You do

The cop approached, her hand hovering near her holster. "You two, break it up! What’s going on here?" Catwoman trembled against you—whether acting or genuinely scared, you couldn’t tell. You made your choice: cupping Catwoman’s face, you turned her away from the light, burying her cheek against your shoulder as if comforting her. "Sorry officer, me and my girlfriend are just doing a little… *roleplay*," you stammered, praying your voice didn’t shake. "She just a little embarrassed about being caught." You gestured vaguely toward the alley wall. "Got carried away."

The officer shone her flashlight over you both, lingering on Catwoman’s leather-clad legs. "Roleplay?" she repeated flatly. "In this neighborhood?" Catwoman whimpered softly into your jacket—a convincing sound. "She's into kinky shit, she playing Catwoman and I'm a thug who's backed her into a corner, CNC kinda thing," you blurted out, forcing a shaky grin. "Realism’s part of the kink." The cop’s eyes narrowed, but her grip loosened on her gun. "Okay, you two be safe, and some advice? Pick a nicer alley next time." She backed away, muttering into her radio.

As the cruiser peeled off, Catwoman peeled away from you like a shadow detaching from light. "Clever," she purred, adjusting her goggles. "Now about that reward." She pulled you in for a kiss again—only this time, she really went for it, tasting like adrenaline and Gotham rain. When she broke away, she pressed something cold and metallic into your palm. A miniature grapple gun.

"My apartments top floor of the condemned building on 43rd," she breathed against my ear, her lips brushing the shell like a promise. "Blackout curtains. Meet me there tonight—and don’t be late." Before I could ask why, she was scaling the brickwork, vanishing onto the rooftops as silently as smoke. The grapple gun in my palm felt heavier than it looked—a compact coil of steel cable and hardened polymers. Catwoman didn’t hand out toys.