Thea knew that to beat Catwoman, she had to slow her down.
She was fast herself—by normal standards—but compared to Selina Kyle, there was always that sliver of difference.
Just that tiny edge was enough for Catwoman to keep slipping away, keeping Thea from pressing her advantage into a clear win.
A sideways dodge barely avoided Catwoman's chain of kicks. Her legwork was clearly the result of years of hard training—whip kicks, spin kicks, back hooks—coming from every angle.
Thea was exhausted keeping up and honestly suspected that the woman might possess some kind of "high-heels balance superpower."
How else could she fight like that in those shoes?
If Thea ever tried fighting in stilettos, she'd be lucky not to break her ankles, let alone pull off flips and flying kicks.
Finally, Catwoman's stamina began to wane. Her next side kick lost precision and was easily blocked. Thea seized the opening—stepped in close and drove her elbow straight toward Catwoman's face.
She didn't hold back—if that elbow connected, the nerves in the face would cause a short blackout at the very least.
At the last second, Catwoman twisted her waist and sprang upward, avoiding the worst of it, but the blow still slammed into her shoulder, just above the collarbone.
Thea didn't stop there. She grabbed Selina's shoulders, right foot braced, left knee rising sharply—classic Muay Thai knee strike.
Catwoman was about to take the full hit to her midsection when—
Whizz!
A small metallic object zipped through the air toward Thea's right leg.
She didn't know what it was, but if she kept going, sure—she'd land her strike, but she'd also take that hit herself.
No point. This wasn't a death match—just a fight. Not worth an injury.
So Thea aborted the strike, jumped backward, and landed lightly out of the circle.
Clang!
The metal blade buried itself in the concrete where she'd stood. It gleamed under the dim streetlight—a sleek, aerodynamic shape, one side visibly sharp.
A batarang.
Felicity's panicked voice rang in her earpiece:
"Thea, look out—it's Batman!"
Thea didn't need the warning. She'd already seen him.
There he was—the legendary Dark Knight—draped in kevlar armor, black mask, and that sweeping cape, gliding down from above like a phantom. The way he descended, silent and imposing, could have made medieval peasants build him a shrine.
Thea had to admit: the man knew drama.
Where the hell did he come from?
No, he couldn't fly. Thea extended her senses upward, filtering through the night air—and found the answer.
Something massive hovered above, high enough to blur, but there—an aircraft.
The Batwing.
A near-ground flight path, optical stealth.
Invisible to radar and to the naked eye.
Incredible.
"Right, note to self," she thought. "Have Queen Industries build me one of those."
Batman landed beside Catwoman—but to Thea's surprise, Selina stepped sideways, subtly creating space between them, almost as if she didn't want to be near him.
Even through the mask, Batman's jawline betrayed a hint of helplessness, as though he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
Catwoman, on the other hand, pretended not to see him at all—eyes still locked on Thea.
Even a blind person could tell something was off between them.
Thea's inner gossip engine lit up like fireworks. On the other end of the live feed, Felicity whispered, "Oh my god, drama!" practically ready to hit like.
The tension thickened.
Thea crossed her arms and raised her voice first:
"You're Batman, right? The hero of Gotham?
So why the hell are you protecting a thief?"
Batman said nothing—but his mind was chaos.
He and Selina had gotten… complicated. They'd gone out as Bruce and Selina, not Batman and Catwoman, and during one of their philosophical "what's right, what's wrong" conversations, things had turned sour.
Then Moira Queen threw a high-profile charity event gathering half the city's power players. Selina, still annoyed, decided to make everyone share her bad mood—pulled the main breaker for some chaotic fun.
She hadn't expected Thea to show up and ruin her perfect little prank. The scuffle had spilled into the streets, and when Catwoman was about to lose, Batman had swooped in for the oldest cliché in the book—"hero saves the lady."
So now, facing Thea's question, Batman had no idea what to say.
He'd already looked her up from the Batwing:
Thea Queen, heir to the Queen fortune. Parents dead in an accident. Clean record. Works at her family company. Applying to Princeton.
Not a villain.
And more than that—her story mirrored his in some ways.
She'd lost family, but hadn't turned bitter or dark. She'd stayed bright, strong, good.
That kind of resilience—the thing Bruce could never quite achieve—made him quietly respect her.
So he stayed silent.
The stoic hero act was easier than explaining the mess.
Catwoman, though, was done with tonight's humiliation. Her tone snapped:
"If you've got the guts, come catch me!"
Thea blinked. Yeah, no.
They were obviously a duo. She wasn't walking into that trap.
Besides, she had no intention of pissing Batman off. He was one of the top-tier Justice League guys.
And realistically, she'd probably end up working in the same circles one day.
Fighting him now?
Not smart.
In fact, until she developed any sort of superpower, she was automatically on his side of the ideological divide.
DC's hero world wasn't all unity and friendship—it was factions. Superman's camp versus Batman's.
Batman distrusted everything non-human.
Aliens, metahumans—good or bad, didn't matter. He thought they all needed to be monitored, controlled, or destroyed.
With his resources, Batman could've easily enhanced himself chemically or genetically, but he refused.
He'd rather remain a pure human and prove that ordinary people could stand against gods.
That was his creed.
Thea knew there was no beating someone like that with fists.
Unless you killed him outright, he'd just crawl back stronger—like a very rich, very angry cockroach.
So she decided to switch tactics.
Prometheus once used this on Green Arrow: win the argument, not the fight.
Time to deploy the ultimate superpower of all protagonists—
Verbal Jutsu.
If she couldn't outpunch the Dark Knight, she'd outtalk him.
After all, in this world, whoever seized the moral high ground won—no cape required.