A Queen Among Heroes

[ Gotham University, Gotham City ]

Felicity, still fresh from her transition from anonymous hacker to semi-legitimate tech girl, hadn't yet developed the ironclad moral compass she'd be known for in the future. Sure, she knew Selina's "borrowing" plan wasn't exactly above board—no one in their right mind would think Selina Kyle was planning a trip to the art museum's return desk. But come on, since when did hackers draw a hard line at legality?

"Why didn't you ask Thea instead?" Felicity asked, brow furrowed in confusion. "Why me? I mean, we're not exactly BFFs. You two seem to click more."

Selina, for her part, had developed a healthy admiration for the Star City duo. There was something about them—especially the way they pulled inventions out of thin air like stage magicians—that she found both enviable and oddly charming. Compared to Bruce's old-school tanks and cloaked jets, their tools felt… modern, adaptable. More her style.

These days, the way she looked at Thea and Felicity was starting to resemble how Nobita looked at Doraemon—equal parts awe and hope.

But Felicity's question lingered, and even Selina had to pause to consider it. Why hadn't she gone to Thea, who she admittedly got along with better?

Selina tilted her head, lips curling into a half-smile. "Maybe," she said, drawing out the word. Her eyes darted toward the ceiling for a second as if weighing invisible scales. "Maybe it's because of her status as a rich lady. I always feel like she wouldn't approve of... this sort of thing." She made a vague gesture. "You and I? We're more alike. I figured you'd understand."

Felicity blinked, caught between confusion and insult. "Wait, hold up—what do you mean, 'we're alike'? Are you saying I look like the type to hack for art thieves? Is it the glasses?"

Selina gave a low chuckle. "No offense. You've got that 'just shy of illegal' glow about you. Like you've danced on the line a few times."

Felicity scowled. "Wow. Great. So I'm the morally flexible tech girl, and Thea's the saint in spandex."

"She does wear white a lot," Selina said with a shrug. "People like that usually come with rules. You, though… you improvise."

And just like that, Felicity felt the sudden urge to launch into a rant about how Thea's "sweet and innocent" act was a lie!

But the more Felicity thought about it, the more she realized Selina wasn't entirely wrong. Thea had her boundaries—probably thanks to her family name—and didn't cross legal lines unless lives were on the line. In game terms, Felicity figured she'd land somewhere on the lawful spectrum, though whether she leaned good or neutral was still up for debate.

Felicity, on the other hand, had no such constraints. Feeding herself and surviving the system had taken priority long before "heroism" entered her vocabulary. And she didn't regret signing up for this Gotham chaos—someone had to have guts.

Felicity then sighed. "Fine. But if this comes back to bite me, I'm blaming the ears." She flipped open her tablet, paired it to her phone and started tapping away.

Selina smirked, satisfied. "Always knew I liked you."

A few swipes later, Felicity handed over a phone to Selina. "Here. Don't ask me where it pulls data from. If Interpol shows up at my door, I'm changing my name to Felina and moving to Norway."

"I'll send you postcards," Selina said sweetly.

Felicity rolled her eyes and walked away. "Yeah, yeah. Try not to bankrupt a museum."

And without second glance, she offered no explanation further and simply turned on her heel, walking off with the confident swagger of someone washing their hands of responsibility.

Selina took the phone and quickly spotted the lone app on the screen. She tapped open the app with a skeptical brow raised. "Artwork Identification 2.2?" she murmured. The name didn't exactly inspire confidence. But as she scanned through the app's interface, her expression slowly shifted to one of grudging admiration.

A simple UI. A massive database. Region-specific filtration. Even deep scans on brushstroke patterns and pigment composition. And it ran smoothly.

Her brows lifted. "Malaysia?" she whispered, scrolling further. "Even the dusty old stuff from Southeast Asia?"

It didn't outright confirm authenticity, but for her purposes, that was more than enough. She didn't need provenance. She just needed age.

She gave a soft, delighted laugh. "You sly kitten, Felicity… this wasn't whipped up overnight." 

Selina's smirk grew as she pocketed the phone. "Definitely not a good girl. Good girls don't carry tools like this in their back pocket for fun." It was clearly something pre-built, tucked away until the right moment. Probably never meant for public use at all.

This was exactly what she needed. With this, her "art loan" business might actually go somewhere. Thinking of all the potential marks, gallery owners, and clueless billionaires out there, she momentarily forgot that Bruce was still being missing.

...

Later that evening, after Dick and Barbara had finally caught up on sleep, they slipped back into costume and went on patrol. It didn't take long to find trouble.

The criminal they dragged back was apparently named The Electrocutioner. According to them, it was a "legacy" title, passed down from some proud line of shock-happy lunatics. No one knew if this was the second, third, or fifth Electrocutioner, and frankly, no one cared.

