CATWOMAN

o. PROLOGUE

Blinding, white moonlight shined off the black suit clinging to her figure. The milky light pooled within the creases of the leather, outlining her shape as she prowled slow, agonizing circles around the criminal she held captive.

     He leaned heavily on one leg, bloodstained arm clenched in his other hand. 

     "Please..." he croaked, but the woman held no pity or sorrow for this man. He had hurt a young, defenseless girl. Someone she knew. Someone she loved. And for that he would pay.

     "You must think of consequences before taking actions. We both grew up in the same world, surrounded by the same twisted people. You should know that better than most." Her intention was to draw the moment out as long as she could. The pain she inflicted upon him at the beginning wasn't enough to kill, but definitely enough to make him beg for mercy. She had learned long ago how to make people do what she wanted.

     He coughed blood into his torn jacket. Gashes in the alinement of claws ran down his back and continued to his arm. The blood spilling from his various wounds would soon cause him to black out. She savored his pain, bathed in it. Every crack of his knees on the asphalt made her shiver in delight. Every tear that slid down his face had her smirking in satisfaction.

     His weak pleas for mercy fell on unforgiving ears. "It was a mistake. People make mistakes. You should know that."

     The woman continued circling him like a lion cornering prey—because that's what they were. She had lured him to the abandoned alleyway for the sole purpose of making him suffer. When a lioness rips her prey apart, the poor animal still has a little life left in him before dying. The lioness feasts on it until it is completely gone. In this scenario, the woman was the lion and the dying man was the prey. And she had every intention of feasting on him until he was destroyed.

       "Oh, trust me, I do know. Better than you think, actually," she responded. She lunged forward quickly and pressed a gloved finger into a gash on his neck, causing blood to rise to the surface and spill out. "I have made my fair share of mistakes. But none compare to the pain you put that innocent girl through."

     The man, seeing as there was no winning in this fight, laughed obscenely. "Oh, you're talking about that?" He whistled through his rotten teeth. "Don't get ahead of yourself, sweetheart. After all, she was—"

     In less than a second, she had her hands around his neck. The metal tips on her gloves sprang out and cut deep slices into the skin. She ripped back with a force so hard that his now lifeless body fell forward with a smack. She wiped off the blood on her gloves and retracted the artificial claws.

     "Rot in hell," she spat. The woman in black turned around and pulled herself onto the roof of one of the buildings making up the alleyway she had lured him into. A pig like him couldn't resist a woman in tight leather. Little did he know that the leather he had lusted after would bring his and every other scumbag in Gotham's death a lot sooner than they expected.