Blackgate Penitentiary

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Catwoman had obviously never heard the litter-box servant joke.

But that mattered less than the question in front of her.

Who was this guy?

He had the exact same skills she did, only stronger. Since when did Gotham have someone like that? And why would he be locked up in Blackgate? Was it an accident, or had he come here for a reason?

When he stepped toward her, Catwoman backed away on instinct.

Damon stopped and gave her a lazy grin. "You can't beat me, and you can't run. So why are you hiding? Where exactly do you plan to go? I'm new here. I just want to chat and get a feel for the situation."

Catwoman stayed silent.

Damon frowned. "Do you not understand how a conversation works? It goes back and forth. I say something, then you answer. For example, I ask, 'Are you Catwoman?' and you say, 'None of your damn business.' Then I ask, 'Are you Selina Kyle?' See? That's a conversation."

'This bastard really knows who I am.'

'Not just Catwoman. My real name too.'

"Still don't get it? That's fine. I'll teach you slowly." Seeing that she still refused to answer, Damon continued with entirely too much enthusiasm. "I ask, 'Where is this?' and you say, 'Gotham.' Then I ask, 'Where's Batman?' and you..."

"Batman is dead."

The mention of Batman finally drew an answer out of her.

'So this really is Gotham.'

Good old Gotham. Friendliest city on Earth, if your idea of friendly involved Arkham turning out talent by the truckload.

"There we go," Damon said, pleased. "Looks like you've mastered the basics of conversation. If Batman is dead, is Bruce Wayne still alive?"

"How do you know Bruce Wayne is..." Catwoman's eyes widened as she stared at him.

She had only learned not long ago that Gotham's billionaire prince, Bruce Wayne, was Batman. Who the hell was this man? He knew her identity, and he knew Batman's too.

"I'm not sure," she said at last. "But he may already be dead. He crossed Bane."

Bane.

So the spine-breaker scene had already happened.

Damon clicked his tongue, amused. Bane might be infamous for breaking backs, but Batman was not that easy to kill. He was the kind of person who always found a way back. More likely, he was hidden somewhere, licking his wounds and preparing his comeback.

And if this was Gotham under Bane's control, then the current situation looked a lot like The Dark Knight Rises.

"This is Blackgate Penitentiary, right?" Damon asked.

"You don't even know what prison you're in?" Catwoman clearly did not want to answer such a stupid question.

"I don't even know when I'm going to die," Damon said casually. "Still taking my time living."

'Is that supposed to be the same thing?'

Catwoman glared at him.

'This bastard is even worse at conversation than I am.'

Damon ignored her silent outrage, turned, and stretched out on the bed as if he owned the cell.

His behavior made Catwoman frown. She shifted her injured shoulder carefully and studied him.

He looked about eighteen or nineteen. Short buzzed hair, handsome face, still carrying a trace of youth. At a glance, he did not look much different from an ordinary college student.

"What's your name?" Catwoman finally asked.

"Damon Keller."

This time, he did not make another litter-box joke.

Catwoman repeated the name silently and confirmed she had never heard it before. Seeing him lounge there without a care, she could not help asking, "Are you not planning to leave? Gotham is under Bane's control. No one knows what he'll do next. He may destroy the entire city. If we still have a chance to get out, we should take it. Wait too long, and we may not be able to leave at all."

"How about we work together and get out of here?"

Damon rolled onto his side and looked at her, one foot dangling over the edge of the bed and swaying lightly.

Catwoman watched him. Despite herself, her eyes drifted toward that swinging foot.

"Work together?"

"Mm."

Damon's answer sounded almost absentminded, and his foot swung a little wider.

Catwoman's gaze sharpened. Her brows pulled together.

What was wrong with this bastard? If he wanted to lie down, fine. Why did he have to keep swinging his foot?

She was just about to snap at him when Damon burst out laughing.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing." Damon shook his head. He did not have a cat toy, but apparently the effect was close enough. "Forget working together. I have my own way out. But if you want to leave, I can help."

"How?"

Damon got off the bed and walked to the bars. He looked at the gap between them, then looked back at Catwoman's figure. Finally, he wrapped both hands around the bars.

"Don't tell me you're planning to bend them," Catwoman said. "That's impossible."

Before waking up in this world, Damon's build and strength had been ordinary. Catwoman, by contrast, had trained hard enough to be stronger than most people. Earlier, he had already confirmed that stacking improved his strength too. How much depended entirely on the multiplier.

In theory, stack it high enough and even Catwoman's strength could reach absurd levels.

Damon roughly estimated his current strength and spoke quietly.

"Infinite Stacking, tenfold."

Strength surged through him.

Damon gripped the bars and pulled.

Metal screamed.

The next second, three steel bars as thick as fingers bent outward, opening a gap wide enough for one person to pass through.

After bending them, Damon studied the opening and looked vaguely dissatisfied. He thought about it, grabbed the bars again, and actually pulled them partway back.

Only then did he nod in satisfaction.

"After you."

Damon turned, bent slightly at the waist, and extended a hand toward the stunned Catwoman with a smile.

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