[Selina killed three people before breakfast.
Carefully selected, and not a lily-white soul among them, and it was a necessary
evil. Holding the East End, it was all that mattered, and her focus was pinpoint. The only way to hold a territory in this destroyed Gotham was to be respected. Oh, she was lucky; the girls loved her. The girls she'd been feeding, clothing and patching up her entire
life, and she was one of them, and they trusted her. They were loyal, and the low-level thugs she took in after the bridges were destroyed, their families housed and fed now, they were loyal, too.
But it was the people who weren't
loyal, they were the problem. And, so, three people died before breakfast. Selina sitting there, presiding and with a coffee cup in hand. Murders, rapists, pedophiles, and she chose them well. But, and even still, she couldn't help but think of just
how much Bruce would disapprove. But Bruce wasn't here
, and Gotham was feasting on itself, devouring itself, and there was no other way.
She had over a hundred-thousand now, give or take, that belonged to her. She wanted to double it by the end of the week. But there was time to breathe, perhaps
. Perhaps it was weakness, but she wasn't going to think about it too long. Instead, she propped the door to her room
over the clinic, the view outside the windows one of destruction and chaos. She sat on the sill, denim and grey, a black suit jacket tossed onto the mussed bed, and her hair too clean and shiny for the situation at hand, her lush lips sinful red. But controlling a territory? It was about appearances, and the kitty cat was very
good at faux exteriors.]