Gotham's East End - Warehouse District - 11:34 PM
The night had started as routine as anything got in Gotham's underworld. Roman Sionis led twelve of Carmine Falcone's soldiers through a coordinated intercept of a weapons shipment that belonged to the Maroni family, trucks full of military-grade firearms, explosives, and ammunition worth roughly three million on the black market.
The plan was simple: hit the convoy, overwhelm the guards, secure the cargo, and vanish before GCPD could mobilize a meaningful response. Roman had executed dozens of similar operations over the years working for the Falcones. This should have been just another successful raid.
The ambush had worked perfectly, Roman's Quirk, "Predator Sense," had detected the convoy's approach 15 seconds before visual confirmation, giving his team time to take positions. The initial assault took down six guards in under twenty seconds. The cargo trucks stopped exactly where Roman had predicted they would.
Then the heroes showed up.
Not many, Gotham couldn't spare many anymore with the federal government's silent prohibition on new transfers keeping reinforcements from arriving. But three heroes responded to the GCPD dispatch: Sentinel II (taking up his father's mantle after the original Sentinel had been killed by Deadshot years ago), Brightburn (a woman with plasma generation), and Aegis (a defensive specialist with energy shields).
Roman's Predator Sense screamed warnings the instant they arrived, his Quirk was predicting attack patterns, showing him exactly where each hero would move in the next three to five seconds. It was like seeing the immediate future and was devastatingly effective for someone who knew how to use it.
"HEROES, EAST SIDE!" Roman shouted, his enhanced awareness detecting Brightburn's plasma buildup before she even fired. He dove behind a truck as superheated energy scorched the air where he'd been standing, then came up shooting, his pistol tracking where his Quirk told him she'd be.
The bullet caught Brightburn in the shoulder, Aegis deployed energy shields, protecting the GCPD officers who were using the hero's presence to advance. Roman's Predator was predicting where gaps would appear,and the defensive coverage was weakest.
"CONCENTRATE FIRE ON THE SHIELD USER!" Roman commanded, and his team obeyed with practiced coordination. Twelve weapons opened up simultaneously, overwhelming Aegis's defenses through sheer volume. The hero's shields flickered, weakened, and Roman saw the moment, three seconds in the future when they would fail completely.
He aimed carefully, predicting exactly where Aegis would stumble when his shields collapsed, and fired.
The bullet took Aegis in the thigh, dropping him. Not fatal, but eliminating him as an immediate threat. Roman's Predator Sense was always shifting, and now was showing him Sentinel II's approach, the hero was trying to flank from the south, using abandoned cargo containers as cover.
But Roman's Quirk made flanking attempts suicide. He saw Sentinel's path before the hero completed it, positioned two of his soldiers exactly where they'd have clear shots, and waited.
When Sentinel II emerged from cover, moving fast with enhanced speed from his Quirk, he ran directly into a kill zone. Sentinel II went down hard, his costume torn, blood spreading across the concrete.
"FALL BACK!" One of the GCPD sergeants screamed, recognizing that this fight was lost. Officers began retreating, dragging their wounded. Roman allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. His Predator Sense was the perfect Quirk for a soldier or criminal, not an overwhelming power, but gave him an advantage that made him nearly impossible to ambush or outmaneuver in direct combat.
Then his Quirk screamed a warning.
Sentinel II, bleeding out on the ground, had activated something. Roman's enhanced threat detection showed him exactly what was about to happen, showed him the expanding blast radius that would consume the entire area, and showed him the three seconds he had to respond.
"RUN!" Roman dove away from the cargo trucks, his soldiers scattering.
The explosion was massive, far larger than any conventional grenade. Sentinel II had detonated something experimental, probably a last-resort weapon heroes were authorized to use when facing overwhelming criminal force. The blast consumed the cargo trucks completely, vaporized the weapons shipment, and killed seven of Roman's twelve soldiers instantly.
The shockwave threw Roman twenty feet, slammed him into a warehouse wall hard enough to crack ribs. His ears rang, his vision blurred, but his Predator Sense kept functioning, showing him threats even through the pain and disorientation.
The GCPD was retreating completely now, the heroes were down or fleeing, and the cargo was destroyed. The operation had gone from successful raid to catastrophic failure in under two minutes. Roman pulled himself upright, making a count of his remaining soldiers, five survivors, three of them injured. The weapons they'd been hired to steal were now nothing but burning debris. Sentinel II's body was gone, probably vaporized in his own explosion.
"Fuck," Roman whispered, tasting blood, his Predator Sense still pinging with phantom threats even though the immediate combat was over. His Quirk made him paranoid in quiet moments, constantly detecting potential dangers that didn't actually exist, paying the price for combat advantage with persistent anxiety.
But right now, the paranoia was justified.
Because Carmine Falcone was going to be very, very unhappy.
