On the edge of Gotham's East End stood St. Mary's Abbey.
The Victorian Era building resembled an old man on his deathbed. The ivy on its outer walls had long since died, leaving only shriveled vines clinging stubbornly to the blackened mortar joints.
Selina Kyle's combat boot landed on a loose red brick without making a sound.
Like a true wildcat, she sprang off a trash can in the corner, caught the rusty edge of the wall with one hand, and vaulted nimbly into the Monastery's backyard.
The air reeked of cheap soap mixed with the stench rising from the drains.
Splash-
At the washbasin in the middle of the yard, Maggie Kyle was vigorously scrubbing a pile of dingy sheets. The icy well water had turned her hands-hands that should have been playing the piano-bright red, and tiny bloody cracks had even opened across her knuckles.
Watching her younger sister's frail back, Selene's defiant gaze softened a little. She brushed the dust off her leather jacket and cleared her throat.
"Guess who's back?"
Maggie's hands stopped. She turned, a flicker of delight crossing her dark brown eyes, only to be quickly smothered by deep worry.
She wiped her hands on a yellowed towel and hurried over to Selene, scanning her sister from head to toe. Only after confirming there was no blood and no wounds did she let out a long, misty breath.
"You went to Upper Town again." Maggie's voice was quiet, carrying that particular restraint of a devout Catholic. "Selene, the sister said this month's relief money would last us another week. You don't have to..."
"Another week? On moldy oatmeal and black bread hard enough to beat a rat to death?" Selene scoffed, cutting her sister off without ceremony. She reached out and pinched Maggie's freezing cheek.
"Listen, little Maggie. God doesn't look after Gotham's East End. The old man's too busy. Around here, the only things that count are meat in your stomach and dollars in your pocket."
Maggie lowered her head, nervously twisting the edge of her coarse apron between her fingers. She knew her sister had been forced to put on that cynical mask and take to the streets just to keep her alive in this man-eating hell.
Rather than blame, what filled her heart was guilt that rose like sour bile.
If only I hadn't gotten sick. If only I could find a decent job...
"Don't give me that look." Selene could never stand that expression on her sister's face. She raised an eyebrow, an immensely smug smile curling her lips.
"Today was a jackpot. You'll never guess which fat mark I ran into. That stupid pig Benjamin! He had a whole wad of cash stuffed in his suit! Enough to fix the Monastery's busted boiler and pay six months of heating bills!"
As she spoke, Selene reached into the inside pocket of her fitted leather jacket, practically glowing with excitement.
Her fingers were already poised to feel the supple texture of the leather wallet.
One second. Two seconds.
The smile on Selene's face froze like a cheap videotape someone had paused.
Her fingers scraped against the pocket's lining. Empty.
"Impossible."
She muttered the word under her breath, her brows instantly knotting. Her right hand shot out, her left roughly yanked open the jacket's zipper, and both hands frantically searched the dozen or so pockets on her body.
Left outer pocket, nothing. Right hidden pocket, nothing. Her trouser pockets were flat, holding only two coins.
Selene even took off her leather jacket and shook it hard twice. With a clack, a stolen cheap lighter fell onto the muddy ground.
No wallet. That brick-thick prize stuffed with dollars had vanished into thin air!
"Selene? What's wrong?" Watching her sister's face suddenly turn deathly pale, Maggie grabbed her wrist in alarm.
Selene didn't answer. She stared at her empty inside pocket, her chest heaving.
The queen of Gotham's street thieves had been robbed.
And someone had lifted the goods straight from the inside pocket against her body without her noticing a thing!
Intense humiliation and rage shot up her spine into her brain like a venomous snake. A dangerous flush instantly colored the corners of Selene's eyes, her pupils tightening slightly under the violent surge of emotion.
Who? Who could have done it?
She forced herself to calm down. Took a deep breath. Cold air flooded her lungs, suppressing her frantic heartbeat. Like a precision projector, her mind began furiously replaying every move she had made that day.
Starting at that intersection in Upper Town. Benjamin had been stamping his feet outside the pharmacy. The onlookers had all been at least two meters away from her. She had lowered her cap, turned, and melted into the crowd.
No one had touched her.
No!
Selene abruptly closed her eyes. The film of her memory froze on a single instant.
A gust of wind. The smell of cheap perfume. And...
