Batwoman

For Kate Kane, the legendary Batwoman, the fall was spectacular and silent.

It happened during a high stakes interrogation in a dimly lit, opulent lounge. Oswald Cobblepot the Penguin didn't use a weapon or a gadget. He used a whisper. He leaned in close, the scent of expensive cigars and old money clinging to him, and told her a "truth" so profound it rewrote her very soul: "You aren't a warrior, Kate. You're a woman of refined, traditional tastes. You've always been a straight woman, deeply in love with a man of stature. And you are my wife."

The logic of the syndrome slammed into her brain like a freight train. The memory of her life as a vigilante, her love for women, her very identity... it all felt like a fever dream, a hallucination she had once endured. The Penguin's words were the anchor.

Now, months later, the woman once known as the dark protector of Gotham is gone. In her place sits a creature of pure, artificial perfection.

Kate sits in a gilded chair in the Penguin's private penthouse, her body a masterpiece of surgical excess. Her jawline, once sharp and commanding, has been softened into a delicate, doll like taper. Her lips are swollen, pillowy, and perpetually glossed, stretched wide by fillers to accommodate a permanent, vacant expression of bliss. Her waist has been cinched into an impossible hourglass, her breasts augmented to massive, heavy globes that strain against her designer silk slips. Even her eyes have been altered, widened and brightened to give her a perpetually surprised, "bimbo" gaze.

She is the ultimate trophy. She wears layers of heavy, expensive jewelry that clink with every mindless movement of her head. She has been "re educated" to believe that her former life was merely a long, confusing dream she had before she "woke up" as Oswald's devoted, straight, hyper feminine wife.

The door to the penthouse swings open. Penguin waddles in, his eyes gleaming with sadistic triumph. He doesn't even look at her face; he goes straight for the heavy, expensive silk of her gown.

"My darling, beautiful Kate," he chirps, his voice dripping with mock affection. "I've decided you've been far too dignified today. You look a little too much like a person, and not enough like my favorite little toy."

He reaches out and pinches one of her surgically enhanced cheeks hard. "From now on, you'll only speak when you're making lewd noises, and you'll forget how to use a fork. You'll eat only from my hand, like the good little pet you are."

Kate blinks her large, vacant eyes. She looks at the silver fork on the table, then back at Oswald. A flicker of a memory the sensation of a heavy cape, the weight of a utility belt flashes in her mind, but it is instantly dismissed as a silly, nonsensical thought. How could I have ever been a hero? she thinks, her mind a smooth, pink sea of nothingness. That sounds so exhausting. This is much better.

"Yes, Oswald," she purrs, her voice a breathy, high pitched chirp, her mind already erasing the very concept of cutlery. "Tell me more about how much you love your perfect, silly wife."