The Falcone Estate - Private Office - The Next Day
Carmine Falcone's office was elegant in ways that most of Gotham's criminal enterprises could never achieve. Dark wood paneling, expensive furniture, artwork that belonged in museums, the aesthetic of old money and established power. The Don sat behind his massive desk, a Cuban cigar in his hand, his expression showing the kind of controlled anger that was somehow more terrifying than overt rage.
Roman stood before the desk, body wrapped in bandages and still aching, his face showing fresh bruises, flanked by two of Falcone's personal guards. Butch, the large, brutal enforcer who served as Falcone's personal guard stood to the side, cracking his knuckles with anticipation.
Behind Falcone stood his daughter, Sophia, late twenties, elegant in a way that masked the predator underneath, also known as the Hangman by some.
"Explain," Carmine said simply, his voice carrying decades of authority.
Roman kept his voice steady, professional, reporting facts without making excuses. "The ambush went as planned. We secured the initial position, neutralized the guards, and had the cargo under control. Then GCPD arrived with three heroes, Sentinel II, Brightburn, and Aegis. We eliminated Sentinel, wounded the other two and forced the GCPD to retreat. But Sentinel activated some sort of crazy suicide weapon before dying. The blast destroyed the cargo completely and killed seven of our men."
"You were supposed to steal weapons quietly," Carmine interrupted, his voice hardening. "You were supposed to hit fast, secure cargo, and disappear before the heroes arrived. Instead, you engaged in extended combat, killed a popular hero, and lost the entire shipment in the process. Three million dollars gone"
He stood, moving around the desk with surprising speed for a man in his sixties. "I've been patient with you, Roman. I took you in when you were just a teenager with a useful Quirk and no direction, and this is how you repay that investment? With failure that threatens everything I've built?"
Carmine Falcone took the cigar from his mouth and pressed it, still burning, against the desk's surface. The expensive wood hissed and smoked. "I'm very disappointed."
Roman's Predator Sense suddenly screamed danger.
He tried to turn, to defend himself but his injuries prevented any escape and Butch was already moving. The large enforcer's fist connected with the side of Roman's head with devastating force, enhanced by his Brawler's Enhancement Quirk that made him stronger and more durable during fights.
Roman's vision exploded in stars and pain. He stumbled, tried to maintain balance, but Butch hit him again, then again. His Predator Sense was useless against attacks he couldn't physically avoid, showing him exactly what was happening but giving him no way to stop it.
He collapsed, consciousness fading, the last thing he saw was Carmine Falcone's disappointed expression.
Then blackness.
East End Back Alley - Unknown Time Later
Roman woke to pain, confusion, and the immediate awareness that he was restrained.
His hands were bound behind him, secured to a chair with professional efficiency. His ribs ached, his head throbbed, and his Predator Sense was screaming constantly, danger everywhere, threats from every direction, his Quirk unable to distinguish between real and perceived threats in his disoriented state.
He forced his eyes open, taking in his surroundings with difficulty. A back alley somewhere in Gotham's East End, judging by the architecture and the smell. Dumpsters, crumbling brick walls, broken glass scattered across cracked pavement. The kind of place where bodies were found regularly.
Standing in front of him were two figures that made his enhanced threat detection spike even harder.
Butch, arms crossed, expression showing satisfaction at Roman's obvious discomfort.
And Sophia Falcone, elegant even in this filthy setting, wearing expensive clothing that seemed to reject the environment's squalor.
"Good, you're awake," Sophia said, her voice carrying that aristocratic coldness. "We have questions, Roman, and my Quirk means you're going to answer them honestly."
Roman tried to speak but found his mouth was dry, his throat raw. He managed to croak out: "What... questions?"
Sophia stepped closer, "look in my eyes!" and Roman felt her Quirk activate "Final Judgment," the ability to sense lies during face-to-face conversation as long as constant eye contact remained . But it wasn't just some typical lie detection quirk, If someone lied to her while her Quirk was active, they experienced internal pain that escalated with the magnitude of the deception. Small lies caused discomfort, major lies could cause agony, and persistent lying could kill through accumulated trauma.
"Tell me exactly what happened tonight," Sophia commanded. "Every detail. Don't leave anything out."
Roman took a shaky breath and recounted the operation again, every detail from positioning his soldiers to the moment Sentinel II's suicide weapon detonated. He felt Sophia's Quirk reading him throughout, searching for deception, finding none because he was genuinely telling the truth.
When he finished, Sophia nodded. "That matches what our other survivors reported. So the operational failure was legitimate bad luck rather than incompetence or betrayal. Good."
She circled around behind him, her footsteps echoing in the alley. "But that's not the only question, Roman. My father wants to know something else. Something that's been... bothering him lately."
She looked directly into his eyes again as he quirk activated.
"Have you ever stolen from Father?" Sophia asked, her voice deceptively casual. "Ever taken money that wasn't yours? Ever skimmed from operations? Ever pocketed anything that belonged to the family?"
