A/N: Just a silly little story, the first one I've published. Feedback is very welcome but please be gentle!
Batman parked the Batmobile and walked wearily to the Manor. Today had been a strange day, not that any day in Gotham wasn't strange, but this was not your average heist pulled off by a team of armed clowns (a more regular occurrence than you might think). No this one had been a targeted attack, which by itself isn't strange, but the method… well, better start again at the beginning.
Bruce Wayne was sat in his manor, doing work on the company finances in preparation for the quarterly report, when he saw his symbol in the sky. He leapt into action, running with practiced ease to the Batcave, donning his suit, no time to call for Robin, and was tearing down the streets of Gotham to find out where he was needed.
It was only after five minutes of driving that he realised his bat symbol looked somehow…odd. He pulled over to look at it (wouldn't do to take out any citizens while not in the line of duty. Unless he was in the mood). Someone had defaced the image of the bat. The ears pointed, the points of the wigs separated and distinctly looking like four limbs. His eyes widened as he realised. A cat. Catwoman.
He shifted the car back into drive and tore off towards Catwoman's lair. He pulled up to the old warehouse, running in through the door to find it apparently empty. Someone had definitely gone through the place though, empty cardboard boxes had been pulled over the heating grates, items were strewn over the floor, and every surface in the building had been cleared.
Batman heard a scurrying noise behind him like claws on the concrete, running closer, closer, he turned and… whack. A shockwave rippled over him and he was knocked to his back. It felt…strange. Like an air cannon hitting him with force in the centre of his chest, but the air had a whispering quality around the edges, soft and tickling his face, almost like…fur?
Laying winded on the ground he felt a stinging on his chest and face. He gingerly raised his hand and felt just above his right eyebrow. His finger came away red and he winced at the sharp cut. He slowly sat up and looked around, there was no sign of the assailant or Catwoman. His eyes caught a flurry of movement, a creature low to the ground and moving fast, but it turned out to just be a cat. Very slowly and stiffly, he stood up and walked to a discarded mirror on the ground. He looked at himself grimly; his face bore a number of scratches, completely covering every inch of skin, cross crossing in a random pattern. None too deep but they still stung like a bitch when he frowned at his reflection.
He searched the warehouse and surrounding areas cautiously to see if there was any clue what on earth had happened to him, but there was nothing. He shut the door to the warehouse and got back into the Batmobile. There was no point in facing anyone while he was this injured, so he drove the short way back to the manor, parking up and walking to the door.
The warm water of the shower stung the cuts on his face and chest, even as they cleaned and soothed them. An unenthusiastic poke at the quarterly reports was all he managed before giving up and slipping into his warm comfortable bed, his head buzzing with wonder at what new brand of villain Gotham had managed to acquire.