[ President's Office, Queen Consolidated HQ, Star City ]
Seeing that neither mother nor daughter spoke, Walter flipped through some records and finally said, "Based on Queen Consolidated's current revenue, we can only afford to rehire about 300 people. Any more than that would put a significant strain on operations."
Three hundred? That number felt underwhelming to Thea. Her plan was to handle employment for at least half of the laid-off workers, with the rest possibly receiving a minimum living stipend while they were gradually reabsorbed.
Moira Queen didn't look pleased either. "Too few positions might just escalate things further. What if I transfer them to a branch office in another city?"
Walter lowered his head and crunched some numbers. "In that case, we could only accommodate around 200. Anything beyond that would cause friction with the local hires. Our influence in personnel decisions at branches is limited."
Ah, the charming peculiarities of the United States. People often joke about how hard it is for asian citizens to leave their hometowns, but Americans? They're not that different. Despite being in the country of 9.8 million square kilometers area—many Americans are born and die in the same small town, having never ventured far.
It's the perfect horror movie setup: In the eerie stillness of a forgotten town, a cultist had committed a horrific crime that remained hidden for twenty long years. The truth lay buried beneath layers of superstition, fear, and silence—until a pair of unwitting, attractive protagonists arrived, backpacking on a tight budget, only to stumble after a GPS mistake upon the twisted conspiracy that had festered in isolation. As they unraveled the town's chilling secrets, it became clear that the closed-off environment wasn't just breeding horror—it was protecting it.
The insular culture breeds resistance to outsiders. Anyone unfamiliar was met with suspicion, hostility, or worse.
That's why companies like Queen Consolidated and Wayne Enterprises often leave staffing decisions to local management.
Then a spark lit up in Thea's mind "What do you think about building a high-speed railway connecting several cities?" The East-West Railway in the U.S. had existed for over a century, but thanks to natural wear and the endless sabotage from maniacal villains with a penchant for explosives, much of the ground infrastructure had fallen into disrepair and disuse.
But if Queen Consolidated revived its steel smelting division to support new railways, not only could they re-employ the laid-off workers, it could boost the entire city's economy. That would do wonders for Moira's upcoming campaign.
"That's a great idea!" Moira perked up, her political instincts tingling. This was the perfect slogan-fodder: Vote for me, and I'll connect cities with steel and speed. Even if she lost, the promises wouldn't haunt her—the railway couldn't be finished in a year, much less during a campaign cycle.
And with this new "vision," she wouldn't need to invent new material for every speech—she could milk this project for all its PR value. As for funding? That wasn't hard. She knew enough wealthy contacts to spread the investment burden thinly. The more she thought about it, the more perfect the plan seemed, killing two birds with one stone—campaigning and raising funds.
Although Walter wasn't particularly enthusiastic about the proposal, he chose not to object. Seeing both Moira and Thea so aligned and optimistic, he simply shrugged it off. If they want to throw money at it, let them. I'm not getting involved in their mess, he thought, distancing himself from the matter.
Thea instructed Moira to have someone draw up a proper agreement and get Derek's signature as soon as possible. Beyond that, she considered her role in the issue finished and washed her hands of the rest.
Moira, who had yet to officially announce her candidacy, already had a full-fledged campaign team—complete with lobbyists, PR managers, and policy advisors. They'd handle outreach to other cities and major companies.
With her obligations met, Thea slid back into a life of… well, lazing around.
...
Thea had watched the footage of Catwoman and Batman battling her and Lady Shiva three times. Batman's style relied heavily on brute strength and powerful blows—effective, but not suited to her own physique or fighting instincts. In contrast, Catwoman's agile, street-style combat felt far more relatable. Her unpredictable movements and nimble footwork offered Thea a wealth of inspiration.
Thea was genuinely impressed by Catwoman's incredible sense of balance. That the woman could fight in heels. Real heels. Not those "I'm-tall-now" wedges, but stilettos.
She knew she couldn't keep showing up at fancy events in flat shoes forever. If she wanted to maintain her combat readiness without sacrificing elegance, she'd have to master the art of fighting in high heels—a lesson as vital as any martial arts technique.
Determined to ease into it, she decided to start with the basics. Instead of diving straight into stilettos, sheswapped her flats for thick-heeled boots. Walking? Easy. But the moment she tried a simple kick—"Bang—ow!"—the reality of the challenge hit hard.
She winced and rubbed her head. Whoever designed these boots should be used for Batarang target practice. Fighting in them felt like she had a 50% speed debuff.
But Catwoman did it. Even Harley Quinn made it look like child's play. It wasn't fair! There had to be a trick.
...
[ Mountains, Star City Outskirts ]
The next day during training, Thea cornered Lady Shiva with her burning question.
"Why is Catwoman's balance so good?" she asked seriously.
"Catwoman? Hmph. That's a defeated opponent… Stand up straight and let me see you."
Shiva circled her slowly, like a panther analyzing prey. Thea felt a flicker of unease. Shiva wasn't just walking around—she was patting different spots, occasionally pressing or pinching certain muscles. When her hands lingered around Thea's breasts, Thea nearly yelped from the surprise. And just when she thought it couldn't get any worse.
Then came a smack to her rear.
"Ow!" Thea yelped, spinning around with a furious blush. One more move like that and she didn't care if she lost—she'd fight Shiva anyway.
"In fact," Lady Shiva said calmly, "your balance isn't bad. You're just using your muscles incorrectly. You're not unified in movement."
She patted Thea's hip again. "This is your power center. It connects the upper and lower halves. All movement flows through here. But you've never learned how to use it properly."
Ugh, Thea grumbled inwardly. Yes yes Malcolm wasn't this handsy as you. It really does make sense why, back in the ancient time, male masters taught male apprentices and female masters taught female apprentices.
Ms. Shiva, undeterred by her embarrassment, continued to speak with the same stern seriousness, and Thea quickly dialed into her tone—choosing to ignore the heat still radiating in her cheeks.
"Back to your original question: how to fight like Catwoman? The answer is simple," Shiva said, pointing to several specific spots along Thea's hips and thighs. "As long as you learn to control and coordinate these muscles, you could fight on stilts if you had to. Heels are easy in comparison."
She paused before adding, "But remember, it only works for short bursts. If you push too long, you'll strain your calves and Achilles tendons." She took a step back, her tone sharp with instruction. "Watch carefully. I'll demonstrate."
To demonstrate, Shiva removed her coat and had Thea place her hands on her thighs to feel the muscle flow.
Thea was stunned. Not only was Shiva's skin smooth and flawless, but the subtle movements beneath were hypnotic—years of training turned her into a living instrument.
This wasn't something you could learn from a book. Without a mentor like Shiva, she might've never figured it out.
This was a rare chance—one that demanded full attention. Thea cleared her mind, focusing solely on the flow and coordination of Shiva's muscles, absorbing every detail of this unique, almost elegant power.
Trying it for herself a few times, Thea realized it was one of those strange things that might seem impossible without guidance but became surprisingly natural once taught. Still, she could also tell that this kind of abnormal muscle control came with a price—it placed tremendous strain on both the body and the mind.
No wonder Catwoman was so gassed after our last fight, Thea thought. She's not weak—just burning fuel faster. Makes sense now.
No wonder Catwoman was so drained after just two fights with me, Thea thought. At the time, I wondered back then how someone who looked like a tall, athletic foreign woman—breaking into houses and picking locks every day—could have less stamina than herself, someone who was half a homebody. Now it turns out that she's not weak—just burning fuel faster. Makes sense now.
And with that revelation, her training evolved once more.
To Be Continued...
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[POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS]