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Maybe it's because she's too stained by Gotham's influence, but as the bus pulls further into the glittering downtown of Metropolis, Selina immediately feels out of place.
There's something unreal about staring out the window, knowing the people rushing by, laughing together, squinting at a billboard haven't lived through the those everyday things. Those small horrors that Selina had never realized had bonded her with the rest of the citizens around her until she'd left.
Selina had left Gotham for a reason. There was nothing for her there. There could never be anything for her there.
Every time she hears a disparaging word in it's direction, spoken smugly from the mouth of someone who'd never lived there, she wants to burn their whole city down. You don't know. You don't know anything.
People talk about Metropolis like it's some abstract utopia. Something glorious and perfect. It's not, really. No city is as perfect as it seems. Knowing the right people, the right places, opens up a whole world most citizens could never imagine.
In Selina's case, she just knows the right kinds of places. The clubs in Metropolis are certainly more discrete, Selina is willing to admit that, if this had been in Gotham there probably would have been a large neon sign advertising: GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS.
There was no such sign here. It made no difference though, the inside was the same, everything Selina had come to expect from a grimy, morally questionably club.
She's not sure why she's here. Not really, but it calms her somehow, still unnerved by shine of the city in the early afternoon. In a club like this, Selina knows what to expect. Even if her presence here is unwise, at least she knows she's equipped to handle whatever it thrown at her.
Selina scans the room, this would be the perfect sort of place to pick out a mark from. Someone with money. Money to waste.
Money to lose.
There's a shiny new leather jumpsuit in her grimy motel room. Tucked carefully away with a distinctly feline helmet and goggles. Something new she'd commissioned after Miami but had only picked up after her time in Keystone. She hadn't gotten a chance to use it yet. Maybe if she found a worthy mark she'd break it in.
Selina's gaze slides over the bar. There's a couple of girls there, picking up orders. A skinny man leaning too far over counter. There's another man on the far end of the bar harassing a few of the girls, he cooes something at one of them who gives him a small, passable, smile and a thinly concealed look of desperation to the bartender. And all the way on the other side of the bar, nursing a glass with golden brown liquid— vice.
Has to be. She looks too out of place. Skinny jeans and an leather jacket. Black hair untied and falling over her shoulders. There's something off about her, besides the fact she looks like she's dressed to pick a fight behind a bar.
A cop here, so openly? She was going to get herself killed.
The woman glances over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the crowd like Selina had been moments ago. She looks unsettled and some part of Selina takes pity on her. What the hell. Selina moves from her position and slides up to the side of the bar, leaning against the solid wooden surface a little ways from "Vice".
She slides closer and leans over, following the other woman's gaze over the crowd. "Looking for something?" she prompts.
The woman jumps, turning her gaze to Selina in a flash. Her eyes narrow and she frowns in consideration, before relaxing a bit. "Uhm— Sorry. Not my type."
Selina stares back at the woman for a second before rolling her eyes. Geez. "Are you vice?" she asks plainly.
That nervous expression comes straight back onto her face only to once again fade as her expression hardens. "What? No. Are you insane?"
Selina cuts her off before the woman can continue protesting. "Look," she says in a hushed voice. "Whatever you're here for— it's not for the ladies, anyone who knows anything here can tell just by looking at you. Just looking at that outfit for one. You're wasting your time."
The woman glares at Selina, "I don't know you. I sure as hell didn't ask your opinion on my—"
Selina could recite the number of times she had seen people get walked out of a club she was working in, only hear the distinctive sound of a gunshot over the music minutes later. Her chest feels hot. "Don't you understand what I'm saying? Whether or not you're a cop you look like one. The people here? They see someone cop-like, someone fishy? They kill you. You're in danger. Go home."
They were both arguing in hushed tones. Or attempting too. Still earning a few sharp looks from the bartenders on staff. Selina understood their annoyance, working the bar was enough free therapy work to give out, without having to become involved in disruptive interpersonal arguments happening over her workspace.
She should've just stuck to finding a mark.
Selina leans against the bar again, trying to keep calm, look casual. She catches the eye of the man before, clean clothes, slicked back hair, dark eyes. Hand wandering to his belt.
