muscle twitch. Whoever had orchestrated tonight's attack — she would find them. And she would make them pay.
Hovering above the university district, she could see it clearly under the faint moonlight: the entire area drowned beneath a low, green haze.
A few days ago this place had been bustling. Now it looked like a dead zone — silent, hollow, sinister.
Thea descended just enough to scout the perimeter. Shapes moved below — men in heavy gear, carrying automatic rifles.
Gas masks. So it spreads by inhalation.
She memorized their patrol routes; she'd grab one or two for questioning on her way out.
Her board glided soundlessly over their heads.
No one looked up. Most people never did. Ordinary vision focused forward, not overhead — unless you had white eyes and the Sharingan, you didn't stare at ceilings for fun.
She passed above them like a shadow, unseen.
She didn't waste time on the outskirts, heading straight for the brightest building in the camp.
The board skimmed low, almost kissing the floor as she slipped through a broken window into what looked like a lecture hall.
There—front row.
Commissioner Gordon, slumped in a chair, gray hair matted, beige coat streaked with grime. Next to him, that unmistakable red hair — Barbara.
Both tied back to back, unconscious.
Their guards were laughably careless: two of them, one near the door and one farther off. The closer one muttered curses under his breath; the other was nodding off entirely.
Thea scanned the corners for traps — nothing. She backed away quietly. Two people she could carry, but she'd need to find the others before making a move.
Circling the compound, she soon found Robin.
He was sprawled on the grass among dozens of civilians, limbs splayed, face twitching with nightmares. The kid looked awful — no energy, no defiance, just exhaustion and fear flickering across his sleeping features.
She searched further but found no trace of Catwoman.
Did she get away? she wondered, a tiny spark of hope flickering. Hopefully she's fine.
Counting heads, she realized the absence was a blessing in disguise.
Gordon, Barbara, Robin, herself — four people total. That was the upper limit of her board's lift capacity. A fifth would make flight… questionable.
Then she spotted something that froze her midair —
Lyla Michaels.
What the hell was she doing here?
Her presence complicated everything.
Lyla couldn't be left behind — not if Thea valued her future. But the math didn't work. Four passengers max.
Someone had to be left behind.
Thea hovered, jaw clenched, heart hammering.
Every name meant something — Gordon was the symbol of order, Barbara the link to Batman, Lyla the key to A.R.G.U.S.… Robin—
She hated that she even had to think about it.
Gordon was nonnegotiable. His rank alone could rally what was left of Gotham's police. He'd already reclaimed a third of the city before the gas attack; with him alive, recovery was still possible.
Lyla, too, was essential — Amanda Waller's deputy, future director of A.R.G.U.S. Saving her would secure Thea powerful allies.
Besides, crossing Waller was suicide. Better to stack up some goodwill now.
That left one slot.
Barbara or Robin.
Thea didn't like Barbara, but leaving her behind in a city crawling with psychos wasn't an option. A young, attractive woman unconscious in Gotham? That was practically a death sentence.
Robin… well, Robin was—
How to put it politely…
He wasn't exactly Gotham's type. Too lean, too polite, too… earnest.
Honestly, it was a miracle Barbara ever dated him.
Thea sighed, whispering toward the boy's sleeping form:
"Take care of yourself, kid. Not that I don't want to save you—there's just no room on the ride."
Decision made, she timed the patrols again. When the nearest guard turned his back, Thea swooped low, fastened Lyla to the side of her board, and sped silently back toward the lecture hall.
The guards there hadn't moved. One was still muttering to himself, the other half-asleep.
Thea dismounted, blending into the shadows.
She remembered Malcolm's training — the League of Assassins' stealth discipline.
This wasn't invisibility; it was patience, using light and motion to vanish in plain sight.
Their radios sat on the desk beside them. One mistake, and they'd call for help. She couldn't afford that.
Killing them outright was tempting—but messy. Blood spatter was hard to hide.
She opted for something cleaner.
Drawing two arrows tipped with industrial-grade tranquilizer — each dose strong enough to drop an elephant — she took aim.
Thump.
The first dart kissed the talkative guard's neck. He managed half a gasp before crumpling.
The second guard blinked awake at the sound — just in time to see a flash of silver streak toward him. He tried to dodge, but the arrow caught his shoulder.
A sharp tingle, a wave of numbness—then nothing.
Both hit the floor, silent.
Thea exhaled, lowering her bow.
The next phase of the rescue could finally begin.