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How could this be wrong?
While men and women scattered and scurried below. She slinked far above them. While they cradled precious scraps, precious debris wrapped in their little hook like paws, she feasted above. They saw the world through big, empty, expectant eyes of what was never given to them. She had eyes like blades, ready to take.
Man was not beyond animal. The world had poisoned them into believing so. By hucksters who broke the backs and shortened the lives of their victims to build the stone that graced her paws. This was the goal. This was safety from predators, as parents gunned down in the streets. This was abundance as more starved in squalor. This was healthier, as barcoded toxins oiled the sky.
He almost understood. Sometimes she would be swayed by his wings. His siren scream of vengeance, of anguish. And sometimes she would remember he was no more than a flying rat. Rats, like the rest of them.
Selena Kyle did not believe in people, and the lies they built. She only believed in what they made.
Contrary to their gospel, it took much more skill, more than the suppositious and cowardly commoner could muster to be her. But Selina was smart. Smarter than almost anyone could believe.
An unnatural glow flitted in the corner of her eye as she carefully rolled the Van Gough into its protective shielding. A few layers of plaster protecting her victims from a night on the floor. There was a job to be done. A payday to be met. More unsettled dust meant more heat.
But hunger began. The hunger that thronged in her brain. The hunger that forgave high profile extravagances and open indulgences. The only thing that almost made the poor girl from Suicide Slum sympathize with the likes of them. With Hiram Lodge, with Bruce Wayne.
Greed.
Almost unassuming, a small Bronze ring hidden under a few drawers, and a few papers, a few nick nacks. Selina knew she was making too much noise.
It didn’t mean much to them. It couldn’t have. It was dirty, unpolished with a burn brown color.
But she wanted it.
She wanted everything in this house. She wanted a pile of jewels and rubies, and rare artisan crafts back at her den. She was a thief. They were rightfully hers.
Men was an animal.
Their treasures her pray.
The thoughts thrummed into words
What's mine is mine and mine and mine. And mine and mine and mine! Not yours!
The Orange Lantern had possesed Catwoman.