But when Thea got a good look at the man—a balding middle-aged guy with a permanently serious face and zero fashion sense—she couldn't help but sigh. He looked less like a villain and more like a walking hazard from a low-budget commercial. On his back was a full-sized electric car battery, possibly hydrogen, maybe lithium—it was hard to tell. Two wires ran from the pack to his gloves, which crackled with current. He'd grab someone, and they'd get shocked. Simple as that. It was effective… if your opponents were completely unarmed and soaking wet.

Yet Commissioner Gordon had already figured out the fatal flaw in this guy's gimmick—thirty years ago. There was no need for elaborate traps or EMPs. Just walk up with a bottle of Pocari Sweat, open it, and splash it in his face. Short-circuit guaranteed. The man would go down like a fried toaster.

Honestly, it was pathetic. Thirty years of sticking to the same routine, and not a shred of innovation in sight. Somehow, generation after generation of Electrocutioners kept getting handed the family trade—this same dumb backpack setup—and kept trying to fight Gotham's police force like it was some noble vendetta. If this was what counted as a legacy in the underworld, Thea figured the whole family might just be allergic to progress.

Thea shook her head, trying not to smirk at the Electrocutioner across the room. He looked so comically serious, like someone had stolen his last AA battery. She buried the urge to laugh, lowered her gaze, and focused on polishing off the last bites of black bass and cheeseburger on her plate.

Peace. Predictable. Almost boring.

Just survive until Batman returns, she thought. Then she could fade into the background again, maybe rob a few villain lairs unnoticed before heading home. Easy.

But of course, peace was never part of the Gotham package.

A voice cut into her thoughts.

"Ms. Queen, the chief's asking for you in the conference room."

She blinked up at the officer—young, earnest, completely forgettable.

"Uh... okay," she replied, swallowing the last of her food. "Do you—uh—know why?"

But the officer had already turned away. Thea sighed.

What could Gordon want to discuss? For a moment, she wondered if Batman had come back, but quickly dismissed the thought.

Batman wouldn't be back this fast, she reasoned. The guy had a broken spine, not a bruised ego. At least give it a few days before pulling a Lazarus Pit miracle.

When she pushed open the conference room door—and immediately noticed the absences. No Felicity. No Dick. No Selina. Just Gordon and Barbara... and a new woman dressed in black. They were seated at the table, deep in conversation.

Commissioner Gordon turned to her at her entry with that usual mix of weariness and formality. "Thea, good timing. This is Lyla Michaels, senior investigator from the Advanced Superhuman Joint Research Group. She's here on business regarding Killer Croc."

Thea's eyes widened slightly. Lyla? Wasn't she the future leader of A.R.G.U.S., the so-called "Sky eye society"? Thea masked her surprise quickly.

So this is John Diggle's future wife. No ring yet... guess the drama hasn't started. She studied Lyla discreetly. Still fresh-faced. Not the hardened operative she'd become later in life. Right now, she looked like a young woman trying very hard to stand tall in a room full of legends.

"Nice to meet you," Lyla offered her hand.

"Likewise," Thea replied, giving her a light handshake.

Their hands met briefly, two women measuring each other in a blink.

Thea noted that Lyla, for all her current poise, wasn't quite the unflinching figure she'd become in the future. There was something tentative about her, like a soldier still adjusting to the weight of leadership.

Lyla, for her part, was equally intrigued by the young woman in front of her. While Killer Croc was the official reason for her presence, she'd been briefed on Thea Queen's background—and something about it had compelled her to initiate contact.

Lyla's gaze lingered just a moment longer on Thea. "Ms. Queen, I just examined Killer Croc's frozen body. May I ask—under natural conditions, how long would it take for him to thaw?"

Thea's brow arched. That's what she leads with? Not hello again, not who are you and what are you doing freezing metahumans?

She turned toward Gordon, unimpressed. "I was eating," she said pointedly. "Didn't Felicity already brief you? I thought you were informed."

Gordon gave a helpless shrug. "Honestly? I forgot. Then I couldn't find her. Lyla here started asking, and… well, I figured you'd know."

Thea sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She cleared her throat and straightened up.

"Ahem. Okay. Under normal temperature conditions? He'll thaw in about three days. Doesn't matter if he's a giant lizard or a popsicle-sized sidekick—ice melts the same. Now, if you're asking about regaining consciousness, that's another game. Neural activity takes longer. For a regular human? Fifteen to thirty days, minimum. But I haven't taken any samples from him or done a proper study. Based on his condition and physiology, I'd estimate at least five days before he even twitches."

Hearing that Croc wouldn't be springing out of his icy prison anytime soon, both Gordon and Barbara looked visibly relieved.

Lyla gave a curt nod. "Thank you. That's very helpful."

She didn't say it, but Thea caught it in her eyes: I'll be keeping an eye on you.

Thea smiled faintly. Yeah, you and everyone else in this cursed city.

To Be Continued...

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[POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS]