The police medics who had once belonged to the proper city force had long since scattered during the earlier riots. What remained on-site now were lab technicians from the Eye of Heaven organization and a few special agents who had battlefield triage experience—dressed up in white coats to play the role of emergency nurses.
They were used to treating gunshot wounds and electric burns. Seeing so many arrow injuries made them freeze in shock. When officers came over holding two entire plastic bags filled with severed hands and feet, their jaws collectively dropped.
Even in a thousand-bed hospital, this kind of workload would require an all-night emergency shift. With just a handful of them here? They'd be working till next century.
Luckily for them, Gotham cops had a rather flexible view of human rights—at least where criminals were concerned. A few officers casually tossed the limbs aside, the message clear: "If you can reattach them, great. If not, no big deal." Honestly, a few deaths didn't matter. Just not too many.
The former agents turned medics understood the hint immediately. Their eyes gleamed with silent comprehension as they mentally decided the fates of the idiots groaning on the ground. Perfect specimens, they thought. Strong bodies, complete fools. The Paralympic Committee's recruiting this year… push them into the lab, tweak a few dozen international treaties, modify them a bit—and hey, national glory!
The stench of blood broke Barbara and Robin out of their whispered conversation. Robin blinked, confused, not sure what had happened. Barbara, on the other hand, understood instantly.
"This… this was her doing?"
"As far as I know," Catwoman replied, glancing at the two plastic bags of limbs, her expression darkening, "the only person in Gotham who still shoots like that—and is still alive—is her."
Barbara was speechless. She did a quick count of the bodies. Thirty in total. Some didn't even look like proper thugs, but if they were here, they were clearly part of the gang. In her mind's eye, she saw the scene unfold: Thea standing calm and cold, arrows hissing through the air—thwip, thwip, thwip!—turning the entire group into this mess.
She remembered how, when Thea returned to the command vehicle, there hadn't been a single scratch on her. Thirty opponents, and she hadn't even broken a sweat?
Barbara was stunned. On a good day, she could maybe take on three—five at her absolute best. A thirty-on-one melee like that? Only Batman could manage something so impossible.
The thought made her uneasy. Maybe she wasn't as strong as she'd thought. Thea's overwhelming performance left her confidence shaken. But only for a moment. She clenched her fists, firming her resolve. If she wasn't good enough, she'd train until she was. When Batman returned, she'd make sure she'd earned her place beside him.
———
When Catwoman and the others returned to the mobile command truck, they found the culprit behind Gotham's highway massacre… fast asleep on the table.
Thea had already changed into her casual clothes. Not knowing whether another fight might break out—and with the vehicle a bit stuffy—she'd stripped down to a sleeveless crop top and short shorts, her feet in sandals. She was sprawled across the desk, cheek pressed against her arm, sleeping soundly.
Her long, toned legs gleamed under the cabin light. Robin, still weak and slightly dazed, couldn't help sneaking a few extra glances.
Barbara coughed pointedly. "Ahem." Her glare could've cut steel. Robin flinched, looking away, while Barbara silently wondered if this woman really was that much stronger than her. Watching Thea sleep like some lazy heiress made her self-doubt bubble up again.
"Wake up," Catwoman said, nudging Thea's shoulder.
"...Who is it? Just leave the meeting documents on my desk, I'll sign them later…" Thea mumbled without even opening her eyes, then promptly went back to sleep.
Everyone exchanged looks. Yep. This was absolutely how she managed her corporation in Star City—workers out sweating under the sun while the boss took naps in air conditioning. The fact her company hadn't gone bankrupt was proof that God occasionally dozed off on duty.
"Seriously, wake up. We need to plan what's next," Catwoman said again, this time shaking her by the shoulders.
Thea had just been dreaming of herself in a Hulkbuster suit, punching Superman and stomping Aquaman when the shaking hit. For a moment, she thought it was an earthquake. Then she groaned.
"Selina, stop it…"
She rubbed her eyes and blinked blearily at them.
"So, what—" Her sentence froze halfway as her gaze landed on Robin. It took her half a second to realize: there was a man in the room.
She looked down at herself—the sleeveless top, the shorts—and her expression snapped from sleepy to furious in an instant.
"I need to change. You—out." She spat each word like a bullet. There was no doubt who "you" referred to.
Barbara and Selina exchanged glances. To be fair, their own clothes weren't much better—half soaked in blood and grime. Seeing Thea comfortably in clean clothes, they both felt an itch of jealousy and irritation. In perfect harmony, their gazes locked onto Robin.
"Out," they said together.
Poor Robin didn't even have time to ask why. Three deadly glares hit him like a battering ram, and his survival instincts kicked in. Next thing he knew, he was standing outside the truck, blinking at the night sky.
Inside, the three women immediately got to work changing. And though none of them said a word, their eyes betrayed a silent, subtle contest—each sneaking glances at the others.
Her skin's so smooth…
She's bigger there than I thought…
The quiet dressing scene was far too alluring to describe in detail. Suffice it to say, even without a mirror, each woman knew exactly where she stood in the unspoken hierarchy.
When they were done, Thea was dressed properly this time: a white short-sleeved shirt, cropped slacks, and flat shoes. Her dark brown hair hung loose around her shoulders.
Barbara and Catwoman also changed into casual wear, though Selina's sense of style was, as always, the boldest. Her top was so tight it looked like it might restrict breathing. Thea couldn't help but glance over and think, How does she even relax in that? Comfort is supposed to be the point of casual wear, right?
Still, clothes were personal freedom. Thea sighed, said nothing, and picked up her phone. She called the old commissioner and Lyla to check in, then dialed Felicity, who'd been sleeping in another RV because the main one was "too stuffy."
They arrived quickly. Robin, waiting outside as self-appointed security, saw the group entering and, reassured there was no danger, slipped in quietly behind them.
"Thea," the old commissioner said gravely, clipboard in hand, "the camp's still missing over a hundred people."
They'd already reclaimed a third of the city. Between the college district and nearby housing, hundreds had moved in and out, but even after three recounts, the number of missing remained the same.
One hundred people, gone without a trace.