A man who had brushed past her.
A pitch-black trench coat. A baseball cap pulled low. Beneath its brim were utterly cold black eyes and dark circles so heavy they made him look like a ghost.
At the instant they passed each other, she had deliberately leaned half an inch closer to him, pretending the crowd had pushed her.
Her fingers had even slipped into his coat pocket, ready to help herself. But the man had merely turned slightly, avoiding her touch at an utterly bizarre angle.
That was it. That one second!
Selene's eyes flew open, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
She finally remembered the detail she had overlooked. As the man turned, the faintest current of air had brushed across her chest. It hadn't been the wind. It had been the movement of fabric being lifted and dropped at incredible speed.
That Asian man with the dark circles had not only evaded her probing hand, but in half a second, using a technique she hadn't even managed to see, he had opened her jacket, taken the wallet from her inside pocket, and made a flawless escape!
"Fine... just fine."
Selene forced the words through clenched teeth, her knuckles cracking as she tightened her fists. Like a leopardess whose prey had been stolen, her eyes burned with fierce fighting spirit and undisguised murderous intent.
"You actually had the nerve to rob me..." Grinding her teeth, she snatched her leather jacket off the ground and put it back on. "I don't care who you are. You took what was mine, and I'll get it back with interest!"
"Selene? Where are you going?" Maggie cried anxiously as her sister suddenly turned and strode toward the courtyard wall.
"To get our heating money back!" Without looking back, Selene darted forward, vaulted over the high wall once more, and disappeared into Gotham's gloomy dusk.
Elsewhere.
Lake Street, Gotham's East End.
"Achoo!"
Without warning, Yang Ming let out a thunderous sneeze.
He rubbed his aching nose and glanced up at the lead-gray clouds that looked ready to collapse at any moment. "This damn weather. To hell with it."
He carried two enormous black plastic bags packed with high-purity medical alcohol, sterile gauze, several sets of surgical instruments, and dozens of boxes of powerful antibiotics, all bought at steep prices on the black market. The two bags weighed at least forty pounds, their handles digging into his fingers until they turned white.
Although he had just pocketed a million dollars, Yang Ming's deep-rooted stinginess hadn't changed. If he could walk to Upper Town for supplies, he certainly wasn't going to spend twenty dollars on a Gotham cab whose seats might be stained with blood.
His leather shoes squelched against the asphalt, slick with puddles and oil.
On either side of the street, a few ragged homeless men huddled in cardboard boxes, watching the bags in his hands with greed and apprehension.
But once they recognized that face, with its dark circles and sickly exhaustion, they looked away as though shocked by electricity and shrank deeper into their boxes.
Everyone in the neighborhood knew that, of all the people they could mess with, the back-alley doctor at 22 Lake Street was off-limits. The last junkie who had tried to rob him was still fighting rats for territory in the sewers. Rumor had it that even his kidney had been cut out to cover the medical bill.
Ignoring their stares, Yang Ming turned into the alley at number 22.
The help-wanted notice was still pasted to the redbrick wall, one corner lifted by the wind.
"Looks like a million still isn't enough." Yang Ming shifted the heavy plastic bags to his left hand and fished his keys out of his pocket. "I need to hire an assistant soon. A few more patients built like young Master Wayne, and these old bones of mine will end up giving out on the operating table."
The key slid into the rusty lock. With a click, the heavy iron door swung open.
The Underground Clinic still reeked of disinfectant.
Yang Ming dumped the supplies on the iron table and went to the sink to wash his face. Cold droplets trickled from his chin. He raised his head and studied the face in the mirror, delicate-featured yet a little careworn.
He had no idea that, just a few blocks away, a Catwoman robbed of her spoils was scouring the streets for him;
and farther away, in Upper Town, a blonde college student with a morbid obsession with criminal psychology had already sketched the outline of his trench coat in a pink notebook.
Because of Benjamin's wallet, a dark web woven from three of Gotham's future most dangerous people was quietly closing around this cramped Underground Clinic.
Meanwhile, Yang Ming merely dug a cup of instant noodles out of a drawer, tore open the packaging, and poured in hot water.
"Hopefully some poor sap who's quick with their hands and knows how to shut up and work will come apply tomorrow," he muttered, weighing down the noodle cup's lid with a fork.