Barbara could only grit her teeth. One look at Thea's expression and she knew there was no room for debate. Whether it was for justice or simply for Robin, she had no choice but to go.
She stomped her foot — her legs still weak, but at least firmer than noodles now — and tried not to think about whether she'd make it back alive. For a moment, she even considered saying goodbye to her father, maybe leaving a few last words, just in case.
"What's going on? Why'd you drag me back so fast?"
Catwoman's arrival was nothing short of salvation. Even Barbara's anxious heart steadied a little. Maybe there really was a god watching over them tonight. Her mood lifted just enough that even her usual irritation toward Selina quietly faded.
Thea didn't have time to explain. She was hunched over a map with Gordon, redistributing the police units for support. She gestured for Barbara to fill her in.
Barbara gave it her best shot — which wasn't saying much. After all, she'd spent the whole night tied to a chair and could only piece together the story from fragments and guesses. Still, she managed to summarize enough for Selina to understand.
"Scarecrow?" Catwoman's brow arched. The name was all too familiar. That twisted psychopath had been Gotham's plague for years.
And now he'd gassed an entire campus?
When she heard even Robin had been taken, her expression darkened. The world's really gone mad, she thought. If they unmask him, he's finished. He's not Batman — he doesn't get to survive torture and come back swinging.
After a pause, Catwoman uncoiled her whip and handed it to Barbara.
"I fight fine without it. You'll need it more than I do."
Barbara took it and gave it a few experimental cracks. It felt right — the balance, the weight. Bruce's equipment really was first-rate. And somehow, having it in hand gave her a little more courage than any pep talk could.
Thea joined them, holding out a pair of respirators.
"Put these on when we reach the camp. The three of us will take point and neutralize the main threat.
A.R.G.U.S. will clean up whatever's left, and the cops focus on extracting the hostages. Everyone clear?"
She swept her gaze across the group. No one objected.
"Then move out."
Thea climbed into one of the A.R.G.U.S. vehicles, the door slamming shut behind her.
This time, she didn't take the hoverboard directly — she simply guided it mentally to follow the convoy from above. Charging in solo again would be reckless, especially without knowing if backup was in position. She needed to conserve her strength.
In the next car, Barbara and Catwoman sat side by side, both silent, both trying to recover whatever stamina they could. Watching Thea — still upright, still planning, still commanding — filled them with a grudging mix of respect and disbelief. The woman had been running nonstop since dusk.
"Stop the convoy," Thea ordered once the camp's floodlights came into view on the horizon. "Felicity, get the drone feed up."
The vehicles braked to a halt about a kilometer from the perimeter.
Inside Lyla's command truck, the live feed flickered to life — shaky at first, then clear.
"They're moving the hostages," Catwoman said immediately, her tone tight. "We can't wait any longer."
Indeed, after a night of harassment, Scarecrow's men had finally decided to retreat.
On the screens, dozens of figures in black hoods shuffled about, corralling unconscious civilians toward a line of trucks. There were maybe forty, fifty armed men — some in tattered tactical gear, others in stolen U.S. fatigues.
They weren't taking everyone. Only the strong and the young — fit men and women.
"Where's Robin?" Barbara pressed forward, eyes darting across the footage. "Do you see him? Is he okay?"
Thea bit her tongue to stop a sarcastic reply. They're selecting by body type, not shooting people. Relax — your boy's too skinny to make the cut.
Out loud, she kept her tone calm. "We'll find him. Felicity's tracking the trucks. Once we've got their route, I'll intercept."
"As long as it's not a mass execution, I'll handle it."
Felicity's voice came through the comms, breathless.
"Got it! Three trucks, all loaded with civilians. They've already left the main camp. Too many people to confirm faces — I can't tell if Robin's among them."
Even pale and dizzy, the tech girl was all focus. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, hijacking a foreign satellite feed in less than a minute.
The A.R.G.U.S. agents exchanged uneasy looks. Hacking government satellites in front of government agents — bold didn't even begin to cover it.
Lyla pretended not to notice. She'd learned it was safer that way.
Thea adjusted her gear and nodded. "I'll handle the trucks. The rest of you stick to plan — Lyla, have your helicopter draw their fire from the front."
She slung her quiver higher on her shoulder, grabbed a compact submachine gun from one of the agents, and stepped out into the pale pre-dawn light.
Catwoman and Barbara followed, both armed to the teeth. Whatever Batman's old rules were, they didn't apply here anymore.
Overhead, the thundering whir of rotors cut through the silence — the A.R.G.U.S. gunship sweeping toward the camp.
"I'm moving out," Thea said, glancing back.
"Be careful," Barbara called after her — an unexpected show of warmth.
Thea smiled faintly and kicked off. The board rose under her feet, and in seconds she was gone — a silver streak racing toward the open highway.
Dawn was creeping up the horizon. The world below was turning gray-blue, the air sharp and cold.
Thea was exhausted — bone-deep exhausted. Gotham had tested her patience and her body in ways she'd never imagined. How the hell has Batman done this for years without going insane? she wondered bitterly.
The growing daylight made things easier, though. From above, she could clearly see the stretch of road snaking through the outskirts — and the three trucks rumbling down it.
They weren't subtle. A few guards sat on the tailgates, guns slung over their shoulders.
When one of them looked up and pointed, she knew she'd been spotted.
Moments later, the entire convoy was buzzing with panic.
Even from this height, Thea could tell what they were saying: It's her again.
A few of them rubbed their eyes, convinced they were hallucinating. But no — there she was, glinting in the morning light.
They scrambled for weapons. Pistols, rifles — whatever they had.
And soon, the morning air echoed with the futile crack crack crack of gunfire as the thugs fired upward at the streaking figure overhead.
Thea smiled grimly.
"Fine," she murmured, eyes narrowing. "You want to dance? Let's dance."