Only an idiot would put a loaded gun in his pants, Selina thinks before grasping the other woman's hand, pulling her close and hissing a swift "Come with me," between her teeth.
Selina marched them together to the nearest women's room and pushed the door open.
"Excuse me," the woman hisses at Selina, rubbing her wrist.
Selina's not really sure what she's even doing at this point, her heart is practically climbing up her throat. She shouldn't be this angry. "This is serious," she snaps.
The woman's gaze hardens. "This isn't Gotham, you can't just pull a cop out of a club and shoot them in the alleyway. Besides, I'm not a damsel. I can take care of myself. "
There it was again, that casual comfort kicking held while dirt over Gotham's name. The woman hadn't even said anything that was wrong. Selina could have punched her. Instead she said, as calmly as she could. "That man across the bar had a gun."
The woman takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and breathing in slowly, then exhaling. Box breathing. Selina had been taught it by one of the older women in the club when she first started working with clients. She'd passed it on a few times as well.
"My name is Lois Lane." the woman says, after she opens her eyes again. "I'm not a cop. I promise. I'm an investigative reporter. "
Selina can think of a few smart-ass responses to that, but she keeps those to herself. Instead she lifts her chin, studying Lois for a moment before asking, "And want are you doing here?"
"I'm trying to—" Lois stops and frowns. "What are you doing here?"
Selina hesitates, a moment too long evidently because Lois pulls away.
"Who do you work for?" she asks, accusatory.
Selina scowls in response to that. "Nobody but myself. Don't forget I just saved your life."
"Maybe.." Lois said. "It doesn't mean I owe you any information about my investigation— or lack of one."
Selina frowns, the gears in her brain whirring to action. "Can I take a guess?"
Lois looks surprised. "You're tenacious. Why do you want to know?"
"I'm from Gotham," Selina says, not for the first time since she's abandoned the city, like it was a badge of honor. "If I'm right, you're going about this the wrong way. Maybe I can help."
"Alright," says Lois. "Take your guess."
Selina straightens. "Powerful man— connected to things he shouldn't be. Pimping? Human trafficking? Did you think you could walk into the club he had connections with and he'd be sitting at the bar talking about his crimes?"
"Close enough. And no, I didn't exactly. I'll admit I didn't really have too detailed of a game plan. I mean…" Lois glances at door of the bathroom and the way they'd came. "I didn't expect it to be like this. Maybe that's stupid."
"Never been to a club before?" Selina asks.
Lois laughs. "Please- I've been to plenty of clubs. And plenty of clubs I wasn't supposed to be in. But— none like this."
"First strip club?"
"Sure, something like that."
Selina tries to wrap her mind around that for a moment, and finds that she struggles with the idea. "I took my first steps in the strip club my mother worked at."
Lois's gaze shifted, and she seemed to be studying Selina's face. It was an uncomfortable feeling, settling somewhere under her skin.
"Nevermind," Selina said fluidly. "Do you have a business card?"
Lois nods quickly, following Selina's queue in dropping the previous subject. She flips open her purse and rummages through it for a few seconds before extracting a somewhat crumbled, but otherwise intact off-white business card.
Selina accepts the card from Lois and examines it. Beside a small headshot of Lane is her name printed out in neat serifed lettering. Lois Lane. The Daily Planet. Underneath was a neat list of contact information.
"Can I text this phone number?" Selina asks.
"Yeah— That's my work phone."
"I'll contact you," Selina says, pocketing the card.
"When?" Lois asks. "I don't exactly want to sit around for this."
"Tomorrow morning," Selina promises. "You still need to give me details about what you're working on. So I can actually help you."
They meet at a cafe the next morning. Despite the time, it's still frustratingly bright in Metropolis. Selina might have to reevaluate those conspiracy theories about the sun passing over Gotham, because she's starting to feel like a naked vampire with this excess of sunlight.
"It's ten-thirty." Lois says as greeting.
Selina pulls out a chair cross the table from her and sits. "Don't remind me."
Lois sighs, and she moves to tap her pen on the small lined notebook she holds in her right hand.
"Alright," Selina says. "From the beginning."
The picture Lois paints is vivid, but so familiar it's almost numbing. If it was a work of fiction, Selina would have called it bland and horrifically cliche. It isn't, and Selina instead is left to contend with another man in power wilfully choosing to abuse it.
