Jacob's Point of View
Selina Kyle, the Catwoman. Her presence hung in the air like velvet and smoke.
She saw me. Really saw me.
And she gave me work. Bartending. Cleaning. Watching.
It wasn't much, but it gave me something to do other than rot.
But I knew she knew what I was. And more importantly, I knew what she was—a legend. A ghost that danced on rooftops and left billionaires breathless. A thief who could outwit the world.
So I studied her.
While I poured drinks, I studied.
While I scrubbed blood from the floor, I studied.
I needed more. I needed purpose. Direction. Power.
I wanted answers. I wanted power. I wanted Gotham's heart in my hand.
And the first step? Learn from the best.
---
I found Selina in her back office.
"I want you to teach me," I said.
She didn't look up from her whiskey glass. "I already taught you how to bartend, how to wipe down tables, and how to spot a drunk about to start trouble."
"Not that. I mean really teach me. Teach me how to steal."
Her eyes darkened.
"Kid, I know what you've been through. I see it in your eyes. But this path... it's not the kind you can turn around on."
I stared back. "Then what about you? You think you're better than me?"
She took a breath. "I'm different. I grew up in these alleys. I was orphaned before I could spell my own name. You still had hope."
"I don't give a damn about sob stories," I snapped. "I'm asking you to teach me. Or don't. But don't pretend like I can go back."
Silence.
Then she sighed, drained her glass, and said, "Fine. Ten days. I'll teach you everything I can. After that, you're on your own. No strings."
I smiled.
"Challenge accepted."
---
On the second night, she took me to the rooftops.
"You're not going to be Catwoman," she said. "You're not flexible enough. You're not Robin either. But you've got muscle—more than most. You're sharp. You don't flinch. First lesson? Don't fear death."
Then she walked to the edge of a four-story drop, looked back, and said, "Follow me if you've got the guts."
She jumped.
Without hesitation, I stepped forward. Fear gripped my chest. Rationality told me to stop.
But the pain of watching my mother die, the rage against Batman, the feeling of powerlessness—I let it all fuel me.
I jumped.
I landed hard in a garbage pile. My leg screamed, probably sprained.
Selina looked down at me. "First real lesson—don't follow blindly. Think. Always. Pain teaches more than any book."
---
For the next ten days, she drilled me.
Locks, pressure sensors, movement patterns, sleight-of-hand, silent movement, emotional manipulation.
I absorbed everything like a sponge.
She was quick. I was quicker.
By the fourth day, I could match her technique. By the seventh, I could anticipate her steps.
"How are you learning this fast?" she asked.
"I remember everything," I said. "Perfect memory. My mind stores it like film. All I need is access."
"Memory alone doesn't make a thief."
"No. But intelligence does."
Selina paused, then nodded. "Fine. You want everything I've got? Let's see what you become with Catwoman's skills in your hands."
---
On the tenth day, as the sun set over Gotham's rusted bones, we stood on the roof again.
"You've got what you wanted," she said. "What now?"
I looked out across the city.
"I want to learn more. I'll find others. I'll study them too."
She sighed. "Alright, kid. Good luck. I'll be missing a barback."
I smirked. "You'll have to train another stray."
As I walked away, she called out, "What's your endgame, Jacob?"
I stopped.
"To end Batman."
Her pupils dilated slightly.
She opened her mouth—but I was already gone, disappearing into the maze of Gotham's shadows.
She whispered behind me, "What have I done?"