"Hi there," I smiled down at a young girl crouched near the corner of a street food stand in the cold. We were right on the edge of Black Mask's domain—just a five-minute drive from Penguin's turf.
"You know," I said, "you've got a better shot at getting breakfast if you stand somewhere people can actually see you."
She looked up at me warily, her eyes scanning my compression shirt, jacket, combat boots, and tactical pants.
She was a scrappy-looking blonde with a big nose and a few missing teeth. She sniffed. "I've got a better shot than the rest of them hanging too close," she said, nodding toward the group of kids nearby. They stood with wide eyes and soft voices, quietly trying to charm early morning workers out of their burritos. The woman running the stand had deep-set eyes and the worn-out look of someone who'd spent too many mornings chasing kids away.
"In my day, waiting by the kiosk worked," I said with a nostalgic smile. "Give it an hour or two, and you're full enough to last the whole day. Eddy and I…"
I caught myself. She noticed but didn't press.
"Had any bites yet?" I asked, shifting my weight from side to side.
She shook her head. "Slow morning. This thing between Mask and that kid's got everyone spooked."
"That bad?"
"People are already leaving," she tutted. "As if the rest of Gotham is any safer."
"Can't say I blame them," I murmured, scanning the line before glancing back at her. "Wanna help me cut the line?"
She gave me a look—half suspicious, half curious.
"I've got a thing across town and I'm running low on time. We could help each other out."
She narrowed her eyes at me, then smirked. "I want five burritos."
"Two," I countered, matching her look.
"Three!"
I sighed in mock defeat, pulling out two twenties. "You drive a hard bargain. Fine. Grab me three, too—and a bottle of water."
She grinned and snatched the cash, darting off with purpose. As I expected, the adults let her squeeze through the line. She joined the other kids, jostling and elbowing her way to the front. The vendor was about to send her packing until the girl flashed the bills and placed the order. She returned victorious, handing me my food with a proud smile and tearing into hers.
"Not bad work, kid," I said, giving her a fist bump.
She grinned up at me.
"Well," I said, turning toward the car idling across the street, "see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" she echoed, blinking.
I laughed. "You think I'm giving up my shortcut to the best burritos in town?"
–––
Two identical women and a tall, gaunt man waited for me in the backseat of the sedan. The women were Asian—tall, athletic, and impossibly graceful. Their delicate features barely moved, their posture stiff as statues.
They gave off serious League of Shadows vibes. So did the man.
He was pale—vampire pale. His white hair was neatly slicked back, and his deep, sunken eyes seemed to bore into you.
I started recording before he even opened his mouth.
"My name is Shade. I'll be running this operation," he said.
His voice was whisper-thin. Wispy, almost eerie. Not what I expected from the leader of a covert strike team.
"And what's the plan exactly?" I asked.
"Patience," he replied. "You'll see."
And for the rest of the trip, I was just that—patient and quiet. We all were.
At some point, I started on my burritos, earning a few sidelong glances from the twins.
I shrugged. "I'm hungry."
We took several turns before entering one of Gotham's more affluent neighborhoods. Eventually, the car dipped into a narrow alley behind a trendy bar. Shade led us down into a concealed basement entrance.
The place was decked out: multiple computer systems, walls lined with whiteboards and pinned photos, fiber-optic cables running like veins through the concrete, and live security feeds. Behind a reinforced steel door, I caught a glimpse of an armory out of a weapon nut's wet dream—guns, knives, swords, staves, throwing stars. You name it.
Shade stepped forward and peeled off his dark coat, revealing a sharply tailored waistcoat over a crisp white shirt and perfectly creased suit pants. He picked up a remote and clicked it, bringing a graphic up on a massive screen. It was an organizational chart. At the top: Black Mask. Below: a spiderweb of nameless faces and shadowy figures.
"That Black Mask's network?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
"He's even bigger than he was last time…" I muttered.
Everyone in the Narrows thought the bastard was still licking his wounds, recovering. But he hadn't just rebuilt—he'd expanded. Quietly. Strategically. Maybe even beyond what Batman suspected.
In addition to drugs, guns, and money laundering, he was into cybercrime, real estate racketeering, loan-sharking, and insider trading. Some of his lieutenants handled multiple operations, but his two biggest earners were drugs and cybercrime.
Drugs kept him flush and operational, while cybercrime gave him leverage in the form of blackmail on everyone from low-level judges to jurors, cops, and city officials.