Roman's mind raced. The truth was complicated. When Carmine had first taken him in, Roman had been seventeen, desperate, living on Gotham's streets he had stolen. Just once. A small amount of money from Carmine's office, maybe two thousand dollars, used to buy equipment he needed and didn't think he could ask for.
He'd never been caught and never was questioned. It had happened years ago, and he'd been scrupulously honest ever since, viewing that one theft as a stupid teenage mistake that didn't represent who he'd become.
"No," Roman said, the word leaving his mouth before he could stop it, an instinctive denial driven by fear and self-preservation. "I've never stolen from—"
Pain exploded in his chest.
Not external pain, internal, like something was stabbing him from inside, targeting his heart specifically. Roman gasped, tried to breathe, felt his vision starting to narrow as Sophia's Final Judgment Quirk responded to his lie by inflicting proportional punishment.
"That's interesting," Sophia said. "The pain you're feeling right now? That's your body telling you that you just lied to me. And if you keep lying, if you double down, the pain will get worse and worse until your heart gives out completely. So I'll ask again: have you ever stolen from my father?"
Roman tried to maintain the lie, tried to push through the pain, but it intensified, crushing pressure in his chest, burning in his lungs, agony that made the beating Butch had given him feel like a massage in comparison.
"Yes!" Roman gasped out, the confession exploding from him as survival instinct overrode pride. "Yes, I stole from him! Once! When I was seventeen, just after he took me in! Two thousand dollars from his office! I used it to buy gear, equipment I needed but didn't think I could ask for! Just once, I swear, never again, I've been loyal ever since—"
The pain released immediately, like chains being removed from his chest. Roman sagged in the chair, breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face.
Butch laughed, a cruel sound that echoed in the alley. "The great Roman Sionis, the guy with the one who acts so tough and professional, turns out he's just another petty thief who stole from the old man who saved him."
"It was years ago," Roman managed to say, his voice weak. "I was a kid, I was stupid, I'm not that person anymore—"
"Doesn't matter," Sophia interrupted, pulling something from a bag that one of the other Falcone soldiers had been holding. "Loyalty is absolute in this family, Roman. You don't steal from us, not even once. My father took you in, gave you purpose, gave you opportunities, and you repaid that by stealing. That's a debt that needs to be paid."
She held up the object she'd retrieved, and Roman's enhanced threat detection went into overdrive.
It was a black skull mask, his black skull mask, the one he'd started wearing during operations. He'd adopted it as a signature, a way to build a reputation. Made of reinforced polymer, painted matte black, with eye holes and a small mouth hole from breathing.
It had become his identity in Gotham's underworld. Roman Sionis the Black Mask.
"You like this mask, don't you?" Sophia asked, holding it up to catch the dim alley light. "You wear it on every job. It's become your calling card. People see this mask and they know to be afraid."
Another figure emerged from the shadows, a Falcone mobster Roman didn't recognize immediately, but whose Quirk became obvious as flames began dancing across his fingertips. Pyrokinetic, capable of generating and controlling fire.
A third figure appeared, another mobster, this one with hands that glowed with soft white light.
A Healer.
Roman's Predator Sense was screaming DANGER DANGER DANGER but he was restrained, helpless, unable to do anything as Sophia stepped closer with the mask.
"Since you like this mask so much," Sophia said, her voice carrying cold satisfaction, "we're going to make sure you never take it off."
She placed the mask on his face, adjusting it carefully to fit properly. Roman tried to thrash, to shake his head, to dislodge it, but Butch held him still with ease, massive hands gripping his shoulders with crushing force.
"Do it," Sophia commanded.
The pyrokinetic mobster unleashed his Quirk.
Fire engulfed Roman's head, concentrated specifically on the mask. The polymer began to melt, to fuse, to bond with his flesh underneath. Roman screamed, the pain beyond anything he'd ever experienced, worse than bullets, worse than broken bones, worse than Sophia's Final Judgment. His face was burning, the mask melting into his skin, becoming part of him.
He thrashed, tried to escape, but Butch's grip was unbreakable and the restraints held firm. The fire continued, sculpting, fusing, making the mask permanent.
Then the healer stepped forward, his Quirk activating, accelerating the fusion process, ensuring the melted mask bonded with Roman's facial tissue, healing the worst of the burns while making absolutely certain the mask could never be removed.
Sophia stepped back, admiring her work
"You won't die today," Sophia said, "My father wants you alive, wants you to carry this reminder of your betrayal. When you recover enough to work again, you'll return to him, but you'll never forget what happens when you cross the Falcones."
She gestured to Butch and the other mobsters. "Let's go. We've spent enough time on this."
They started toward a car parked at the alley's entrance. Roman tried to call out, to beg, to say something, but the mask made coherent speech nearly impossible.
Then screaming erupted from the street beyond the alley.