Chapter 100: New Horizons
**Gotham City - Cornerstone Café**
Cornerstone Café wasn't the kind of place anyone bragged about visiting. Still it had everything that Gotham's working class favored—sturdy furniture, strong coffee, no aesthetic nonsense. Alex Thorne sat by the window, watching pedestrians hurry past while nursing his second cup of black coffee.
Across from him, Detective Joe Mama stirred sugar into his own cup slowly. He was in his early forties, gray streaked his temples, and permanent worry lines framed his eyes.
"I still can't believe you finished your degree early," Joe said, shaking his head with admiration.
Alex shrugged modestly. "Psychology came naturally to me. Plus all the experiences I got along my studies helped a lot."
"Naturally," Joe repeated with a slight smile. "Kid, I've seen your guest lectures at the academy. The way you break down criminal pathology, behavioral patterns, victimology...." He took a sip of his coffee. "The department could use someone like you."
"Detective, I appreciate the offer, but—"
"Hear me out," Joe interrupted gently.
"I'm not talking about joining the force as a beat cop. I'm talking about working with us as a criminal profiler. Consulting on cases that need your particular expertise. We've got plenty of detectives who can follow evidence, but we're short on people who can get inside a killer's head and tell us what they're thinking."
Alex set down his cup, choosing his words carefully. "I'm already working with Bruce Wayne. He's funding several psychological research initiatives, and I'm coordinating with his various charitable foundations. It's a full-time position."
Joe nodded, unsurprised. "Yeah, I heard about that."
He leaned forward slightly. "But Alex, what I'm offering isn't full-time. It's as-needed. Part-time. We call you when we've got a case that's stumping us—serial crimes, behavioral evidence and some psychological profiles. You come in, give us your analysis, help us catch the bad guys, then go back to your Wayne Foundation work."
"Part-time," Alex repeated, considering.
"Exactly. Maybe once a month. Maybe less. We'd pay you as an independent consultant—it wouldn't interfere with your other work, and it'd give you practical experience applying your research to active investigations."
Alex was quiet for a moment, weighing the offer. Having official access to GCPD case files, crime scenes, and investigations would be valuable. It would give him legitimate reasons to be near criminal activity, to gather information and to identify targets. And it would strengthen his civilian cover as a psychology professional.
"What kind of cases are we talking about?" Alex asked.
"Homicides mostly. Pattern crimes. Anything where getting into the perpetrator's head might crack the case open." Joe pulled out his phone and showed Alex a photo—a crime scene, bodies arranged in a specific pattern.
"Like this one from last month. Three victims, all posed identically, no apparent connection between them. Our detectives hit a wall. Someone with your training might see something we missed."
Alex studied the image—angles, posture, symmetry, intention. "This is ritualistic. Not religious, but aesthetic. The poses are deliberate… classical. It's The Three Graces."
Joe blinked. "The what?"
"Greek mythology. Renaissance art. Your killer has art history training. Or a background in restoration. They're recreating something."
"You got all that from one photo?"
"It's what I do," Alex said simply, handing back the phone. "Alright, Detective. I'll consult on a part-time basis. But I need flexibility—if the Wayne Foundation needs me for something urgent, that takes priority."
"Absolutely. We work around your schedule." Joe extended his hand across the table. "Welcome to the GCPD, consultant Thorne."
They shook hands, and Alex felt the weight of another layer being added to his identity. Psychology student. Wayne Foundation consultant. GCPD profiler. And beneath it all, the Architect.
"I'll have HR send you the paperwork," Joe said, finishing his coffee. "Once that's processed, I'll reach out when we've got something that needs your expertise."
"Looking forward to it," Alex said.
They exchanged a few more pleasantries—Joe asking about Alex's apartment, Alex asking about Joe's family—before the detective checked his watch and grimaced.
"Shit, I've got a meeting with the commissioner in twenty minutes. I need to run." He stood, dropping cash on the table for his coffee. "Thanks for agreeing to this, Alex. I think you're going to make a real difference."
"I hope so," Alex said, and meant it in ways Joe couldn't understand.
---
**Alex's Apartment **
Alex sat at his desk, the laptop screen casting blue light across his face as evening shadows filled the apartment. Spread around him were black envelopes—seventeen of them, each sealed with blood-red wax, each containing a plea for justice.
Each one represented someone crying out for help the system couldn't provide.
Alex opened the first envelope, reading quickly. Domestic abuse case, husband with three priors, victim afraid to testify. Straightforward. He set it aside in a pile marked for his clones—the biomass duplicates he could create and deploy to handle simpler cases while he focused on more complex threats.
The second envelope: corporate embezzlement leading to pension fund collapse, elderly victims losing life savings. Also delegated to a clone. The financial investigation would take time, but one of his duplicates could handle the surveillance and evidence gathering.
Third envelope: stalker with a history of escalation, victim feeling unsafe in her own home. Clone.
Fourth envelope: corrupt cop taking bribes. This one gave Alex pause. He marked it for personal attention and moved on.
Each case required verification. Alex had learned early that some people lied, that some "victims" were actually perpetrators trying to weaponize his reputation against their enemies. So every envelope meant research—verifying the truth using the various abilities at his disposal.
His phone buzzed. A notification from one of his encrypted message drops—the anonymous channels he maintained for people who needed to reach the Architect.
Alex opened the application. The message was brief, sent from a burner account that would self-delete within hours.
URGENT: Escaped witness from underground death operation. Name: Natasha. Being hunted by organized group with serious money and connections. Billionaire investors are cleaning up loose ends. She's in Jakarta, industrial district. They're closing in fast.
Coordinates: -6.2088, 106.8456
Your move, Architect.
Attached was a single grainy photo—a young woman with dark circles under her eyes, looking over her shoulder as she hurried down a crowded street. The fear in her posture was unmistakable.
Alex sat back, processing. An informant reaching out about a death game survivor being hunted by wealthy, powerful people trying to eliminate the only person who escaped their operation.
If it was real, it represented exactly the kind of evil he existed to destroy.
And it could be a trap. The Architect had made enemies—people like Amanda Waller, who'd already tried to recruit or threaten him. A fake victim in a foreign country would be a perfect way to lure him out of his territory and into a killbox.
But if it was real... if this woman named Natasha had survived something horrific...
Alex stared at the screen for a long moment, weighing options, calculating risks, considering the possibility that this was legitimate versus the probability it was a sophisticated trap.
The informant hadn't identified themselves, which was smart. But the details were specific enough to verify—Jakarta's industrial district, a woman named Natasha, billionaire involvement in underground death operations.
Finally, he opened a new document and began researching. Flight times to Jakarta. Known criminal organizations operating in Indonesia. Recent reports of missing persons that might correlate with underground death operations. Patterns of wealthy individuals with known connections to illegal entertainment ventures.
If Natasha was real and if the informant's claims checked out, then the people hunting her would face the Architect's judgment. And he'd need to extract her before they silenced the only witness to their crimes.
And if it was a trap?
Well, then whoever set it would learn why the Architect was feared.
Alex pulled up satellite imagery of the Jakarta coordinates. An abandoned factory district with plenty of places to hide. But also plenty of places for an ambush team to position themselves.
He'd need to go prepared. And he'd need to go soon—if wealthy, connected people were hunting Natasha, they had resources he couldn't match from across the world. Every hour he delayed was an hour they got closer to eliminating their problem.
Notes :
1) Finally 100 chaps. Never thought I would end up making a 100 chap fanfic in my life. Thanks to all for your support. ❤️ ❤️