(T/N: There is now a p.atreon for this work, and any new work I add will be dropped there first. check it out for an early release of up to 30 chapters edited smoothly. https://www.p.atreon.com/INeedRest)
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Allen didn't avert his gaze for a single second, and he didn't even pretend to be polite about staring.
His eyes remained locked on her even as her expression darkened with clear displeasure.
If this woman really was who he thought she was - Selina Kyle, the one and only Catwoman - then there was no doubt left in his mind.
This was definitely the DC Universe.
'First Marvel, now DC? That old crossover cliché again?'
A dry chuckle escaped Allen's lips.
"What the hell are you laughing about?"
But just as he opened his mouth to say something appropriately sarcastic, a long, toned leg came shooting toward his face with terrifying speed.
Fast.
Like really fucking fast!
In that split second before impact, Allen's brain processed two crucial facts:
First, if he didn't react immediately, he'd be getting intimately acquainted with the bottom of her boot.
Second, and more importantly…
'Yeah, no thanks. Not my kink.'
A single command flashed through his mind like lightning:
[Mimicry] Activate!
The ability surged through his veins like liquid fire, replicating every ounce of her combat skills and physical attributes in an instant.
Allen felt his muscles reshape themselves subtly, his tendons becoming more elastic, his neural pathways rewriting themselves to accommodate stolen expertise.
His flexibility increased exponentially, his balance became perfect, and his reflexes sharpened to razor's edge precision.
Just in time too, as her foot came hurtling toward his nose with lethal intent.
Allen leaned back just enough that the sole of her boot whooshed past his face, close enough that he felt the wind of its passage ruffle his hair.
Almost without conscious thought, his body reacted with perfect counterbalance - his own leg snapping out in a vicious low kick that connected precisely where her calf met the back of her knee.
The impact made her balance waver dangerously.
She tried to recover, tried to pull her leg back and use the nearby bed frame for support, but Allen was already moving, his enhanced reflexes leaving her in the dust.
His hand shot out, catching her ankle mid-air and yanking it toward him with deliberate force.
RRRIP.
The sound of cheap prison fabric giving up filled the small cell.
Both combatants froze momentarily as the unexpected wardrobe malfunction registered. Allen glanced down, then back up at her face with an utterly shameless grin spreading across his features.
"Don't look at me like that," he said, voice dripping with false innocence.
"I'm not the one who can't keep his shit together."
The situation was already awkward enough, but Allen's deliberately provocative remark proved to be the final straw.
Any trace of embarrassment on Catwoman's face vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated fury.
Her fist came flying toward him in a punch that - given their current positioning - could only be aimed at one very specific, very vulnerable area.
Allen's eyes widened in genuine alarm.
"Oh, hell no!"
With a sharp twist of his wrist, he shoved her leg away while simultaneously rolling to the side, putting enough distance between them.
A normal person would have eaten dirt from that maneuver, but Catwoman was anything but normal.
"Bastard"
She twisted in mid-air like a feline acrobat, landed in a perfect crouch, and immediately launched herself at him again, twice as pissed as before.
This wasn't just some random skilled fighter - this was Selina goddamn Kyle, one of Gotham's most dangerous non-metahuman combatants.
Her repertoire included Muay Thai, street brawling, and about a dozen other martial arts Allen couldn't name, all honed to lethal perfection.
And right now, every ounce of that skill was focused on turning him into a greasy smear on the prison floor.
Allen just grinned wider and stepped right into her attack, meeting her blow for blow.
BOOM.
Their movements became eerily synchronized.
Punch for punch. Kick for kick.
Every strike perfectly mirrored.
At first, she might have written it off as a coincidence, but as the fight went on, an uncomfortable realization dawned on her.
It wasn't just similar: it was identical.
The timing, the footwork, even the subtle tells and habits she had developed over years of combat, he replicated them all with flawless precision.
It was like fighting a more annoying version of herself.
"You bastard!" she snarled between clenched teeth, throwing another combination that he matched perfectly. "Stop using my moves!"
Allen actually had the nerve to laugh as he ducked under her swing.
"Not my fault, sweetheart. I copy everything - skills, experience..." He blocked a knee strike with his forearm. "...and apparently, your charming personality."
Catwoman's eye developed a noticeable twitch.
"If we're both using the same techniques, neither of us can win."
"That's where you're wrong," Allen said, his grin turning predatory.
"I was just playing with you before. Now..."
He cracked his neck loudly.
"...let's see how you handle this."
Playing with her?
That was the final straw.
Any questions about how he knew her fighting style evaporated.
Right now, all she wanted was to permanently remove that infuriating smirk from his face.
With a sharp stomp that would have cracked concrete, she propelled herself forward at full speed, every muscle coiled for maximum damage.
Allen had been waiting for this exact moment.
Copying was fun and all, but the real party trick?
"Double!"
He'd tested the copying function. Now it was time to see what happened when he cranked those stolen skills up to eleven.
What he said threw her off momentarily - but not nearly as much as what came next.
Raw power flooded Allen's system like a dam breaking.
His speed doubled.
His coordination doubled.
His reaction time doubled.
Catwoman's whip kick came in hard and fast - but to Allen's newly enhanced senses, it might as well have been moving through quicksand.
He sidestepped with effortless grace, his body moving in ways that should have been physically impossible.
Her eyes widened almost comically.
'That... even I can't do it that smoothly!'
No holding back now.
She unleashed everything - whip kicks, spin kicks, rapid-fire jabs and crosses, elbow strikes, knee strikes - a barrage that would have dropped any normal opponent in seconds.
Allen dodged it all without even blocking.
She was fast.
She was skilled.
But to him?
She might as well have been moving in slow motion.
Just as she wound up for another attack, Allen triggered the ability again.
This time, when her leg lashed out in another vicious kick, he saw it coming before her muscles even finished contracting.
Ducking low, he drove his shoulder into hers with brutal force - not just matching her technique, but perfecting it.
CRASH!
She hit the wall back-first with enough force to knock the wind out of her.
Pain exploded through her shoulder, and her entire arm went numb from the impact.
'What the actual fuck is going on?!'
She'd used that exact shoulder tackle move hundreds of times - but never with that kind of terrifying efficiency.
The realization hit her like a freight train:
He wasn't just copying her anymore.
He was better than her.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Catwoman clutched her throbbing shoulder, glaring at Allen with a mix of anger and newfound wariness.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, her voice tight with pain.
Allen tilted his head, that infuriating smirk still firmly in place.
"Who, me?" He chuckled darkly. "Let's just say... I'm definitely not your friendly neighborhood pet owner."