Once he had dirt, he'd force them to take a bribe and spend it, binding them to him like shackles.
"Our first target is Thomas," Shade said, pulling up a close-up of a tattooed gangster in a sleek, dapper suit. "He's been part of the inner circle since day one. Held the organization together while Black Mask was away. His loyalty is why he has to fall first."
Another slide.
"He has a weakness for women," Shade added, displaying a series of surveillance images—Thomas laughing, drinking, and partying with the twins.
I did a double take. The twins stood silently to my right, still as statues, ignoring my look.
"It was easy to extract information from him," Shade said. "We got his passwords, supplier IDs, and the location of a local factory being used to manufacture prescription pills, molly, and other party drugs."
I gave a low whistle. "Hitting that would put a serious dent in his empire. Extra points if we can get him overleveraged before we burn it down."
"My sentiments exactly."
Shade moved to the next slide. "These are the locations of his safehouses, distribution hubs, and top dealers. We'll eliminate them all using methods that match your M.O. Ideally, that'll force him to centralize. Once he does, we strike his factory and his vault, hobbling him."
"Sounds good in theory," I said, "but I already see problems."
"The charges and evidence against you are being handled," Shade said suddenly, startling me.
That was going to be my fifth point, but damn.
Already?
I narrowed my eyes. "How?"
"They cannot charge you with evidence that no longer exists."
Of course. A younger me would've seen this as a gift, but I recognized it for what it was—a sword of Damocles hanging over my head.
Stay in line or else.
"And the bounty hunters?"
"Warned to avoid hunting in Gotham's more affluent sectors. SWAT teams have orders to shoot on sight."
"Good to know," I said, struggling to keep the awe from my voice. "But that's not my biggest issue. What's stopping Black Mask from relocating after a few hits? I know I would."
"Pride," Shade said. "And opportunity cost. He won't admit it, but your last hit shook him. Especially the video store." He pulled up footage of the aftermath. "He's funneled a small fortune into reinforcing his safehouses. He'll buy metas, Venom users, and mercs before he even considers moving. On the off chance he does move early, we have Thomas to fall back on. He's familiar with Sionas's tactics and assets. He'll know what the man will do."
"He won't volunteer that information willingly."
"Nor do I expect him to," Shade replied coolly.
I let that answer slide for now, doubling back to the more immediate problem.
"There's still the issue of the locations themselves. They'll be mini-fortresses. Even Batman won't be able to tackle multiple head on?"
"You underestimate what Batman is willing to endure for this city," Shade replied. "You'll leak intel on the safehouses. Let him share the burden."
"That's risky," I said, gut twisting with unease. "Batman's no fool. He'll know he's being played."
"Won't matter," Shade said flatly. "He'll still act. Better him than the Feds."
"He might give the information to the Feds."
"Eventually. But not before the damage is done."
I folded my arms. "And what about you? While I'm busy being shot at and lying to one of the most dangerous men in Gotham, what exactly will you be doing?"
"Providing backup, of course," he said, utterly unbothered. "The girls and I are excellent spies. Better operatives."
He raised a hand, and the shadow under his feet pulsed and rippled across the floor. An identical puddle of darkness appeared near the bottom racks of the armory. Without warning, he reached into the black and pulled out a combat knife.
"I handle exfil," he said, tossing the knife, letting it spin midair before catching it by the hilt. "Though I can handle myself in a fight."
Whatever fear or unease I felt, I kept it off my face. It was getting easier. Maybe it was the high stats. Maybe it was the practice.
"Quite the meta-power," I muttered. He had to be the first to die when shit hit the fan.
"And what about you girls?" I asked.
"They're world-class martial artists," Shade answered for them. "And your trainers and partners."
Joy.
I had a thousand more questions. Shade answered most of them surprisingly well. Like me, he expected the plan to go tits-up at some point—but I had to admit, the man could plan. He had contingencies for his contingency plans, even though I clocked a few lies here and there.
Didn't matter. I kept him talking and got more audio.
I left the meeting feeling... bittersweet.
Shade and the twins were here as much to handle me as they were to dismantle Black Mask. I didn't like the flimsy protection or the veiled threats, but it was par for the course. Honestly? It was better than I expected from Penguin.
Still, I was glad I'd been recording. It gave me plenty of leverage—especially for my first meeting with Bruce.
--
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