"The sexual misconduct I know I can prove to the best a reporter can," Lois says after explaining the long string of allegations she'd begun by looking into. "But while I was looking at it, I noticed a pattern of age. Certain pieces of story not quite lining up. The abuse was so common I started to poke around at the women who explicitly asserted nothing had happened. Some were more defensive then others. I noticed that the girls who flat out refused to speak to me had all been hired young and unexperienced. Suspiciously unexperienced."
"What do you mean?" Selina asks.
"No networking. No connections. No job application. Very new graduates or new to the field or just generally unexperienced." Lois begins tapping on her notebook. "Working with a Senator is very prestigious, even if it's just busywork. People almost fight wars over these sort of things, but there's barely evidence of these girls applying. No less letters of recommendation that would have been reviewed by a secretary. So I looked all of them up. Couldn't find a trace of them. At least not through Google."
Selina nods along, she can see where this is going. "Sex trafficking."
"Exactly," Lois said. "My working theory is he meets these girls through traffickers, then eventually hires them to keep them close and personal. He's their paycheck."
"Are they from out of country?" Selina asks.
"Some of them," Lois says. "Others just from rough sides of town or rough towns in general. They and their families can live better, even if the trade off is the abuse."
"And the trafficking is centered at the club you are at last night?"
Lois shakes her head. "I'm starting to think it's not centred. It's come up a few too many times to be coincidental though. I'm not really sure."
There's a beat and Selina mulls over what Lois has told her.
"Two more things. I have is with reasonable certainty that he has some criminalizing evidence he keeps in the safe in his office."
Selina wonders if Lois can see the way her eyes light up.
"And— last night I found this in the mail."
Lois pulls a card out of her purse and hands it so Selina. It's a thick card stock and on it are neat printed letters. It's an invitation to a black-tie gala event, and at the bottom, in swooping letters is the signature of the host and the man they are investigating.
Selina reads the invitation twice before noticing the date. "This is for tonight," she says. "How long has this been in your mail?"
Lois scowls, reaching across the table for the card. "I get a lot of random spam mail from organization I used to be part of. You wouldn't believe the mail I get from my university."
"I would, actually," Selina finally hands the card over. "So, what with it? Are you going?"
"I don't know," Lois thumbs the card, a careful expression on her face. "I would give me a chance to get close to him, but I don't know if I will be able to get any helpful information out of him."
"Don't try," Selina leans forward across the table.
There's a leather catsuit in a bag in her motel room.
"Just keep him occupied." She continues. "I can do the rest. You said the evidence is supposed to be in his office safe, right?"
Lois looks up and her eyes narrow slowly. "Yes. Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"That depends," Selina answers, "do you want deniability?"
Lois frowns. "If you get caught…"
"I won't," Selina says quickly. "I get that this is hard to believe, but I know what I'm doing. I'm a fighter, I had to be." She leans toward Lois more. "I'm not more important then what's happening to those girls, and neither are you. I'll do what I have to, even if that means risking my livelihood."
"Our livelihoods or their lives," Lois muses.
Selina straightens and nods. "That's not a particularly hard choice, is it?"
Lois must have been at the party now. Selina really had no way to know, they had no way to communicate. It made her really wish she'd picked up some sort of comm line with the suit, but she'd genuinely thought she would never need it.
She hadn't planned on working with anyone else. Hadn't planned on involving herself with this sort of thing at all.
Justice, the good of the many. It was that kind of idealistic heroism she'd already chosen to leave behind her in Gotham. She wasn't going to look back, couldn't afford it.
Instead, she had this, a snug tactical suit, a thick wire anchored to the roof of the building and a prayer the only things keeping her from falling hundreds of feet to her death.
That would be a way to go. The wait on the way down would be the longest seconds in her life. At least she probably would die before her brain processed the impact.
Real cheery thought there sweetheart, Selina chides herself. Way to build confidence. She keeps a tight grip on the wire as she lowers herself down, inch by horrifying inch. The office, gracefully dark and empty, slowly moves up to greet her.
At least he kept his office at the top of the building. If it was nestled in the heart of the building Selina would be cursing a more then herself for coming up with this idea in the first place.
