Gotham. She breathes, you know. A sigh of exhaust fumes and desperation.A whisper of secrets through her alleyways. And I? I listen. I'm Selina Kyle.But you can call me Catwoman. Most do. It's a title I've earned.One diamond. One sapphire. One priceless artifact at a time.They call it thievery. I call it redistribution. From the grasping hands of Gotham's elite to, well, to someone who appreciates true beauty.And has excellent taste in cat-themed accessories. Life's a delicate dance on the razor's edge of a skyscraper. The thrill of the chase.The whisper of alarm systems bypassed. The cool kiss of a newly acquired gem against my palm. It's intoxicating.Better than any champagne. Of course, no dance in Gotham is complete without a partner. And mine? He wears a cape and cowl, broods a lot, and has this infuriating habit of showing up right when the party's getting good.The Dark Knight. Bruce. Our relationship is, let's call it complicated.A tangled string we both pull at. Sometimes playfully. Sometimes like our lives depend on it.He thinks he can save me. I think he enjoys the chase as much as I do. Under all that armor and righteousness, there's a wildness in him.I see it. Maybe that's why we can't quit each other. This city's a crowded den.You've got Ivy, dear Pammy, trying to turn Gotham into her personal terrarium. Sometimes, if the wind's right, you can almost appreciate her dedication to greenery, even if she does take it a tad too far. Then there's Cobblepot, the penguin, waddling, squawking, and surprisingly well-connected in the underbelly.His taste in art is gaudy, but his vaults are occasionally worth a visit. And the Joker? Ugh. No finesse, no style.Just chaos and a grin that makes your skin crawl. I steer clear. Some lines, even a cat won't cross.His brand of crazy is just bad for business. And my sanity. But Gotham's rogues? They're kittens compared to some of the bigger picture threats.You wouldn't believe it, but I once found myself toe-to-toe with Darkseid. Yeah, THAT Darkseid. No one ever believes me.One second, I'm in Metropolis, cracking open a LexCorp vault. Next thing I know, I'm face-to-face with a walking apocalypse. I felt the Omega Beam slice through reality, saw Hell, burned in it, clawed my way out.It's not all high-stakes heists and interdimensional damnation, though. A girl's gotta live. Nights out, sure, when I'm working.Blending in, observing. You learn a lot over a martini, watching Gotham's so-called finest preen. But mostly, it's training.My body is my best tool, my greatest weapon. Hours in the gym, honing every muscle, every reflex. Flexibility, speed, strength.You can't outrun the bat, or dodge laser grids if you're not at your peak. And diet? Oh, that's a fickle mistress. I can sculpt myself like clay.Slipping through spaces you wouldn't think a whisper could pass. But then there are times. A girl gets cravings, or a particularly stressful week dodging GCPD in Caped Crusaders.A little indulgence, and my body, well, it has its favorite places to store the evidence. A lot of it goes to the hips and chest. It can be a blessing, that extra curve, giving me a lower center of gravity on a precarious ledge.Or a curse, when that custom made catsuit feels a little snugger than I remember. It's a constant balancing act, like everything else in my life. The real vaults these days aren't steel, they're silicon.Oh, diamonds are still a girl's lovely distraction. But information, darling? Information is her power. The most priceless treasures are whistled in algorithms, guarded by firewalls fiercer than any guard dog.And there's a particularly luminous string of digital pearls I've got my eye on tonight. They think their digital fortress is impenetrable. They underestimate my cyber skills.Firewalls and encryption are just new challenges. Wish me luck. Or don't.I make my own. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some secrets to liberate. Please like and subscribe if you want to see more content like this.
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