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"That's a bit of a stretch, even for you," I said, my voice dry. "What did you expect? That I'd just lie down and die?"
"You could've asked for help," Batman said. "If you really wanted to."
I eyed him like he'd lost his mind.
"And trust Gotham PD and the prosecutor's office? Ninety percent of them are underpaid and in some crime boss's pocket. Some of them are even crazy enough to double-dip. I'd be dead before the week was out. And it's not like you have a public phone number."
"But you were never going to call," Batman said, voice steady. "For you, this could only end one way: Black Mask in a body bag."
It wasn't a question. It was a judgment. A grim, clinical diagnosis.
I shrugged.
"It's the only real solution. Prison won't stop him. Witness protection can't hide me or my family forever."
Batman's gaze sharpened.
"What about the families destroyed in your one-man war against Black Mask? Glenn Waters. Sanya Rivers. Derrick Cavanaugh. They were just like you—street kids trying to feed their families—until they got caught in the crossfire. There's always going to be another great evil, another big bad you think deserves it. How long before you look in the mirror and realize it's you?"
His words were sharp, calculated to dig deep. And they did.
I felt the twist of guilt, of horror, of a sick, gnawing doubt crawling up to the surface.
And somehow, I still laughed.
A rough, humorless chuckle broke the heavy air.
"What's your counteroffer?"
Bruce turned to face me fully, a hint of something behind his half-mask.
"That's where all that guilt trip was headed, wasn't it?" I asked, tapping the thick stack of documents beside me. "The operations in these locations need to stop. Either help me—or get out of the way."
"Is that a threat?"
"You've looked into me well enough to know I don't bluff," I said, flat and simple.
A long stretch of silence passed between us.
Finally, Bruce broke it.
"I'll help you. But there are conditions."
I rolled my eyes.
"Let me guess. No killing?"
From the shadows behind him, Bruce produced a briefcase I hadn't even noticed. He clicked it open and turned it toward me.
Inside were two modified pistols, their magazines loaded with clear, capsule-like rounds.
"Paralytic shots," he said. "Simple formula. Industry standard. Easy to reproduce. You trade in your wooden bullets and Berettas for these."
I scowled. I'd just bought those damn guns.
"Those are practically useless unless I hit exposed skin."
"And your wooden bullets are a death sentence up close," he countered. "They scatter inside the body. Impossible to remove. You have enough blood on your hands already."
He pushed the briefcase closer.
"You sure it's not your hands you're worried about?" I asked, my voice sharp and cutting.
Because deep down, that was the truth they conveniently ignored.
Half-measures and platitudes, bandages and stitches slapped over an infected wound.
Batman, Gordon, and the prosecutors took shortcuts and had the gall to be surprised when the streets spat out something like me.
When another kid overdosed on Penguin's coke or disappeared in the Narrows.
When dozens died during Joker's latest open challenge to Batman.
Bruce didn't answer the question. He just pressed on.
"Second condition," he said. "You sit down with Gordon. Work out a real deal. Immunity. No loopholes. No technicalities. You cooperate, or it's void."
I snorted.
"That all?"
"It's the only way you're getting my help."
"And when Black Mask inevitably escapes? Or sends another army after me?" I asked, voice rising despite myself.
"Then we'll make sure the case sticks this time."
It wasn't the answer I wanted.
It wasn't even close.
But it was the best offer I was going to get.
Bruce knew it. I knew it.
This was never going to end cleanly. It was like he said—this could only end one way.
But for now, we had a ceasefire.
A brittle, bloodstained bargain that gave both sides what they really needed.
Time.
Time for Bruce to find a way to bury this mess before it could spread and infect his precious Gotham.
And time for me to do what I'd always intended:
Kill Black Mask.
Tearing down his operations was fine. A bonus, really.
But that was never the endgame.
Assassination was.
Getting away with it was.
I had the money.
Now I just needed the skill.
The strength.
The blackmail.
The false identities.
I let out a long breath, feeling the mountain of it settle across my shoulders.
How hard could it be?
Batman vanished just as suddenly as he'd appeared—into the night without so much as a warning.
—-
Black Mask POV
My steely gaze swept over my Lieutenants—five of them—the men and women I entrusted with the success of my burgeoning criminal empire. I let the silence stretch before settling on Thomas.
He fought to control his breathing. Good. Fear kept people honest.
"One location hit is retaliation. Three is some idiot kid trying to prove a point. But ten locations in three days—with Batman making guest appearances at three of them?" I leaned forward, voice low and sharp. "We've got a fucking leak, Tom. And I don't think it's one of your Captains."
Tom had the gall to look surprised, even offended.
"You can't think it's me."
"Why not?" Selene, my accountant and loan shark, countered coolly. "You stick your dick in anything with a pulse."
Tom's face flushed. "Yeah, but I don't tell them shit," he insisted, turning to me, desperate. "I've been with you five years, boss. Have I ever let a bitch get between me and business?"
"You do every night you open your home to outsiders. All it would take is one determined spy."
Sweat beaded on Tom's forehead. His voice rose an octave. "It's impossible. I've got the best security money can buy. My office is Fort Knox. I have more guards than I know what to do with. You should be looking at the rest of them! Henry lives in a fucking townhouse. Selene has kids. Anyone could squeeze those little shits for leverage. And don't even get me started on goth princess over here—"
A sharp look from me cut him off mid-rant.
He shut his mouth, but the glare he threw across the table lingered. It was no secret how he and the others felt about Angelica—head of Cyber Division.
She was raised in the cult that built the first version of my empire. When it fell, she didn't. She rose from the ashes like something out of a nightmare—sharp, calculating, ruthless. It was her work that had me walking out of Blackgate decades before my sentence should have ended.
Normally, I let my lieutenants tear at each other like wolves. But if Angelica hadn't already defended herself, I might have spoken up.
Thin, pale, with deep-set eyes that turned men to cowards, Angelica remained perfectly composed.
"My systems are flawless," she said simply. "If there's a leak, it's human error. And there are three others who had almost as much access as Tom did."
"Are you defending me?" Tom asked, baffled.
"I'm stating facts." Her voice was cold as the grave.
I leaned back in my chair, tapping my gloved fingers once against the table. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the tense room.
"I'll find the leak soon enough," I said, my voice slow and razor-sharp. "Pressure makes rats squeal."
I let the promise hang in the air before continuing.
"In the meantime, our little vigilante problem needs to be dealt with. Julius was a gnat by himself. Annoying, but manageable. But with Batman sniffing around—and possible inside help—he's become a real threat. It's time he got our full attention."
I smiled beneath my mask, though no one could see it.
"Up the bounty to one million. It should be enough to make the Penguin's soft ban on the rich side irrelevant. Offer ten thousand to anyone who provides information that leads to his capture or death. And tell our cop friends to keep their eyes peeled. This city bleeds for money. Make sure they know it."
Brendon, a real-estate mogul turned thug, grunted in his thick New Yorker accent.
"I didn't think Penguin would ally himself with the squirt."
"Penguin would work with the devil if it got him off," Selene muttered. "But I don't think it's loyalty. The kid's probably paying him—with our money—to keep the cops off his back."
"Or Penguin could be using him to keep us off-balance while he goes after our contacts," Tom added, in a rare moment of clarity.
Maybe he wasn't completely useless. Still, it was nothing I hadn't already considered.
There just wasn't enough proof to start a war. Not yet. And we couldn't afford it with the pressure we were under.
I rose to my feet slowly, letting the leather creak with the movement, letting them feel the weight of it.
"I suppose," I said, voice as cold as a tomb, "we'll find out soon enough."
--