Practice makes perfect. Selina stops herself on the window with the rubber sole of her boot. This part, admittedly, she had been looking forward to more.
She pulls her hand off the wire carefully and presses down on her palm with her middle finger. Inside her gloves, a small button clicks, and the metal protection covering her fingers moves forwards, clicking together into smooth, sharp points around the tips of her gloves.
A tad tight, if she's entirely honest. But she can't complain, not when she has claws stronger then her nails ever could be.
Selina traces a circle on the glass. The claws are, blessedly, silent as it carves a path through the transparent surface. Selina holds her breath as she pushes lightly on one side of the circle. She's blessed again when instead of shifting backwards all in one piece, the class circle turns, leaving her enough space to grasp with one hand and lower it onto the office floor.
Lucky, twice over. She needs to add to her gear already.
Selina overs herself into the hole she created on the glass, and crouches on the floor. Through her goggles she is able to see across the expanse of the office in red-tinted night vision.
She pauses before continuing, taking a shaky breath in an attempt to steady her heartbeat. She can feel it fighting it's way out of her chest, and it's hard not to be taken right back to Mama Fortuna and the first time she'd gone into the streets pick pocketing.
That time was far behind her, and she wasn't a scared little girl anymore.
Selina keeps low to the ground as she crosses over the expanse of the office. Circling the desk. Normally, she would check behind artwork for a hidden safe but the only thing in this office that could pass as artwork is a vintage looking rifle hung up behind the desk. Selina almost wants to throw it out the window, but that would go against getting in and out without being notice.
And without the object being taken being noticed before Lois can do what she needs to with it.
Selina sighs and ducks under the desk, retracting her claws and running her hands over the wood. A small change in texture on the far right side of the bottom of the desk signals she's found what she's looking for. Selina presses down and is rewarded with a satisfying click.
One of the side of the wooden drawers on the desk lay slightly ajar, Selina moves it over and is greeted by a compact metal safe.
Now all that's left is for Selina to crack the safe open.
The first time she'd successfully opened a safe was when she was twelve. She'd been completely self taught then. It was the last time Mama Fortuna saw her, or those ten thousand dollars again.
Lois is late to their meeting time, but as Selina stares at the traffic in the streets below she knows its nothing to worry about. And she's right.
The stairway door is pushed open by an exasperated Lois, her upper body engulfed by a men's suit jacket much larger then she is. "Sorry," she pants. "It was it hassle to get here."
"Did you run up the stairs?" Selina asks, noting how out of breath she is.
Lois shrugs, "So what?"
Selina just chuckles, unfolding herself from the air conditioning box she was sitting on and leaping down to stand with Lois. "Here," she flips open on of the pouches on her suit and hands the USB key to Lois. "Should be everything you need."
"Did you take anything else I should know about?"
"You mean the rifle I threw in the harbor?" Selina asks.
"His wall rifle?" Lois asks.
"It was the only piece of "art" he had in the place," Selina said, "Pissed me off."
"You know that rifle was from the civil war, right?" Lois looks more amused then anything.
Selina rolls her eyes. "Oops."
Lois laughs. "Probably for the best anyway," She shifts the USB in her hand like it's a weight. "Thank you," she says, finally after the moment draws on like nails on chalkboard.
Selina almost squirms under the gratitude. "I'm just a thief," she says firmly. "And I didn't just take the rifle."
There will be an extra five thousand in cash in her duffel tonight. She's going to redo her mothers grave when she gets home. Maria deserves more then a small square of concrete tucked away somewhere. Not when Falcone's name rests easily on a slab of marble.
Lois seems to be studying Selina. Trying to pick her apart, and if Selina let her long enough she probably make sense of Selina. More the Selina was ever able to make sense of herself. It was her job, after all.
"I should go," Selina says, "I'm taking the midnight bus out."
"So soon?" Lois tilts her head. "Where are you going?"
"Home," Selina says. "This city's not built for me. Or I'm not built for it."
Lois nods. "Our homes are part of our identity, a bit of both in a way. I'll send you the article, when it's finished."
Selina smiles at that. "I'd like that."
Lois nods, "Keep in touch. We're fighters, we need to stick together."