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Seeing that the once-loose prison bars had been bent and narrowed by Allen, Catwoman couldn't help but blurt out in disbelief, "Are you crazy?"
"Do you have medicine for that?" Allen replied with a chuckle; his tone far too casual for the situation.
"You shouldn't be locked up in Blackgate Prison—you belong in Arkham!" Catwoman snapped, now fully convinced that Allen was completely unhinged.
Then again, this was Gotham, a city not exactly famous for its population of mentally stable individuals.
"I'll visit if I get the chance," Allen responded earnestly, his expression so sincere it was almost unsettling as if he hadn't even noticed the insult.
Catwoman decided it was pointless—no, dangerous—to continue talking to him.
This guy wasn't just your average crazy—he was the kind of crazy that got people killed in disturbingly creative ways.
Shaking her head with growing frustration, she stepped toward the bars, lifting one leg over first before pressing her abdomen down to squeeze through the narrow gap between the bars.
But just as she was halfway through, her body abruptly stopped.
It was too tight.
The space that might have had once allowed her to slip through easily was now uncomfortably narrow and far less forgiving.
She frowned and turned her head to glance at Allen, only to catch him staring at her a little too intently.
A quick glance down told her everything she needed to know.
This bastard had done it on purpose.
No wonder he had sized her up earlier with that measuring look—no wonder he had subtly adjusted the bars back slightly after widening them.
Furious at the realization, Catwoman grit her teeth and forced herself through the gap with a grunt of effort. She knew he was staring, but she ignored it, pushing through with a low hiss and landing on the other side.
She threw Allen a glare sharp enough to cut steel.
"Bravo, bravo!" Allen clapped mockingly with a smirk.
"You've proven it's real."
'Who the hell needed to prove anything?!' Catwoman sighed silently, barely restraining the overwhelming urge to storm back over and beat him senseless right there.
But before she could act on that very tempting thought, the guard at the end of the corridor suddenly spotted her and rushed over.
She had no time to waste on lunatics like Allen—she needed to escape now.
As soon as the door swung open, several prison guards burst into the hallway, charging at her with batons raised.
Under normal circumstances, a few guards wouldn't even slow her down, but her shoulder was still numb from the strain, and her mobility was severely hampered.
She gritted her teeth as she struggled.
Then—
Boom!
A loud explosion shook the entire prison, the force reverberating through the steel and concrete like thunder.
A moment later, all hell broke loose as frantic shouts and panicked screams echoed through the halls like a twisted symphony of chaos.
Before the guards could regroup or even understand what was happening, a group of armed men stormed the block, taking down anyone in their path without hesitation.
They moved with the kind of swagger that came from knowing no one could stop them, unlocking cells and tossing weapons to the stunned but eager prisoners.
"You're liberated! You're free!" one of them shouted over the noise.
"Take your revenge—punish the rich bastards! Gotham belongs to you now!"
It didn't take much encouragement.
Gotham's criminals were many things, but passive wasn't one of them.
The moment they got their hands on guns, the entire prison transformed into a war zone.
In the midst of the chaos, Catwoman found herself shoved aside in the crowd, nearly losing her footing in the surge.
Meanwhile, Allen's cell was casually opened by a strong-bodied man, who didn't even blink as he tossed a handgun toward him.
"You're free, kid. Take this."
"Much appreciated," Allen said with a smile, catching the gun and examining it with mild curiosity.
He had never actually fired a gun before, but that didn't concern him.
He could always find someone to 'show' him the ropes later—there was no shortage of 'teachers' in Gotham.
Catwoman was right—he really did belong in Arkham.
Surveying the absolute pandemonium around him, Allen strolled out of his cell with a relaxed, almost amused air.
The corridor was packed with rampaging prisoners and fleeing guards, but with his enhanced agility and dexterity, he weaved through them like a shadow.
As he passed by Catwoman, he flashed her a smug, infuriating grin before disappearing into the corridor without a care in the world, ignoring her furious glare like it didn't exist.
Even though she was renowned for her flexibility and skill, she still wasn't as nimble as Allen, whose abilities were layered and stacked far beyond any ordinary person's.
By the time she finally managed to escape the prison through the chaos, Allen was long gone.
And the streets of Gotham…
They were in complete and utter turmoil.
"Yep, that's Gotham for you," Allen muttered to himself as he strolled along the cracked pavement, taking in the madness with something close to fondness.
Gunshots rang out through the air like firecrackers.
The city was a cacophony of shouting, screaming, and desperate cries for help.
Wealthy homes and pristine corporate buildings were being broken into, looted, and vandalized.
The so-called elite were being dragged from their hiding places and dumped onto the streets like yesterday's trash.
Some of them tried to resist.
But this was Gotham—if you didn't own a gun, you were as good as dead.
Here, when violence broke out, people shot to kill.
No hesitation, no second thoughts.
This was the only city where, during Darkseid's apocalyptic invasion of Earth, ordinary citizens didn't panic or run.
No, they fought back against Parademons like it was just another Tuesday.
Gotham's people would shoot first and ask questions never.
The sky overhead was overcast and heavy, the sun nowhere to be seen.
Towering buildings loomed above like silent watchers, their grand architecture hiding years of rot, rust, and ruin.
And now, with the riots exploding across the streets, it was clear—this wasn't chaos.
This was Gotham in its purest form.
"Lively place," Allen muttered dryly, adjusting the collar of his shirt as he headed toward a nearby apartment complex that looked only half-looted.
Despite the ongoing riots and the sounds of distant gunfire, he approached the front door like a perfectly polite guest and calmly pressed the doorbell.
Ding dong.
Silence.
No one answered.
"Figures," he sighed, before lifting his foot and kicking the door open with a resounding boom that echoed through the building.
Raising the gun, he called out, "Alright, listen up! This is a rob—"
*Bang*
Before he could finish the sentence, a gunshot rang out from inside.